I turned back to my computer and threw myself into more research. It wasn’t easy to find anything. It wasn’t like biker clubs had websites or got mentioned in the news all the time, but the internet was a vast place and the mentions were there.
Las Balas was another club in La Playa. And they were trouble. All the things that had been missing when I was scouring the internet for details on Outlaw Souls were present. Las Balas were mentioned in a few police reports for assault and battery. Some neighborhood watch blogs mentioned them hanging around, possibly dealing drugs.
As far as I could tell, they were a smaller and newer club. Outlaw Souls were more established in the area, which was why Zoe and Hector’s parents had fixated on their name. They had heard them mentioned more and made assumptions. That was my best guess anyway.
I stood up and began pacing around the room. Las Balas. I had to find them. I had to finish this case as soon as I could. I wasn’t naive enough to think that if I took down Las Balas then Pin would take me back. What I had done was unforgivable. He had made that perfectly clear.
I wasn’t going to get Pin back, but I could solve this case. I could at least redeem the Outlaw Souls’ reputation. And get Zoe and Hector back home.
I was buzzing with adrenaline. I had to keep moving. My mind whirred through ways to get in touch with Las Balas. At last, I decided to not overcomplicate it. One of the comments on a Reddit thread mentioned that Las Balas liked to hang out at a bar called Fisherman’s Wharf (which was strange because it was nowhere near the beach). I mapped out a route and started to plan.
I didn’t have to do anything stupid, but I needed to do something. If I just popped over to that bar, grabbed a drink and made some observations, I would be much farther along than I had been this morning.
It was a public place, after all. I was a smart girl, I could handle this. Besides, there was nothing to be gained by waiting. Tomorrow, the situation would be exactly the same.
I raced around my apartment, grabbing supplies and clothes while I dialed Veronica’s number.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I’m doing some recon tonight,” I said. “A place called the Fisherman’s Wharf, just to see if I can get eyes on bikers for the missing teens case.”
“The ones you were with last night?” Veronica asked.
We always kept each other appraised of the general details in our cases. It was good to have someone in the know. “No, it’s a different club. Las Balas.”
I heard clacking on the other end. Veronica was on her computer.
“Ok, I see it on the map,” Veronica said. “Sketchy area.”
“I know, I’m a big girl,” I said.
“Don’t need to remind me,” Veronica said. “Just be careful and stay in contact. If you don’t text for a while, you know I’ll call out the hounds.”
“Of course,” I said.
After we hung up, I prepared for my role for the night. I pulled on an itty-bitty black leather mini-skirt and a low-cut camisole blouse. Then I decided on a long black blazer. It was a little formal, but it had deep pockets so my mace could be easily accessed. Besides, I wasn’t going for the total bimbo look. I couldn’t really pull that off, so I wanted to just look like an inebriated secretary who was looking for some thrills to spice up her drab life.
It’s hard to fake drug addiction, so I wasn’t even going to try. And I definitely wasn’t going to stroll into the bar and ask for some heroin because that was about the same as screaming that you were an undercover cop.
I spent more time than usual on my makeup. I didn’t usually wear a lot, but makeup could serve as good armor. A good amount of shimmery eyeshadow and dark eyeliner can go a long way towards masking expressions. Not to mention that red lipstick is a killer distraction. I didn’t do anything attention-grabbing, just enough to hide behind.
I finished the look with some high-heeled boots. Not great for running, but I had no intention of needing to run tonight. I threw my notebook, an extra bottle of pepper spray, and a taser into my purse. I grabbed my phone and fiddled with it. I had the strangest urge to text Pin.
I would never expect a response, but I wanted to tell him what I was doing. I wanted him to know that I was at least trying to make things right. That now knew it was Las Balas. I had at least been a good enough PI to figure that out.
I also wanted him to know where I was. It was stupid, but I felt like I would be safer if Pin was aware of my movements. Like he cared.
But he didn’t. Yesterday, he would have wanted to know. Hell, yesterday, he might have gone with me. Today, I could walk straight into hell, and he would probably cheer.
I shoved my phone into my bag. Veronica knew where I was going, and she would have my back. I didn’t need Pin.
An hour later, I pulled into the lot of Fisherman’s Wharf. I had stopped on the way to eat a quick meal from McDonald’s in my car. I wasn’t going to go into this on an empty stomach.
My heart started racing when I saw a row of bikes parked in the lot. This was it. I knew in my gut that I was going to find something in there. It might not be Zoe or Hector, but there was going to be some sign that I was on the right track.
I touched up my lipstick in my mirror before pulling my smaller handbag (wallet, phone, and taser inside) over my head. I touched my pocket again for my mace. I wasn’t going to use it. I was going to walk in, order a drink, look around, maybe flirt with a guy, then hightail it out of there.
I knew Fisherman’s Wharf was a whole other level of sketch as soon as I walked through the door. The bartender was a dead giveaway. At Blue Dog Saloon, the barkeep had been grimy, perhaps a bit grouchy, but he had been upfront and focused on his business. The bartender at Fisherman’s Wharf took one look at me and gave me a lecherous smirk.
