“Holy shit. He okay?” Bobby wonders, mid-sip of his beer.
“Yeah, he was inside the smoke shop when it caught fire,” Bull confirms with a raised eyebrow.
“Did someone set it on fire?” Bobby questions. I turn to look at Bull, curious myself. Seems we have done nothing but piss people off here lately; wouldn’t surprise me if that list grew.
“Let’s get over there and check it out,” Bull orders, pushing off the counter. “Tom Cat, drive the truck over there,” he yells at our newest prospect. Let’s just say, our last one, Charlie, didn’t make the cut after he let Dani get kidnapped.
***
We pull up to the smoke shop where Locks buys his tobacco; he rolls his own cigarettes so he’s always here buying supply. When we pull into the parking lot, there are motorcycle parts from one end to the other. Sitting in the middle is what’s left of the bike with dissipating smoke surrounding it. It’s a disaster, and it looks more like it was blown up than caught on fire. You can see a wheel against the store, which was blown from the bike, and I have to weave through the shrapnel pieces everywhere. Just feet from the trashed bike is Locks. He’s sitting down against a light pole which resides in the parking lot, one leg bent while the other is out straight. He looks completely relaxed for someone who just had his pride and joy ripped from their hands.
“That is not a casual bike fire, my friends. That is one hundred percent fuck you,” Bobby laughs.
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Bull shakes his head, throwing his leg over his hog.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, stepping over part of an exhaust pipe.
“I dunno. The damn thing has been leaking fuel, been meaning to get it fixed.” Locks tosses a piece of gravel.
“You leave it running?” Bull asks, surveying the burnt lump of bike.
Locks looks up at Bull. “No, but the engine was hot.”
“Nah, I’m thinking this is a message,” Bobby concludes, kicking at the charred asphalt.
“I agree. Did you piss anyone off?” I wonder.
“No. I haven’t,” Locks snaps, his eyes furrowing with anger in my direction. “However, I have a strong idea someone heard we had the FBI on our ass, and not to mention we let a fucking rat into our club. That may not sit too well with other clubs,” Locks spits as he stands.
Bull looks over at Locks and glares, and I find myself glaring at him, too. I can’t help but feel protective of Dani, and hearing Locks talk shit about her has me furious. Dani is not a threat; she has earned her trust. Apparently not everyone thinks so, though. I can feel my fingers tighten as the urge to plow my fist in Locks’ mouth for talking ill about Dani circulates through them. I’m starting to question his commitment to the brotherhood here lately.
“It’s a warning,” Bobby states, glaring at Locks.
Bobby is right. This was no accident. This was on purpose, and whoever did this sent it as a warning. They’ll be back again, and by surprise.
We hear sirens sound close behind us, and turning we find a black and white cop car parked feet away. I didn’t even hear the damn thing pull up; fuckers are sneaky.
“Shit,” Bobby mutters.
“Well, hello, boys.”
Skeeter slams the door shut to the cop car and places his hand on his holster. He’s got short, black hair which always looks like he put way too much shit in it, and a stupid-ass mustache over his top lip. He’s tall and really fast. I know because I’ve had to run from him a couple times. Cops are a shady breed, but when you get a dirty cop, it goes darker than a shade.
Skeeter used to be in our pockets about a year back, but he got greedy. His price of pay-off got ridiculous, and on top of that, he started asking for a percent of our sales. I offered to take the fucker off the grid, but Bull said it was bad for business. Instead, we moved all our merchandise and stayed clean from any illegal running for a few months. When Skeeter learned we weren’t taking to his demands, he did exactly what we thought he would do, he cried to his cop buddies. Told them we were running guns and dealing drugs and he knew exactly where it all was being held. After a search warrant turned up nothing, Skeeter lost connections in the law enforcement and unfortunately, it put us on his shit list.
“What do we have here?” Skeeter asks, eyeing the scene.
Another cop exits the passenger side of the cruiser. He’s bald, pale and freckled and looks young and frightened by the sight of a bunch of bikers gathered together.
“Gas leak, it’s handled,” Bull states, stepping in front of Skeeter.
“It will be handled when I say it’s handled. Now, step aside,” Skeeter orders arrogantly as he points for Bull to step away as he turns back to the cop-in-training. “Officer Manny, keep an eye on this one.”
“You guys multiply like cockroaches,” Bobby jokes, making me laugh.
Skeeter whips his head in Bobby’s direction. “Watch it, boy.”
Bobby huffs and crosses his arms.