CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Blue—
Bandit, Mauler, and I are on our way back from another gun run. Rio insisted on adding a third guy after what happened last time. He wanted to send four but settled on three. With each guy he adds, my cut gets smaller, which sucks, but having Mauler with us was probably a good idea.
We’re about halfway back to Las Cruces when we stop for gas.
I pull in at the pump behind Bandit, and Mauler takes the one on the other side.
“Hey, we should check out that place one of the new guys was talking about,” Mauler suggests.
“What place?” I unscrew my gas cap and slide in my credit card.
“Supposed to be a top mechanic in Chaparral, and they say he’s a great connection for cheap parts. Place called Crazy Eddie’s. The guy’s name is Notorious… somethin’.”
“Notorious B.I.G.?” I tease.
“Dave. Notorious Dave.” Mauler jams the nozzle in his gas tank. “So, we goin’?”
“Ask lover boy here,” Bandit says with a lift of his chin toward me. “He’s probably got places to be.”
“Shut it, Bandit,” I mutter.
“Lover boy?” Mauler huffs with a grin. “What’s he talkin’ about?”
“Nothing,” I bite out. “Leave it.”
“Is it a woman?” he asks, not leaving it.
“Why does it have to be a woman?” I snap.
“Ain’t it always?” Bandit lifts a brow.
“Just drop it.” I jam the nozzle in my tank and try to ignore them both.
“Women,” Mauler mutters. “They don’t do anything but cause problems.”
“He ain’t wrong,” Bandit replies, staring at me, and I want to wipe the grin off his fucking face with my fist.
“So, are we goin’ to check out this place or not?” Mauler asks, losing interest in my problems.
“Sure, if it isn’t too far out of the way. You know where it is?”
He pulls it up on his phone. “We take Highway 404 east for about ten miles. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Fine,” I finish pumping and hang the nozzle up.
About ten minutes later, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and I almost lay my bike down, swerving to avoid an armadillo.
A couple of miles farther, and Mauler slows up to make a turn into a dusty roadside place that looks more like a trailer house than a store.
Bandit and I roll in behind him.
Climbing from our bikes, I scan the place. There’s not much to indicate it's anything. “You sure this is the place?”
“Yep.” He points to a long metal shed in the back with a
We stroll inside. There’s a glass counter with biker accessories and parts hanging on the wall behind it. There are a couple of metal rows of shelving and an arched opening that leads into another section, like this guy has cut a hole in the wall and connected another shed off the end.
We hear voices and follow.
Two guys are gathered around another man who’s working on a chopper up on a lift. The gas tank is painted like the one in Easy Rider.
“Nice,” Bandit says, and the men turn, startled.
They all stare, taking in our cuts.
“Can I help you boys?” the one with the wrench asks.
Mauler throws out a hip and extends his hand. “Mauler. Saint’s Outlaws. You the one they call Notorious Dave?”
The guy shakes his hand, nodding. “Yes, sir. What brings you boys here?”
“We recently patched over the Desert Dogs. They said you were a decent mechanic.”
“You come all this way for decent?”
Mauler chuckles. “Okay. They said you were fantastic.”
He wipes his hands on a rag. “You need some work done?”
“Nope, but we’ve got a garage in Las Cruces. Always lookin’ for more mechanics, if you’re interested.”
“Las Cruces, huh? Yeah, I heard the Dogs had joined up with your club.” He leads us back toward the counter. “I’m kind of set up here. Not sure about movin’ to Las Cruces.”
I scan items pinned on the bulletin board by the door and spot a familiar face in one of them. The guy is standing with his arm around Dave. “Nice photo.”
“That was my fortieth birthday last year. That’s me and my brother.”
My gaze shifts to Bandit, but I’m not sure he knows.
“You see him often?”
“Nah. Not so much.” He suddenly gets nervous, and I’m wondering how soon after we walk out the door, he’s on the phone makin’ a call.
“Well…” I extend my hand. “Offer still stands if you change your mind.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, taking my hand.
“Blue.”
“Blue. Nice to meet you.”
We exit, and I’m on my bike and firing it up. Bandit looks at me curiously, but I just shake my head. “Not here. Let’s go.”
We head back the way we came, and when we hit the interstate, I pull over.
Bandit and Mauler pull up next to me.
“What the fuck is wrong?” Bandit asks.
“That photo on his wall? That brother of his is a Devil King. I recognize him from the time they shot up Las Cruces and almost killed Rio.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yeah. He’s got a wicked scar along his jaw. It’s him. No doubt.”
“Well, we just found our way to track down those sons-of-bitches,” Mauler says.
“Let’s get out of here. I bet he’s already made a call,” I say.
“Christ,” Bandit mutters, and I drop my bike in gear and hit my throttle, roaring up the on-ramp to the interstate.
We haul ass all the way back to Las Cruces.
Our first stop is the garage, where we find several brothers, but neither Rio nor Zig are there. I make the call, and Prez immediately calls Church.
Next week is Sturgis, and now we’re worried about leaving the clubhouse. They already tried to burn it down once.
For now, Rio doubles up security, having men on watch around the clock at both the clubhouse and the garage. It’s all we can do until we know if they’re back in the state for good or just passing through.