“Stolen vest? How about that and the bike?”
“Oh, the bike is mine. I switched plates yesterday out at the truck stop. I’ll put my Illinois plate back on before I leave for home.”
Cherry blew a short raspberry. “Well, about that. I’m going to have some bad news here in a bit. We’re still looking for detonators.”
“There aren’t any. You won’t find any on the bike.”
“Well, that’s what you say. We’re still gonna verify. I’m a don’t trust and always verify kinda guy.”
“What are they doing to Miss Maple?” Kastle glared at Cherry. “Tell me you aren’t doing anything foolish.”
“Man, you rode into my territory, set foot on my fucking compound, and you want to try and school me on what should and should not be done? You’re full of shit.” His phone buzzed and he grinned. “Fucking excellent timing.” Cherry pulled his phone out and unlocked it, flipping to the message app the club used. “Oh, damn.” Fairings, handlebars, seat, and saddlebags had all been removed from the body of the bike. He knew the men would take significant care of the bike, but seeing it partially disassembled would be a gut punch to Kastle.
“Show me.” Kastle glared at Cherry.
“Nuh uh. You do not dictate any-fucking-thing. This here?” He flashed the screen at the man and pulled it away immediately. “Is not a leverage point for you.” He pulled out a chair from the wall and settled down in front of Kastle. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Tell me again where you got that C4 from? I think I’ve heard two different stories, and I want to get it right.”
“And you’ll show me Miss Maple?” Cherry watched as Kastle appeared to deflate, shoulders dropping. “Okay.”
He laughed hard, throwing one hand out wide. “Jesus, can you be a little more theatrical? I think if I put in the effort on convincing you I was a drunkard you’d at least put some try into it.” Cherry struck a pose, elbow on his knee. “Oh, Horatio, I knew you well.”
“The line is ‘Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well’.” Kastle looked down at his chest, still duct taped to the chair. “I’m not a threat here, Cherry. You’ve got every upper hand. I mean, you even know shit I don’t tell anyone. Any chance of me getting a rest from the restraints sometime soon?”
Cherry laughed again. “Fuck no. I do not trust you as far as I could throw you. You’ve got a story for everything and a reason for none of it. I get what you did to the ASMC asshole. That entire club is a stain on the bayou. Trimming the fat won’t upset me none.” He leaned back in the chair. “If your path never crossed mine I’d be cheering you on. But you didn’t roll that way. You came directly into my territory, and I’m like a pissed-off pitty when I defend my stand.”
“C4 was stolen from a Navy yard in state. I’m not sure where. I really did snag it from a pickup point. The detonators were at a different location, one I never got to. I had word about the asshole who sold my little girl tainted drugs, and got her dead. So I bailed on the other job, and now I’m here. Can I see the picture of Miss Maple?”
Cherry considered. Keeping Kastle in the dark about the bike didn’t further his goal of understanding why the man was here. He stood and flicked to the first image, of the bike up on a rack with parts staged around her. He showed the picture to Kastle and watched as anger rolled over his face and then was tucked away. The longer he looked at the picture the less angry he seemed.
“Half those parts aren’t from Miss Maple. They’re treating her with respect, even as they strip her down.” Kastle shrugged. “I appreciate the care, man. She’s been a good bike.”
“They’ll be able to put her back together, if they get the word from me.” Cherry reclaimed his seat, legs sprawled out in front of him. “I’m still waiting for truth from you.”
“I don’t have any reason to harm anyone in an IMC vest. Or those protected by the IMC. I heard a relative of mine might be here, was going to surprise him. I vastly underestimated the security, and I’d honestly forgotten about the C4. It doesn’t sweat, and as long as no form of detonator came in contact with it, I was safe as if it was a bag full of apples.”
“Who? Give me a name.”
“Nathan Hadley. Nate.” Kastle shrugged one shoulder. “Cousin I haven’t seen in forever.”
“Nate Hadley is your cousin. You know I can run that line up the flagpole with a single shout. Is that your final answer?”
“Yeah, lock it in. Nate is in IMC.”
Cherry leaned forwards and took a flash picture of Kastle’s face. “Wonder if he’ll recognize you with the warpaint.” He texted the image to Busk and Ruger, and then to Salty with a request he show it to Sir Loin. He stared at Kastle, who was staring at his phone. In less than a minute, the device buzzed with an incoming message. “Well, well, let’s see what he has to say.” Cherry made a production of unlocking the phone and navigating to messages. “Huh. Seems you have told one truth this day.” He leaned back, throwing an elbow over the seat beside him. “I’m not hearing truth with the other parts of your story, though. Gonna have to convince me.” He gestured towards Kastle. “You may begin.”
“Fuck, you are a hard nut to crack. Is it the Navy part that’s chapped your jarhead ass? We can’t all be excellent, you’re punching above weight, I think. Nate gave affirmative feedback that I was known to him. Did he give me a bad review? Shit. Is he still pissed about Tanya Greenwood? That was way back in our senior year. Get over yourself already, Nate.” Kastle stared at Cherry. “That’s not the name you prefer for him, is it? He’s got a club name, no doubt. That I don’t know, and it saddens me to no end.” He slouched slightly, pulling both shoulders towards his chin.
“Will you stop trying to loosen the fucking tape? You aren’t getting out of that mess without losing some hair and probably skin. Stop wiggling.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Fucking can. Do. Stop wiggling.”
“Okay. So the C4, you can check it, the Navy has the serial numbers posted on internal boards.” Kastle paused and looked sideways at Cherry. “I’m assuming you can get at that info.”
“Will not confirm nor deny.” Cherry thumbed a short message to Salty.
Cherry: *Get info from Ricky*
