Road Rash

2. Under Pressure

CHAPTER 2

UNDER PRESSURE

Shea Stevens’s custom 1300cc sport bike blazed up the switchbacks on Sycamore Mountain’s south face. The wind roared in her ears. Yucca, cactus, and brittlebush blurred past her. Each hairpin turn was an exhilarating ballet as she whipped the bike around, leaning so hard in the corners that her foot pegs nearly scraped the pavement.

The August morning heat from the lower desert faded noticeably the higher she rode. By the time she reached the summit and cruised into town, the air was cool, with the promise of autumn just around the corner.

Olde Towne Sycamore Springs was a mile-long strip of businesses that included an antique shop, a pharmacy, a café popular with locals and tourists alike, and Iron Goddess Custom Cycles, Shea’s destination.

She wheeled around back to the employee lot and cut the engine. Stepping inside the service bay, the familiar scent of metal and oil enveloped her like a lover. This was as much her home as the house down at the bottom of the hill. The whine of a pneumatic torque wrench and the sizzle of a welder were a symphony to her ears.

Lakota, the woman welding an oil pan, stopped and lifted her mask. “Morning, boss. Running late today, are we?”

Shea blushed. She and her girlfriend, Toni, had ignored the alarm and enjoyed a little morning lovemaking, taking advantage of the opportunity since Annie, Shea’s niece, was on a sleepover at a friend’s house.

“Slept through the alarm.”

Lakota smirked and pulled a loose strand of her salt and pepper hair behind her ears. “Yeah, right. Can’t fool me. You got some this morning.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Ancient Oglala secret.”

“Uh, huh. Where are we with the Cabello bike?” Shea asked, eager to change the subject.

“Fuel tank, frame, and fenders have been sanded and ready for paint. Fabricating the oil pan now. Gonna be a helluva bike. I think Ms. Cabello will love it when we’re done.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m hoping to have the design for the Jenkins bike by tomorrow. We can go over it then and see if we need to make any structural changes before getting started on the frame.”

Lakota was a mechanical engineer by trade, but a substance a***e problem had sidelined her career many years back.

As ex-cons who had put their criminal pasts behind them, Shea and her business partner Terrance Douglas routinely hired second-chancers, including ex-cons, recovering addicts, and people rebuilding their lives after various traumas.

After Lakota joined the crew back in 2013, she and Shea soon developed a symbiotic working relationship. Lakota’s education and training was a perfect match for Shea’s experience and creativity.

Shea waved at Digger and Kyle, the other mechanics working in the service bay, and continued through to the shop’s office. Terrance sat behind his desk, talking with someone on the phone.

He was a big man with dark skin and a beard. Some people found his appearance intimidating, but Shea knew he was a total softie with a sharp mind for business and marketing.

Terrance made a show of looking at his watch, then up at Shea with a shrug of his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am. Keep me posted if you get any likely candidates. Thanks.”

“Morning.”

“Oh? Is it still morning?”

“Hey, I’m on lesbian time. It’s different from transgender time.”

“Funny. Come up with a design for the Jenkins bike yet? We don’t want to be incurring any late penalties by not meeting deadlines.”

“Absolutely. Just gotta tweak a few things, and I’ll go over it with Lakota. We still need to hire at least one, maybe two more builders. Preferably someone with electrical skills. Ever since Switch moved on…”

“I know. I’m trying. I was just talking with Ms. Jackson at Cortes County Probation and Parole. No likely candidates. Also been checking with the county labor department, the halfway houses, and the women’s shelters in Ironwood and Bradshaw City. And of course, put help wanted ads online, as well as in the Cortes Chronicle, the Arizona Republic, and the Daily Star. There’s a shortage of workers with mechanical experience now.”

“What about that guy down at Goblin’s shop in Ajo? Supposed to be a whiz with all things electrical. Even has experience with bikes.”

“Arturo Fuentes? I’ve seen his resume. The man’s got skills. Believe me, I’d love to hire him. But he’s undocumented. If he can get a green card, I’ll put him on the payroll in a heartbeat. Until then, I can’t risk INS shutting us down.”

“Shit.”

“Also, we should discuss what kind of bike to enter into the competition at Tucson Bike Week.”

“Why? We’ve already got more work than we can handle. And we’ll be getting more business when temperatures cool down in the valley and the seasonal riders start hitting the roads.”

“Our win last year in Bradshaw City gave us a nice boost in sales, but people soon forget. We could use another win.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with.” Shea opened her desktop and stared at the design window of the MotoCAD app.

Despite what she’d told Terrance and Lakota, Shea had no idea what to do for the Jenkins bike. The client was a relatively new rider with more cash than experience. She hadn’t given them much direction as far as what kind of motorcycle she wanted, just something unique.

She flipped through previous designs she’d created, but every approach or style had been done to death, either by her or their competition. Her muse had ghosted her with no forwarding address.

The Flying Tree bike she and Lakota had built the previous year, a powerful electric bike with a reclaimed wood fairing, had been a bold move. It would be hard to top or even match.

Even radical designs needed to be practical with the horsepower and clearance of any mass production bike. A motorcycle without much torque or that couldn’t take tight corners at speed might as well be a metal sculpture in a museum. Or a Harley.

She flipped through magazines and surfed the web for inspiration, ignoring the gnawing emptiness insider her. Her mind kept drifting to her niece, Annie.

Five years earlier, Annie’s parents had been killed, and she’d moved in with Shea. Now the girl was a teenager and evolving from a pre-adolescent tomboy into a feminine young woman. Shea felt rejected and completely out of her depth. Maybe that was a natural side effect of being a parent.

In a few days, Annie would spend a month at Bold Women of Tomorrow, a sleepaway camp for young women who dreamed of becoming entrepreneurs and business executives. It seemed an odd focus for a summer camp, but Annie had begged to go.

Shea had given her approval after making sure the organization running the camp was legit. Still, something about it nagged her. Nothing she could put her finger on. Maybe it was just the thought of going a whole month without seeing her.

Soon, Shea was scrolling social media and feeling more and more depressed. Nothing was coming. No grand ideas. Not so much as a spark of inspiration. Her brain felt like a cotton boll baking in the desert sun. Thoughts kept getting lost.

She jumped when her phone rang, having drifted off to sleep right there at her desk. Caller ID showed Toni was calling. “Hey, babe.”

“You busy, chica?”

“Busy? No, I could use a break.” She shot a glance at Terrance, hoping he wasn’t listening in. But his focus was on his screen. Probably doing accounting or going through resumes. “What’s going on?”

“I may require your assistance with a case.”

Until last year, Toni Rios had been a homicide detective with the Cortes County Sheriff’s Department. After retiring, she began working as a private investigator, often freelancing for a local law firm to find evidence to exonerate their clients.

“You need my help? That’s a first.”

“You know where LezBeans Coffee and Books is, right?”

Memories flashed through her mind. She wasn’t a frequent visitor to the coffee shop in Ironwood’s University District, but she was friends with the woman that owned it.

“Sure. I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“Great. We’ll see you then.”

Shea shook the cobwebs from her mind and pulled on her leather jacket.

Terrance glanced up as she walked to the door. “Heading out somewhere? Not even lunchtime.”

“Gee, Dad, didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

Terrance stared at her blankly but said nothing.

“Sorry, T,” she said. “Just frustrated with trying to brainstorm this Jenkins bike.”

“I thought you were almost done with the design.”

“Still trying to work out a few things. I’ll get it.”

“Then no, you don’t need my permission. I was only curious.”

“Toni called. Needs my help with something.”

“Everything all right?” the concern in Terrance’s voice was genuine.

“I’m sure. Be back after a bit. A little wind therapy might do my creativity some good.”

“You all right?” His expression conveyed more than casual concern. It was the look he gave her when she was getting herself into a dangerous situation. The same look he’d given her when she went after the gangbanger she suspected of robbing their shop. The same look he’d given her when she joined the Athena Sisterhood Motorcycle Club.

“I’m fine. Just meeting my girlfriend for coffee.”

“Okay, then. Give Toni my love.”

“Will do.”