Grumbler's Ride: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #2

by Manda Mellett

  As I drive away from the neat little suburban house, I wonder how I’m going to make good on the rash promise I’d just made. Though there’s probably less doubt that I will than how I’ll go about it. That will need a bit of thought.

  I’ll need Token’s help, that’s for sure, and though I got away with it last time, if I ask him to find someone else, then he’s bound to start asking questions. I suppose it’s because his business is digging for information, it’s obvious he’s got to be a nosy fucker. Following trails, adding the dots together is what he’s does best.

  I could ask him to keep it a secret, but once he knows what my vanity over my bike got me into, he’s not going to be able to keep that quiet. Nor that my baby is on the cover of a romance novel. Christ, why did I ever get involved with this?

  Because I’m proud of my ride and wanted to show it off. Pride cometh before a fall and all that. Well, maybe I should have thought about that before setting myself up to be made a fool.

  On the other hand, perhaps I don’t have to involve anyone else. I’ve got Owen’s number, I can just call him. He might have the information I want. I don’t need my brothers. I’m more than a match for this Devon fucker. As soon as I track him down, I’ll confront him, and if he doesn’t pass the dollars over, I’ll take payment in blood. His. Nah, I don’t need anyone’s help for that.

  There’s no time like the present.

  Pulling off the road, I park up and take my phone out of my cut. Perhaps if Owen can give me the fucker’s location, I can get this done and dusted before I go back to the club. I call up the text Alicia sent, and press on the highlighted number.

  The phone rings, once, twice. By the fifth time, I’m about to give up, but then it’s answered.

  “It’s Owen.”

  “Hi Owen. It’s Grumbler. We met at a photo shoot a few weeks back. You posed with my motorcycle.”

  “Ah… Grumbler.” His voice sounds flat.

  “Yeah. One of the photos was used on a book cover. You know that?”

  There’s silence, then, “Alicia just called me and told me that.”

  They’re so fucking friendly he was the first she’d called? Well, I suppose that’s for her and her mom to sort out. I hadn’t taken to him that’s for certain.

  Suddenly I wish I’d asked him to meet rather than rashly giving him a call. It’s hard to interpret anything when you can’t see a man’s face.

  “Did you know before?”

  “Er, no.”

  Is that the truth? Or the answer he thinks he should give?

  “Alicia told me that author was paying in instalments. She’ll get her money in good time, but it’s great news about the cover. Always good for models to get their names known. She and I might get more work from it.”

  She’ll get her money in good time. Funny phrasing.

  “Did you get paid, Owen?” I ask.

  When he again replies ‘no’, there’s something in his tone that makes me wish more than ever we were doing this so I could look him in the eye, as the idea comes to me that Devon might have paid him, but not us. But on the phone, I can’t push it, else I risk him hanging up.

  “You work with Devon Starr a lot?”

  “Some, yeah. I model for him on occasion. He likes my face.”

  I’d like to rearrange your fuckin’ face, you smarmy little bastard.

  I hadn’t thought much of the egotistical dick the day of the photograph shoot, and it seems I haven’t changed my opinion.

  “I’d like to see him, you got his address?”

  “Why?”

  Thinking fast, I reply, “I’d like to talk to him about perhaps using my bike again.” Over my dead body, I add in my head.

  “Ah, well. I’ve got his number. You can give him a call to discuss that.”

  He won’t be giving me the address even if he knows it unless I was right in his face and using my own brand of persuasion.

  “You got another shoot arranged?” If he has, there’ll be an extra participant.

  “No. Not that I know of.”

  I take in a deep breath and try to keep my voice calm. “Would you do me a favour, Owen? If Devon contacts you, will you let me know when and where the shoot is?”

  There’s a pause, then, “Sure. I can do that.”

  But the undertone suggests that’s the last thing he’ll be doing. I end the call, more frustrated than when I started. Of course, I can’t prove anything, but I reckon Owen and Devon are cut from the same cloth. I start to wonder how many other models they’re scamming. If they cut me and Alicia out of it, more money for them both.

  Damn. That was no help at all. Now I’ve got one other person to find and beat the truth out of. Starting my engine again, pulling away and kicking up through the gears, frustration goes through me. I’ve no option but to involve Token.

  I park my bike in its space back at the clubhouse and walk inside.

  “Uh-uh. What’s got your panties all twisted up?” Salem grins as I walk past.

  “You okay, Brother?” Niran queries. “Want to talk?”

  Salem gets my finger, Niran a raise of my chin and a dismissive shake of my head.

  “Anyone seen fuckin’ Toke?” I call out grumpily to no one in particular.

  “I’m here,” the man in question replies, his voice sounding oddly muffled, which is explained as he exits the kitchen holding a loaded biscuit, half of which appears to be in his mouth. “You find that bitch you were after?”

  Pennywise’s jaw drops. “Grumbler’s got a woman?” He mimics fainting, clutching at the back of a chair to hold himself up. “Never thought I’d see the fuckin’ day.”

  “Who is she?” Bones asks. “Some hottie?”

  I’ve had enough of this. “Shut the fuck up!” They all get my sergeant-at-arms scowl. “I ain’t got a woman, okay? Never have. Never fuckin’ will.”

  Token takes pity on me. “Come on, Brother. Let’s go sort out what you need.”

  I stomp after the computer guru, angry with him for opening his mouth. Fuck, if they were like that about me finding one woman, what are they going to say when they know what I did with my bike?

  Token steps into his office leaving the door open. I close it behind me as I enter, then stand with my back against it and my arms folded.

  “This is between us,” I start. “No need to involve the club. It’s a private fuckin’ matter.” I scowl at him. When he raises his chin, I continue, “A month or so back, I was offered cash for my bike to be used as a prop in a photo shoot.”

  “Ha ha! You didn’t fall for that, did you?” Token laughs like a loon. “I can just picture you telling the guy to get lost. You leave him with all his teeth?” He chuckles again, then gets sight of the expression on my face. “Er, you did cut him loose, didn’t you?”

  I just stare.

  Token backtracks fast. “It’s a nice-looking ride.” His eyes narrow. “Is there good money in that?”

  “The deal is, you get paid if any of the pictures get sold.”

  He nods as though that makes sense. “And have they? Been sold?”

  “One has.”

  Token beams and slaps his hand on the desk. “Well, that’s fuckin’ ace, Brother. Congrats. What’s it going to be used for? One of the motorcycle rags? Advertising poster? The Harley mag? Jeez. This is great. How much did you get? The brothers are going to be hyped about this. I know we give you shit about all you do on that bike, but the results have been amazing. Glad someone appreciated it.” He stares at my face, then his smile slowly falls away. “It’s not good?”

  “I found the picture was sold when it appeared on the cover of one of the books the prez’s ol’ lady reads.”

  “You… Patsy?” Token’s brows draw down into a V and then he snorts. “She reads fuckin’ mommy porn.”

  Porn? No wonder Lost walks around with a smile on his face. I sigh, there’s nothing else for it. Through gritted teeth, I admit everything. “My bike was used as a prop with two young models,
and it’s appeared as a cover for a romance book. I only found out when Patsy told me. Neither I nor the female model have been paid, and the photographer’s come up with a shit story as to the reason why we haven’t gotten the dollars we were owed.”

  Token bends himself in half. “You-you…” he stammers out. “You and a model? Christ, Brother. No wonder you wanted me to track her down.”

  “What? Me and the model?” Approaching him, I slam both palms on his desk. “The model is only fuckin’ seventeen.”

  “Yeah, bit young for you, I suppose.” Token looks confused.

  “I didn’t want to find the model. I wanted to find her fuckin’ mother.” I roll my eyes. I don’t want him to think I’ve been harassing an underage girl. “But that’s a dead end. I found out she’s not been paid either, and the photographer is holding onto our cash for no good fuckin’ reason.”

  Now his mouth thins. “So when are we going to shake down this photographer?”

  I lean forward. “When I can fuckin’ find him.”

  “Ah.” It looks like a light bulb has been switched on. “Okay. Why the fuck didn’t you ask me to look for him in the first place? I presume you know his name?” When I nod, his brow creases, then he bellows with laughter again. “You didn’t want to admit what you’d been doing. Christ, Brother, this is priceless.” He chortles, leaning over and holding his belly.

  “I need you to find Devon Starr,” I tell him, speaking as clearly as I can with a clenched jaw, while wondering whether I should have just taken a hit on the money.

  Token types the name onto his keyboard then eyes the screen. He waves me to a seat which indicates this is going to take a moment.

  I sit, resting my ankle on my opposite knee, and clasping my hands, tap at my chin. I allow Token the time and space to think.

  “Hmm. I got a website,” he says after a few moments.

  “He’s got Facebook and Instagram too.”

  Token’s mouth purses. He tries one thing, then another. “We seem to have a man who doesn’t want to be found. A man who clearly doesn’t pay his debts. You don’t make this easy, do you?” He lowers his head, his fingers massaging his temples. After a moment, he looks up. “You got a copy of the photo that was used?”

  “I’ve got a pic of the cover on my phone.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  Unlocking it, I select the photo and pass it over. Token presses a few keys, then hands it back. He’s all seriousness now, his joking manner gone. He’s obviously emailed the photo to himself and now he’s intent on what he’s doing. After a moment, he turns around his screen. “I did a reverse image search. There’s been more than one photo sold. Your bike is on five covers, not one. They must be popular shots.”

  “Why would all the authors use the same picture?”

  “Look closer. It’s not the same shot, but only fractionally different. Technically, the photos are unique. That’s how photographers make their money.”

  I grunt. Seems Alicia and I have been cheated out of a thousand dollars apiece. When I get my hands on Devon Starr, I’m going to kill him.

  “These are published books,” Token remarks. “Or books up for pre-order or have had their covers released, whatever that means. There could be more.”

  “Fuck it.” I exhale the words.

  Token’s staring at me. “You’ve been taken for a ride, Brother.”

  “Find him, Toke.” My words are growled. “You don’t mess with me and get away with it.”

  “Oh, I will,” Token promises, leaving me in no doubt he’ll leave no stone unturned to find the fucker. “Mess with one of us, you mess with us all. You don’t try to get one over on a member of the Satan’s Devils MC.”

  I spend the next few minutes giving him the little information I’ve got. Owen Leesom’s name, and the phone numbers. Then I leave him to do what he does best—finding information.

  Chapter Ten

  Mary

  “Do you think Grumbler will get me the money I’m owed?”

  Drying the plate I’m holding in my hand, I stare out of the window as I think how to answer. While I don’t know anything about the man, something tells me that he’ll do what he can to get Alicia’s money to her. Of course, if he finds the photographer, there’s nothing to say he wouldn’t get her money as well and keep it for himself, but I don’t get the vibe that he’d do that. Honest is not something I’d thought would be my first impression of a biker, but with him, I definitely felt that.

  “If he can find Devon, I think he’ll get it for you.”

  “Should we ring him again? Devon, I mean?”

  We could, but I doubt we’d get an honest answer. All we’d do is get his back up and put him on his guard. “Let’s leave it to Grumbler.”

  “Well I hope he doesn’t take too long. I’ve seen a pair of shoes I want. Unless,” she waits until I put the plate away, then places her hand on my arm, “you could lend me the money?” She looks up and bats her eyelids.

  “How much?” I ask, automatically.

  “One hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Did I say my daughter has expensive tastes? Tastes I don’t give in to. “Nope.”

  It seems she hadn’t expected me to fork out that much, as she lets it go. “What’s for dinner?”

  It’s Sunday, one of the only days I get time to cook. “Pot roast,” I tell her, almost triumphantly. See? I can be a real mom at times.

  “Cool. Do you want any help?”

  Now I raise my eyebrow suspiciously. “What do you want?”

  She gives a theatrical shrug. “Nothing, why?”

  Shaking my head, I respond, “Because, Alicia, daughter dearest, an offer from you to peel vegetables always comes with strings attached. Why don’t you just cut to the chase and tell me what you want?”

  Her lips purse. She looks down at her hands and picks at her fingernails. It’s a moment before she speaks. “Marisa has asked if I’d like to go over to her place tonight.”

  After Grumbler had left yesterday, Alicia had been so amped up by the news she was able to share with her friends, she’d actually forgotten she was on lockdown for the weekend. With a proportionate lifting of her mood to the extent that we’d watched a movie together last night—a romantic comedy which had made us both laugh. But I’d grounded her for the two days and I’m not backing down. I’m not looking forward to reminding her of that.

  I decide on a compromise. “Why don’t you ask Marisa to come here?”

  “Because she’s got an Xbox, and she wants to show me a new game she’s got.”

  I narrow my eyes, shrewdly. “You don’t like games.” It’s the reason she hasn’t got the same game box as her friend.

  “Not normally, but this one sounds good, Mom. Please, can I go?”

  Just as I’m about to say no, her phone rings. Her eyes narrow as she looks at the screen, then cautiously answers it.

  “Hello?... Oh, hi… Yes, she’s here…” She holds the phone out to me. “It’s Grumbler.”

  My eyes widen, then I realise he might be ringing with an update about Alicia’s money. I didn’t expect him to get results so fast. “Hi. It’s Mary.”

  “Grumbler here.”

  Even if Alicia hadn’t already warned me who it was, I’d recognise that gravelly voice anywhere. “Have you got news?”

  “Yes and no.” It’s an enigmatic reply, and I wait for him to elaborate. “I suppose it might be good news that the fucker’s sold four more photos which we haven’t gotten paid for.”

  I glance at my daughter, thinking again how photogenic she is and that it must be her that’s selling the photos. Then realise I’m biased. It could be Grumbler’s motorcycle.

  “The bad news,” he continues, “is that the fucker doesn’t want to be found. We’ll find him but haven’t done so as yet. Personally, I’d like to have a look at his financials, see if we can find how many pictures he sells, and whether he’s got outgoing transactions showing he’s paying his model fees.”r />
  “But he must be, surely. This could be a one-off, that he’s short of cash flow. And, isn’t that illegal? How can you check his bank account?”

  Grumbler chuckles softly. “You’re right. We won’t be able to do that, not until we find him. But someone as evasive as him is probably scamming lots of people.”

  “He wouldn’t get away with it. Surely models would see their pictures on books?”

  “You a reader, Mary?”

  “I read a bit. Lee Childs is one of my favourite authors. Stephen King too.”

  “I’ve been talking to Patsy, our prez’s old lady. She’s told me about Indie books. You heard of them?”

  “Sure. But I like to stick to the big names.”

  “You’re missing out according to Patsy. But the thing is, Indie authors don’t have their books in stores in the main, some don’t even publish paperbacks. You won’t see their books in airports. The only people who’d see the cover are people who read that genre, in this case it’s something called MC romance.” If you could hear someone rolling their eyes, that’s what his voice sounds like.

  “MC romance?”

  “Motorcycle club romance.”

  “And your prez’s mom reads it?”

  “She’s his woman, not his mom.” Grumbler barks a laugh. “His ol’ lady.” Ah. The penny drops. I chuckle. “So you wouldn’t have seen it, Alicia’s probably too young for that type of book—they have sex and filth in them. I certainly wouldn’t read them, and I doubt Owen’s in the market for them either.”

  “What you’re saying is there’s a limited pool of readers, so the chances are good the photographer can get away with it.”

  “You fuckin’ got it, doll.” Doll? Where did that come from? I let it pass. “Anyway, just wanted to update you on the covers. I thought Alicia might do with another fix of fame. Might give you a break.”

  Alicia has wandered off while he’s been talking. I prop myself up against the counter. “You’re not wrong there. Your call saved me from having to remind her she’s grounded and can’t go out tonight. If you tell me the titles of the books, she might forget to be annoyed if she’s got something else to tell all her friends about.”