Snitch

Chapter 1-2

Twenty miles to the south, in the town of Sycamore Springs, Shea Stevens and three of her employees at Iron Goddess Custom Cycles were rushing to finish the one-off bagger. It was nearly midnight. The new owner was scheduled to pick it up in the morning.

The scarred-over gunshot wound on Shea’s lower back burned as she tightened the leads on the motorcycle battery. The ache in her recently healed collarbone wasn’t helping either.

Three months earlier, two sheriff’s deputies had attempted to silence her after she learned they were running a h****n-trafficking ring. Sergeant Willie Foster had run her bike off the road with his car, breaking her collarbone. After she killed Foster with a shot to the head, his cohort, Detective Edelman, had put a bullet in her back. Had it not been for Edelman’s assigned partner Detective Rios, Shea would have been dead.

But Shea didn’t have time to worry about old wounds. If they didn’t deliver the bike on time, the shop would incur expensive penalties. Shea didn’t care so much, but Terrance Douglas, her business partner, would have a s**t fit if they missed the deadline.

“Okay, folks, let’s bring this baby to life.” Shea inserted the key and pressed the starter button.

The engine went rurr-rurr-rurr, but didn’t catch. A series of frustrated glances passed between Shea and her crew. She tried again, holding the starter a few seconds longer. It refused to turn over.

“We did put gas in the tank, right?” Shea asked.

Lakota, an Oglala Sioux woman who served as the shop’s mechanical engineer, inspected the bike. “Full tank. Battery’s fully charged. Oil pan’s filled. Air intake looks fine. It should start.”

“Maybe it’s the wiring,” suggested Kyle Flores, Shea’s newest hire. Despite being just under four feet tall, he still managed to ride a standard-size motorcycle and had turned out to be a decent motorcycle mechanic.

Switch, the shop’s electronics specialist, stared at the bike. “It’s not the wiring,” she said firmly.

“If we got air and we got fuel, problem’s gotta be electrical.” Shea rubbed the scar on her back. “No offense, Switch, but I think something’s miswired”

“I didn’t miswire it. I did everything right. I always do everything right.”

Shea caught a cautionary look from Lakota that said, Don’t set her off.

Outside the closed garage bay doors, the throaty growl of a Harley from the back parking lot caught everyone’s attention. A moment later someone pounded on the back door with such force it made everyone jump.

“Who could that be?” asked Lakota.

“I’ll deal with this bozo.” Shea grabbed a large dead-blow hammer and marched toward the door. “Y’all figure out why this bike won’t start.”

Whoever was knocking was probably not someone she wanted to talk to. A tweaker looking to rob the place. A cop looking for her or one of her team of second-chancers. An ex-girlfriend making a late-night booty call.

“We ain’t open yet,” Shea yelled through the closed door. “Come back at eight.”

More pounding followed by a familiar voice. “Shea-Shea? Open up. It’s Monster.” He sounded drunk.

Anger rippled up her back and into her fists. Like I ain’t got enough s**t to deal with.

Shea kicked open the door, nearly knocking the heavyset biker off his feet. “What the hell you doing here? It’s late and I’m busy.”

Monster sported a halo of snowy hair and longish slush-colored beard tied with a rubber band. His leather vest, known as a cut, identified him as a member of the Confederate Thunder Motorcycle Club. “Easy, girl. Saw the lights on. I left you messages, but you never called back.”

“I ain’t got nothing to say to you, old man.”

“Now, Shea . . .” Monster reached out to put a hand on Shea’s shoulder, but Shea backed away, warding him off with the hammer.

“Keep your f*****g paws off me. I don’t want nothing to do with you or the Thunder ever again. You got me?”

“Shea, darling, I just wanna see my grandbaby.”

“Annie ain’t your grandbaby.”

“Like hell she ain’t. I raised your sister Wendy since she was seven years old. I was there when she gave birth to Annie. I’m the closest thing to a grandpa Annie knows.”

“Wendy’s dead because of her involvement with the Thunder. I ain’t gonna let that happen to Annie.”

“Aw, that’s horseshit and you know it. That no-good cop’s the one shot Wendy. She’d still be alive if you two had stayed at the clubhouse like y’alls supposed to.”

Shea swung at him but he caught the hammer and pulled her close.

“Wendy’s dead cause the Thunder are the biggest crank dealers in the county,” she said. “I’m the one who rescued Annie from the kidnapper. I’m her guardian now. And I say you ain’t getting nowhere near her.”

“Shea, I know you’re angry. Hell, I’m angry, too. It can’t be easy raising Annie by yourself. I’m here ’cause Julia and me wanna help.”

“Me and my girlfriend are doing just fine without you.”

“The girl needs a father figure in her life. She ain’t getting it having two mommies.”

“Get the f**k outta here, Monster, ’fore I call the cops.”

“Shea, please. Julia cries every night she don’t see Annie. We lost Wendy. Least you could do is let us see our grandbaby.”

Shea studied Monster’s face. “As long as you’re a member of that d**g-dealing, murderous band of misogynists you call a motorcycle club, you and Julia ain’t stepping anywhere near Annie.”

Monster scoffed. “You been hanging around them femi-Nazis in the Athena Sisterhood?”

The Athena Sisterhood was a women’s motorcycle club that frequently staged protests and rallies for feminist causes. There were rumors that the local chapter had firebombed a state senator’s office and a strip club. Shea had avoided because the chapter was run by an ex-girlfriend of hers.

“None of your business who I hang with.”

Monster’s face changed from pleading to threatening. “You best stay clear of them Barbie bikers, if’n you know what’s good for ya.”

“Tell me, old man. Is the Thunder still using the old stash house to store drugs and guns? Be a shame if the cops busted the place.”

His eyes narrowed. “Shea, talk like that could get you hurt. Your daddy mighta been the Thunder president once upon a time, but that won’t protect you if you go snitchin’.”

“This conversation’s over.” Shea tried again to close the door, but Monster stopped it with his boot.

“I’m gonna see my grandbaby, Shea. Ain’t no reason to be stubborn about it.”

She smashed Monster’s boot with the dead-blow hammer. He fell back cursing and holding his foot.

“Stay away from my family, or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.” She slammed the door and locked it.

Monster pounded on the door. “This ain’t over,” he yelled in a strained voice. A moment later the roar of his bike filled the air, then faded into the night.

Shea trudged back to her crew and their work in progress. Kyle and Lakota were staring at her. Switch had unbolted the tank and propped it out of the way as she worked with the bike’s ignition system.

“You okay, Shea?” asked Lakota.

“Just peachy. What’s the story with the bike?”

“Spark plugs were bad out of the box. Switch is replacing them now.” Lakota leaned close to Shea. “Who was that guy?”

“A member of the Confederate Thunder I used to know.”

“Should we be worried? Last time they showed up here, they shot up the place.”

“Nah,” Shea said, hoping to convince herself as much as anyone.