A flicker of something comes over her face. “Oh, I’ve got them at home. Can I just leave my credit card details for now? I’ll have to dig all that info out.”
When we go out to the reception area, there’s a woman sitting behind the desk. Apparently today a vet nurse isn’t doing double duties. “Ah, Ms Nichols.” She looks up as we pass. “I’m glad your boy’s doing well.” As Stevie nods in her direction, she continues, “We didn’t get all the information from you the other night. Can you provide it now?”
Feeling Stevie stiffen by my side, I interrupt, “I left my details for payment.”
“Yes, but I take it Max is insured?”
Stevie seems flustered. “He is. But I don’t have the information at hand. I’ll give you my credit card and start the claim later.”
“This will run into thousands of dollars. And I mean thousands,” she emphasises. “You must get that claim initiated.”
“I know,” Stevie insists. “But I have difficulty completing forms as you can see.” Her mouth trembles.
The way she’s said it has the receptionist sitting back, her features rearranged in an expression of regret. “I’m sorry. Take your time. Yes, your credit card will be fine for now.”
I’m about to offer help filling in any fucking form, but it’s the first time Stevie’s offered the I’m blind card. I frown as I look down at her, wondering why.
The vet, Rod, reappears from the back. “Ah, Ms Nichols. Before you go. Any idea where Max’s microchip might be? James couldn’t find it in his neck, and we didn’t want to move him around too much to search for it. Has a vet told you where it is before?”
At my obvious confusion, Rod goes on to explain, “They’re implanted in the neck, but it’s not uncommon for them to migrate around the body. Sometimes even ending up in a leg. I’m sure he’ll have one, all service dogs do.”
“He has one,” Stevie confirms, “but I don’t know where it is.” There’s a tic at the side of her eye that another person might not notice, but I’m used to looking for things that give people away. She’s lying. She’s also biting her lip, her brow furrowing, her mouth opens and shuts.
“Well, no worries. James will find it tomorrow when he’s got him sedated for the op.”
Her expression lightens, and she decides to speak up. “I’m afraid I didn’t change the details. It’s still in the name of the woman who bred him. I,” again her lip tremors. “I didn’t bother as it was too hard for me to do.”
Surely there’s something on the computer that would help her? A conversation comes into my head. What do you do for a living? I’m a computer programmer. Something doesn’t add up. All I know is when the vet finds the microchip, Max won’t be registered in her name. Could he be stolen? I, of all people, don’t give a fuck about that. But I’d like to know what I’m dealing with. She might need help.
“That’s fine, Ms Nichols. A lot of people don’t bother changing the registration, and it’s perfectly understandable in your case. As long as your insurance company is happy with that, I don’t see a problem.”
If I hadn’t spent most of my adult life, or at least, since I left the Army, living with an outlaw MC, I’d have taken everything Stevie had said at face value. But I have. Although we try to exist on the right side of the law, losing men to prison isn’t easy, we do stumble back and forth across that line. Back in Bastard’s day we were firmly on the wrong side. Then, I’d been involved in debt collection, learning from one of the old-timers. When a man said he couldn’t pay up, there were ways to tell whether it was because he simply had no desire to, or truly lacked the ability. If I’d gone to her to collect a debt, I’d say she just didn’t want to part with the cash while pleading poverty.
I’d actually been out flexing my muscles when the club had been decimated. That had saved me, along with Rock who’d been doing prison time when all the shit went down. We were two of the few survivors.
But my reminiscing is beside the point.
Why is she lying? I dismiss the notion her having Max was the result of a theft. He’s too well trained. Perhaps she’s not kept up with the insurance? Well, at times anyone can struggle to make ends meet.
I think more on it as I lead her out to my bike and decide that’s probably the most likely explanation. She wants, needs, her dog back and is saying all the right things to get him fixed. She’ll worry about paying for it when he’s fit. Yeah, I’m sure I’ll find money at the root of it. I’d meant it when I said I’d step in and help. I’ve got money doing little more than sitting in a bank account and earning more of it, thanks to Dollar’s advice. Using it for a charitable purpose, don’t people do that all the time?
For now the vet’s got two assurances of payment, one on her card, one on mine. We’ll worry about everything else later.
Almost an expert now, she climbs on the bike behind me without hesitation. As her arms go around my waist, I can feel slight vibrations as if she’s shaking. It’s clear she’s upset. Worrying about Max? Or about the money.
“Babe. Got some winnings burning a hole in my pocket. Feel like stopping off and getting something to eat?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. “It’s a nice idea Beef, but not tonight, okay? I’m worried about Max, and not in the mood for company.”
“Those forms. You want help with them?”
This time her answer comes fast. “No, I can do it myself.”
Can she though? Or, will she even bother?
I’ve no choice but to take her home, walk her to the front door just to be gentlemanly, then it’s awkward on the doorstep. For some reason her demeanour has completely changed, it’s as if I’m a stranger, no longer a friend. That hurts.
I try once again. “I’d like to help you, Stevie.”
She stiffens. “I don’t need help.”
Not knowing her well enough to press it, I’m going to have to leave it for now. “Okay. Call if you need me. I’ll check in with you about Max tomorrow, see how he does after the op.”
“There’s no need, Beef.”
“It’s no trouble. You want to visit him? You call me, not a taxi, okay?”
A nod, which doesn’t tell me anything. Then her key is placed directly into the lock, the door opens then closes behind her. I’m left staring at the wood, wondering why I have this feeling that anything between us had just turned into dust. I’ve known her for twenty-four hours. Why should her dismissal matter?
I have no idea. But it does. Maybe it’s because I’m a natural carer. I see a problem, I want to help solve it. Yeah, and that’s how I got chained to Sally.
Riding back to the compound, my uneasy feeling doesn’t get any better. In fact, it gets worse. Something about the woman I just left is worrying me. As I back into a free parking space against the wall of the clubhouse, I come to the conclusion that if she won’t tell me, I’ll find out about her myself. Then, if she needs assistance, I can be prepared to provide it. As long as I maintain the boundaries, can’t be any harm in that. She’s apparently got no one else.
If I was walking into the Tucson clubhouse it would take more than a minute to get to the bar, brothers would be stopping me, engaging me in conversation. Might be questions about my bike, might, under these circumstances, be right up in my business about the blind woman and her dog. Here I’m still a visitor rather than a trusted friend, so apart from Pyro calling out, “How’s the dog?” and my raised thumb to show he’s still okay, that’s the end of any impedance.
Soon I have a beer in my hand and am making my way to Cad’s corner.
Back in Tucson, Mouse had his own office, preferring to work in quiet and secrecy. I wonder why Cad is so different.
“Can’t they find you an office space, Cad?” I wave at the chair opposite him, then at his chin jerk sit down.
He offers a quick grin. “There’s no room. I have thought about emptying out a storeroom, but to be honest, I prefer it out here. I can keep my finger on what’s going on. And, of course, it’s clo
ser to get my drink refreshed.” As his eyes fall on his empty bottle, then rise to meet mine, I bark a laugh.
Taking the hint I stand, rap the bar, and get Wills’ attention.
“Okay,” Cad’s eyes narrow when I bring his beer back. “Don’t think you’ve come to pass the time of day. What’s on your mind?”
Hoping I’m doing the right thing as I’m about to stomp all over her independence, I take a deep breath. “You made an offer to find out about that woman I met. Got a feeling she might have money troubles or some such shit. I’ll admit I’m curious. She shut down when the clues started coming. If she’s in trouble, I’d like to offer help.”
“She need it, you reckon?”
Do I? Had all I saw just been worry and concern about her dog? Nah, my gut is telling me something different, and I’ve done well before to listen to it.
Cad sees my reluctance. He leans forward. “You’re not sure if you’re doing the right thing prying into her business. It can’t hurt. We don’t find anything? No one needs to know we looked.”
But it is a risky step. If I want to pursue a friendship with her, I’ll need to be fucking careful never to reveal I know something about her which she hasn’t told me herself.
But the feeling inside me tells me this could be important. “I want to know, Cad. I don’t know what, but something’s not right, and she doesn’t seem to have many in her corner.”
“Well, let me take a look.” He raises his bottle to his lips, puts it down, and pulls his laptop closer, flexing his fingers as he rests them on the keys. “What do you know about her? Full name would be a good start.”
“Stevie Nichols.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Chapter Twelve
“You know her?” If he does, that would cut the investigation time in half. How does he know her? Suspicions flick through my head. Is she a criminal that he’s read about? But how can a blind woman commit a crime? Computer fraud? Yeah, that would be something Cad would know about.
His head moves to left then right. “Nah, I don’t know her. How old is she?”
“Late twenties, early thirties?” I frown. It’s not something you ask a lady, not when you’ve only just met. Well, not without risking getting your face smacked.
He raises his eyes. “Reckon her parents liked music.”
He’s lost me. My confusion shows.
“Stevie? Stevie Nicks? Sang with Fleetwood Mac? Was inducted into the Hall of Fame with the band in nineteen-ninety-eight, and in her own right as a solo artist in two-thousand-nineteen. She’s a fuckin’ legend. Love her voice.”
He must be a fan to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the bitch.
“Oh, well, never mind. It could just be coincidence. So, Stevie. You reckon she’s a Stephanie?”
“Assume so.”
He leans his head back and closes his eyes. After a moment he looks down. “We know she’s blind, let’s start there. You know what kind of blindness? Was she born that way?”
“Nah. Degenerative disease started back when she was a kid.” It’s my turn for my eyelids to shutter my pupils as I try to recall the conversation in my mind. I’ve got quite good recall for technical details and at last can hear her saying it again. “Something to do with retinal pigment.” Not quite that, but close enough.
A chin jerk, then he starts tapping. “This is going to take me some time, Beef. You want to go do something else while I check?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be around. Give me a shout when you know something.”
“Beef! Wanna game?” Pal yells from the other side of the room and holds up a pool cue.
Indicating yes, I detour via the bar and get a fresh beer.
As the hours pass and Pal and I are joined by Lizard and Thunder, I lose some, win some, par for the course. All of us are about evenly matched, which makes the games interesting. It’s getting late when I realise Cad hasn’t appeared with information. Putting away my cue, I wander over in his direction. I see him sitting, deep in concentration, a phone under one ear as he taps at the keys.
“Hold on a sec,” he says into the phone, then looks at me. “Not proving as easy as I expected. Got some searches running that may take all night. Catch up in the morning?” As soon as I nod, he returns to his call.
I suppose I hadn’t given him much to go on. I don’t know where she moved from, and if she hasn’t been in Pueblo long, maybe she’s not registered anywhere here.
Another couple of beers. A nice chat with Pyro about some of the bikes that he’s worked on, then I go to bed having turned down an offer from Titsy and Breezy, who if I’m not mistaken are offering their services together. I regret once again that rash promise to Sally. As I undress, I wonder if there’s anything strange in not being able to get immediate information about Stevie, but if there’s something I need to know, I’m certain Cad will find it. If he’s not up to it, there’s always Mouse, our computer guy back in Tucson.
Jeannie, Bomber’s old lady, is in the kitchen when I go down the next morning. Violet, Demon’s wife is with her. They seem to be directing the sweet butts whose duties apparently include cooking and serving the men. I take a plate full of a breakfast that looks as good as it smells.
“What are you doing today, Beef?” Thunder asks conversationally. “Prez put you to work?”
“Sorted that out with Pyro yesterday.” I point my fork at the man I’ve named. “Gonna be working in the shop alongside him.”
“Know what you’re doing?”
“Reckon I know the ins and outs of an engine,” I respond, not taking his question as anything other than a polite enquiry.
All of us work. I’m happy to turn my hand to anything and will never turn down a chance to work on a bike. Cages too, though I’m not so keen on them. Especially the modern shit which are more like mobile computers than anything mechanical. Mind you, some of the recent models of bikes are becoming that way too.
“Beef? Prez wants to see you.”
“Just come when you’re ready.” Pyro waves off my apology about being delayed. “Sure Prez’s business takes priority.”
It would in any of our chapters.
When the prez wants to see you, he wants to see you. Swallowing my last piece of bacon and carrying my half-drunk cup of coffee, I head straight for his office. When I enter, I’m surprised to find Cad standing there.
“Beef, sit.” Demon waits until I’ve done so. He notices me looking at Cad, trying to calculate why he’s there. “Don’t know how it works in Tucson, but here? If we think there’s something that might affect the club, or a member, then I want to know about it immediately.”
I’ve only asked Cad to do one thing. “Stevie.”
“Beef, I’m sorry, but…”
“But Cad quite rightly brought it to me.” Demon raises his eyebrow as if daring me to object. I don’t.
But going around my head is a question. How the fuck can a blind woman have anything to do with an MC? I finish my coffee then sit back and fold my arms and raise my eyebrows expectantly.
Cad clears his throat. “Stevie Nichols doesn’t exist.”
I bark a laugh. “She’s not a figment of my fuckin’ imagination, and if you don’t believe me, Pyro and Pal saw her as well. Dan too.”
“I’m not saying the woman isn’t real.” Cad ignores my reaction. “What I’m saying is, whoever she is, that’s not her name.”
Absentmindedly I reach for my cup, see it’s empty—damn, forgot I’d drunk it—and replace it on the desk.
Cad continues, “I looked in every database I could. Called on Mouse, he worked some magic and got that sheikh’s wife, Cara looking into the government databases.”
That makes me grin. Sheikh Nijad is a Dom who doesn’t like his wife using her amazing hacking skills. When she helps Mouse out, he doles out punishment—of the type that apparently does nothing to stop Cara doing what she shouldn’t. Yeah, Mouse has described some of his threats in great detail. But if s
he’s got involved, she’s the best. Whatever Cad has to tell me I can take to the bank.
“And?” I prompt.
“There’s been no registered blind person with that name, with or without a guide dog for the past thirty years. No one on Medicare, in no fuckin’ database. Retinal pigment you told me. Retinitis pigmentosa is the correct term, but we’ve checked databases of registered sufferers to no avail.”
I shake my head. “You can’t have run through everyone with that name…”
“Well, with Cara’s help we investigated everything.”
“Jeez, Cad. You’re saying she’s a ghost?”
“Nah. Think about what I said. For the past thirty years. Found a spanking brand-new identity though. Six months old. Cara could even pin point the person who added the records. And unlike her, they were legit, or someone with legitimate access.”
“Unless your girl was only born six months back, she’s using a fake identity,” Prez puts it simply, slightly annoyed eyes flicking at Cad. “Which is what he should have said in the first place.”
“She’s hiding.” My teeth are gritted.
“Seems to be the case. But it’s the why that concerns me, seeing as you’ve become involved with her. Which brings me back to how you met her and my question then. Was it an accident or deliberate?”
Cad nods. “That question is exactly why I brought it to Prez. She’s hiding. Just might be that she’s been found and the car heading straight for her wasn’t a coincidence.”
Fuck! If Cad’s suspicions are right, she’s in danger. My stomach churns. If that’s true, she’s at a great disadvantage. She can’t even see who’s at her door. Her hearing may not be enough to protect her. She wouldn’t hear the gun a visitor was pointing at her, not until it was too late, and a shot was fired.
Demon’s fingers rap on the desk. “I don’t like this, Beef. Don’t like any woman being hounded, but a woman with a service dog by her side? Can’t see how she could have done anything bad enough to have someone gunning for her.”
Resting my elbows on my knees, I steeple my hands and place my chin on them. “I might only have just met her, but I can read people well, Prez. Have enough experience not letting someone get one over on me.” He meets my eye and nods. There are skills you learn to stay alive when you ride with an MC. I continue to think aloud. “The thought of her doing something criminal is crazy, so my gut feel is she’s not running from the authorities.”
Satan's Devils MC Colorado Boxset 1 Books 1 - 3 Page 81
