Chapter Twenty-One
Rey and I arrived at the street across from the Staten Motorcycle Club headquarters at the same time. As he stepped out of his city-issued vehicle, I watched a smirk roll across his lips, taking in the motorcycle I’d borrowed.
“That thing sticks out like a hooker in a monastery,” he taunted. Rey wasn’t wrong. The bike was designed for grabbing attention. Inconspicuous it was not.
“Yeah, but it’s a lot more fun than that thing,” I said, indicating the unmarked cruiser that still looked every bit like a cop car. “Faster through traffic, too.”
“Maybe you should join a gang; you already have the bike.”
“Yeah, very funny. Did you dig up anything on Kellerman?”
“Not much. He’s slippery. I tried calling his office, but one of his assistants or lackeys or whatever, told me
