Lost stares at the table for a moment, then raises his head. “I know authors use pseudonyms, but photographers and models as well?”
“I’d say it’s possible.” Pennywise rubs at his nose. “Maybe because they want a memorable name, or just want to keep their sideline away from their normal life.” He pauses and nods toward me. “If Patsy didn’t read those mommy porn novels, you’d never have known your photo had been used.”
Lost bristles at the reference to the suggestion his old lady reads porn but lets the comment pass by. “So, we could be looking for people who don’t exist. What the fuck do we do now?”
“Those studios he rents. That kid modelled again for him, I think you said?” When I nod, Salem continues, “What name were they rented in, and how did he pay?”
Token sighs. “Devon Starr and cash.”
Lost raps his fingers against the table. “For a businessman, he certainly is elusive. You’ve reached a dead end, Toke?”
Token hates to be beaten. Give him a problem, and he’ll solve it. But this is like looking for a fucking needle in the proverbial haystack. He rests his hands on the table and turns them palm upwards.
“If Token is stumped, what about asking Utah?” As all eyes go to Blaze, faces form expressions which aren’t particularly friendly. The tattoo artist shrugs. “They seem to be technical geniuses with shit at their fingertips far more than you have, Token. Why not ask them for help?”
Lost grimaces, but in the way that he does, he takes a moment to think. “If we trusted them, then yes. But I don’t. We know Stormy was a loose cannon, but what do we know of the rest of them? Snatcher’s still got a way to go to prove he can run his club right. And don’t forget, it’s this week the clock runs out on Stormy.”
He's going to be out bad for certain. Justice, as far as I’m concerned, will be served. From the murmurs around the table, it’s not just me who thinks it.
Dart raises his chin. “One reason they stayed under the radar was for precisely this reason. If they’re to be believed, they focus their power on righting wrongs, big things, like stopping or rescuing people from kidnappings. They don’t want their computer power to be tied up in smaller shit.”
“It’s a fuckin’ big thing to me,” I grumble. “I’m out at least a thousand big ones.”
“I hear you, Brother.” The VP’s eyes soften. “But it’s not in their league.”
“Perhaps if they did apply themselves to helping us out, maybe we’d see them as Devils,” Dusty states, tugging at his ear.
I raise my chin toward Prez. “If they’re willing to help, might go some way toward mending bridges. I, for one, would like to see what they’re made of. Must admit it would be hard to take out a man wearing a Satan’s Devils’ patch, but if they don’t come to our assistance, then maybe they don’t have the right to call themselves Satan’s Devils.” And then I wouldn’t have so much hesitation pulling the trigger.
Lost is again quiet, then he leans forward. “Point well made, sergeant-at-arms. I’ll run it past Drummer. I presume you’ve spoken to Mouse?” He stares at Token for his answer.
“Yeah, and he can’t offer anything more. We’ve nothing to go on other than a description and a fake name.”
“Well, all I can suggest Grumbler is you keep in touch with the model’s mother, see if Alicia is contacted again.”
Nodding, as that will be no problem, I offer something else as well. “Alicia and Owen are friendly. I’ll have a chat with her, see if she can press him on where Devon can be found.”
“It is her money at stake as well.” Lost stares at me.
“You mentioned the girl and Owen are friendly.” Token’s brow is creasing. “Can you get her to set up a meeting with him?”
“Yeah, if they get together, get us the details, Brother.” Pennywise stops and picks something out of his teeth. “We can be gate crashers.”
Now that’s an idea. I’ve got a niggling feeling that whatever scam the photographer is running, Owen is also in it up to his neck. The problem is, Alicia might be a handful, but I don’t want to see her being used again. Not by Devon as an unpaid model, or us as bait for a trap.
“Can we table that for now until we’ve exhausted other avenues?” I grimace, rubbing at my face. “She’s only seventeen and I can’t reason with her as though she’s an adult. Any whiff of a setup, and I think her misplaced loyalties will be with him.”
“Fuckin’ teenagers,” Dart inputs.
“You’ll have one soon enough,” Deuce points out to him.
“Tell me about it,” the VP moans. “Tyler’s nine going on fifteen.”
He loves that kid, but I don’t envy what he’s got ahead.
“I’ll keep doing what I can.” Token shrugs. “Something may turn up.”
Church goes the way church normally does with others offering suggestions, but none of them have any merit. Being a man of action, I hate hanging around waiting for something to surface, but until we get more information, that, it seems, is going to be my lot.
When Lost ends the meeting, I follow everyone else into the clubroom. Lost and Dart hang around for a short time, then they leave to go back to their respective homes. I take a beer and stand at the bar looking around. For some reason, there’s a restlessness inside me, a feeling I’ve not really felt before. As the night goes on and I drink my beers slowly, I watch everyone else getting drunk. The club girls are kept busy, some brothers taking them off to their rooms, others staying right where they are. The sight of a brother getting sucked off or getting it on with a sweet butt doesn’t affect me at all, bringing neither emotion of disgust nor envy. I could have any of the girls with just a crook of my finger, I just choose not to.
Bones tells a few jokes, and I chuckle at the punchline, but my heart really isn’t in it. I miss having Smoker to talk to. Thinking back, he and I had spent most of the party nights together, a practice that went back quite a while. He’d had a dry sense of humour, and together we’d sit on the sidelines looking on, reminiscing about the old days, and how the brothers now don’t know how to have fun. Sometimes Smoker would give a running commentary and assessment on someone’s performance. A murmured comment of well he didn’t last long would have me giving a belly laugh.
I’m not here for sex, and while there’s a poker game going on, I’m not in the mood to play.
Like last week, I make my way up the stairway to bed knowing no one will miss me, or probably even realise I’m gone. That my knee cracks on the first step and the other leg I injured in my crash aches as I ascend only reminds me again that I’m getting old.
What would I do were I unable to ride anymore? It’s a chilling thought. The answer is simple. I’d have nothing.
Chapter Twelve
Mary
Unlike the weekdays when Alicia’s at school and I’m at work, my daughter and I treat the weekend very differently. I allow myself the luxury of an extra half hour to sleep, then get up to do the chores I’ve not had time for during the last five days. Proving learning is far harder than applying the stuff you’ve learned, Alicia gets a few hours of extra sleep, and may, if I’m lucky, emerge from her bedroom shortly before noon.
Oh what it’s like to be seventeen.
Not that I’d go back there. Part of a mom’s job is making sure your child doesn’t make the same mistakes that you made, and boy did I make some. Looking back on those days when I thought I knew everything makes me shudder now. I’d gotten away with the risks that I’d taken, now I want to make sure she avoids making them at all.
As far as I know, she’s still a virgin. Me? I’d given it away shortly before my seventeenth birthday, using it as currency to attract the attention of a boy. Sure, I’d got his eyes on me, but our fumbling and totally forgettable experience hadn’t been worth him sticking around. It hadn’t been special, romantic or particularly enjoyable, and had left me feeling used, and with an understanding of the phrase, another notch on a bed post—or behind the bleachers in my case.<
br />
I want more than that for her. I’m not a prude. Were she in a stable relationship, I’d rather she waited, but if she was sure, I’d make sure she was protected. One thing I’ve never regretted was having her at the start of my fourth decade, or those years with Dave when we enjoyed being a couple. When I finally became a mother, I could concentrate on her and not worry about stuff on which I was missing out.
One day, if it’s her choice, I’d love to have a grandchild, but not for a few good years yet.
As I separate the whites and colours for the laundry, I consider the last week. I got one of my wishes, though it hadn’t been Alicia deleting the contact details as I’d requested. Instead, it appears Devon has changed his number. Despite her wishes, Alicia won’t be modelling anymore, unless another photographer approaches, and after this experience, I sincerely hope not. I’m both relieved and pleased in equal measure. One war avoided, though I’m sure there’s going to be many more ahead.
Owen? Well, I’ve asked her to delete his contact as well. She’s tried to assure me he’s just a friend, but I doubt that.
While I didn’t condone it, I could understand how Alicia had had her head turned, and why she was willing to throw herself at the first attractive male who’d shown an interest in her. It’s how I lost my virginity after all. When in that situation, what has a girl got but her body to offer as currency? Yes, I’d been one of the stupid ones, thinking I could turn the eye of one of the boys all the others had lusted over by giving him the thing all males of his age wanted. I’d had to live with the regret, knowing my first time hadn’t been special at all, and it had only been that he had one decent bone in his body and had kept my indiscretion to himself that I hadn’t earned a bad reputation at school. I knew other girls who hadn’t been so lucky.
I hadn’t wanted that for Alicia, had tried to instil in her a knowledge of her own self-worth and self-respect. That I might have failed had become clear when I’d caught her sending that photo to Owen.
Sure, Owen was hot, otherwise he wouldn’t have been a model, and Alicia wouldn’t have had her head turned if he were not. But what did she know about him, other than he was good looking? What kind of personality has he got? What was it he wanted? I suspect nothing more than the thrill of the chase and ultimate deflowering, or, could I be misjudging him? I think not. I can only hope some of what I’ve said to Alicia has sunk in.
I put the first load of clothes into the wash and switch on the machine. My phone pings with a text.
Grumbler: Got questions. Can I come over?
Well, why not? I’m doing nothing. I glance around. Everything’s fairly tidy, though the floor could do with vacuuming. I laugh at myself. I doubt Grumbler’s the type of man who’d notice. I suspect he’d be like my husband who’d walk in, kick off his shoes, or motorcycle boots in Grumbler’s case, leave them by the door, and not care how the house was looking.
Mary: Sure
If he’s got questions that probably means he’s gotten no closer to finding Devon Starr than he had been during our telephone conversations this week.
I decide the house is in good enough shape to welcome a biker, but that doesn’t stop me from picking up a duster and flicking away a few cobwebs I could see. Then mentally I give my wrist a slap. What do I care about Grumbler’s reaction to my housekeeping or lack of? I go to put a pot of coffee on instead.
I don’t even tidy myself. I’m wearing a t-shirt and capri pants, the comfy ones I wear around the house, my face unadorned with makeup, and the only jewellery I have on, my wedding band, now worn on my right hand.
It catches my attention for a moment. It had been three years ago when I’d taken the plunge, moving the ring that showed I was taken. Dave would always have his place in my heart, no one could remove him. But it had been the final acceptance I wasn’t married any more, I had no husband to lean on or come home to. It had been Kristen who’d pointed it out.
“If you ever want to find another man, Mary, no one is going to be interested if you show you’re still taken. If there is another Mr Right out there for you, he won’t come along while you’re committed to a ghost.”
She’d made me think. I’d reasoned however much I thought Dave was the love of my life, I had possibly four more decades, the second half of my own life, left to live. Did I really want to be alone for the rest of it? Eventually Alicia would leave and make her own path as she rightly should. So, I’d moved the ring to my right hand, unable to leave it off completely.
A loud roar of a motorcycle engine sounds, then abruptly stops. Looking out of the front window, I see Grumbler throwing his leg off the saddle and getting off. I watch as he bends, rubbing his thigh, then starts to make his way past my car that he’s parked behind. I notice him favouring one of his legs, limping slightly as he had before.
I’m opening the door just as he reaches it.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
We’ve spoken on the phone a few times, our conversation always flowing easily. Yet here, face-to-face, it feels awkward. I struggle to say anything, so settle for, “Do you want a coffee?”
He’s a biker. Should I have offered beer?
“Coffee sounds fine.” He raises his chin, and when I back up, enters the house, closing the door behind him.
I go into my kitchen, sensing he’s following me. Once I’ve checked how he likes it, black with two sugars, I make him a cup, then, pouring creamer and leaving out the sugar, prepare one for myself.
He takes the cup I hold toward him. Putting it down on the countertop, he turns and leans his back against it, folding his arms over his chest. Not for the first time, I notice the mass of tattoos he has.
I’ve never thought about tattoos before. Dave didn’t have any, and not many of my friends have them. Kristin has a pretty flower tattooed on her ankle, but that’s about it. Now I realise they’re intriguing, not off-putting, and I’d love to learn whether there was a meaning to each one.
I try to pull my mind away from the marks on his skin. “So, no news, I take it?”
“Asshole’s one damn fucker to try and find.” He gives me the confirmation, his eyes narrowed. “Need to try and smoke him out.”
“You said you had questions? What more have you got to ask me?” Frowning, I add, “I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you.”
He half turns, picks up his coffee, blows on it to cool it, and takes a sip. “Not you, Alicia.”
“She’s told you everything.” I bristle slightly, thinking he’s accusing her of holding something back.
“She’s in touch with Owen, isn’t she?”
Reluctantly I nod. “Sadly, I think she is, though I’ve tried to warn her against him.”
Grumbler’s eyebrow rises, and he smirks. “You suspect he’s not got the character to match his pretty face?”
Huffing, I respond, “I’m worried that bad boy image he’s projecting might be exactly what he is inside.”
“I can’t argue with that. A pretend bad boy, at least. Club’s got plenty of the real ones.”
I wrap my hands around my coffee. “I need to know he’ll respect a seventeen-year-old girl, and I don’t get a good vibe about that.” I don’t mention the sext. It’s too embarrassing.
“Can’t blame you there, doll. You’re a good mom. Too many kids don’t have them.” He goes silent and blows on his coffee. “Here’s the thing. The club wants to catch up with Owen and question him. If she can set up a meeting, or get him to come here, we’ll know where he is. We’ll come get him, take him back to the club and get our questions answered.”
“I don’t like that.” My eyebrows knit. “I suspect you won’t take no for an answer. And if Owen’s, as you suggested, in cahoots with Devon, he’s not going to come willingly.” One glance at Grumbler’s face shows that I’m right. “I don’t want Alicia faced with any unpleasantness.”
Grumbler’s looking at me carefully, then he shakes his head. “Of course, you’re fuckin’ right. I do
n’t want you to see that either.” His face has fallen, and his jaw clenches. His eyes become shuttered and I assume he’s trying to think of something else.
My mind, too, is racing. “You got any good-looking young men in your club?”
His eyes snap open as if I’ve startled him. “Good looking? How the fuck would I know?” He chuckles, then stops. “You want me to set you up with a boy toy?” His jaw clenches momentarily, then relaxes. “Or find someone who might take Alicia’s fancy to get her mind off Owen? Hate to say this, doll, but bikers aren’t likely to want a relationship. A quick fuck, yeah. More? No. She’d get no romance from any of us.”
“Not for me or Alicia. For Devon.” I roll my eyes, while noting his obvious view of women. Just objects to be fucked. It takes me back to my schooldays and the loss of my virginity.
“Devon?” His eyes widen again. “Didn’t get the vibe he was gay.”
I bat at his arm. “Remember Devon wanted Owen to sit on your bike, and his reaction when you wouldn’t let him? It was priceless seeing your reaction to him wanting to borrow your cut.” I grin, as I recall it. “He was clearly disappointed. I’ve been looking at MC novels.” I might have bought one, but I don’t admit that. Neither have I started reading it yet. “Most have just a shirtless man on the front, or a couple, or a man wearing a cut on a motorcycle. I just wondered whether you have anyone suitable in your club, and whether Devon might be tempted out of hiding if he was offered the opportunity to photograph one.”
Grumbler puts his coffee down and holds up his hands. “None of my brothers would go for that. It’s one thing my bike appearing on a cover no one, well, apart from Lost’s old lady, would recognise. But a face and cut? Out of the question.”
“They don’t need to actually do it. Just make the offer.”
He stills. His eyes meet mine and hold them. Then he tosses back his head and guffaws. “Christ, woman. You’ve got a damn head on your shoulders. You read it right, and that’s exactly what he wants.” Then his face grows serious. “It would work if he still thinks I’m just an ignorant biker. But he’s changed his phone number. If that’s because I made him suspicious, then he’s going to steer well clear of the Devils.”
Grumbler's Ride: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #2 Page 10
