CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Ta-da,” Stephan says, gesturing to the open garage door.
I peer into the gloom. Inside I see several old vintage motor bikes and choppers, covered in thick dust and cobwebs. They look like they could have belonged to a g**g of Hells Angels once upon a time. They’ve certainly seen better days.
“And these things work?” I ask, incredulous.
I can’t help thinking that Stephan’s led us on a wild goose chase.
“Oh, they work,” he replies.
He walks into the garage and toward one of the choppers, then retrieves the keys from inside its seat compartment. He twirls the keys around his fingers, showing off. I roll my eyes.
“Hurry up, please,” I say. Stephan’s really testing my patience.
He grins and finally puts a key in the ignition. The bike thrums to life, its engine roarin
