By Sunday morning, I'd scrubbed the paint off the door and boarded up the window.
The letters were still there if you looked close — ghosts of them, black bleeding into the corrugated metal. Mike had said we'd repaint the whole front next weekend. I said we'd do it sooner. I wasn't going to let whoever did this drive past and admire their work.
Mike had taken the news about the vandalism the way he took everything — calm, quiet, and then furious in a way that had nothing to do with his voice. `They came to my shop,'' he'd said. `That's a line.'' He'd already called his landlord, his insurance, and two friends from his old MC days before I'd finished telling him about the note.
The morning was quiet after he left. I'd stayed at Tank's cabin again, and he'd ridden back with me at dawn, un
