The man had tried to stare me down for several seconds, but I was close enough to public view that he wasn’t going to do anything.
I thought.
“Lane will come back later.”
“Then I’ll wait for him to come back,” I said with a shrug. “What’s your name?”
The man did not answer for several seconds. I’d had plenty of practice with difficult people in law school. I folded my arms, arched an eyebrow, and waited.
“Butch,” he said, not betraying any emotion.
Not that he had to. To most people, to the general population, his sheer size and girth would have deterred more than a few questionable behaviors or really anything that went against his will.
“Butch,” I said. “Angela Sanders, Springsville deputy district attorney. I’m happy to wait until Lane comes back.”
“You may wait some time,” he said.
The sound of motorcycles then filled the air and got louder and louder with each passing second. I turned, waiting for the arrival of some new club members. Maybe they would have better intel or be more willing to speak about Lane’s whereabouts—or even Cole’s. I’d take whatever I could get.
The two bikers rolled in, and though I could not tell by any means if one of them was Lane, I was more than willing to wait to find out.
The one closest to the shop, the one who had come in first, took off his helmet and his sunglasses, and I knew it was him.
Lane Cole.
The man responsible for the death of my best friend.
Rage and anger boiled inside me. I had so many fantasies right now of kicking him in the groin, of stabbing him, of knocking over his bike... anything I could have done to piss him off and ruin him.
And it still would have paled in comparison to losing Shannon.
But I had to remain calm. I was a public official now, and there was no faster way to lose my job and my future than to try and act like an idiot when I didn’t have a warrant or anything of that nature.
“Well, hello there,” Lane said, although I knew he recognized me by the way he looked at me. “How can I help you today, madam?”
“Save the bullshit, Lane, I know it’s fake, and you do too,” I snarled. “My name is Angela Sanders, I’m here to clean up the town as the new deputy district attorney. And part of that includes your little club, given how much of a threat you are, and finding a way to get you arrested.”
Lane’s false demeanor and bravado immediately vanished in favor of the scowl I had so hoped to see. The arrogant prick didn’t deserve to smile, not with Shannon six feet under and him being the one who helped put her there. He didn’t deserve anything other than a life of prison.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, putting his sunglasses back on. “We’re car mechanics who happen to love motorcycles and riding them.”
“And does that explain why all of you have rap sheets longer than an actual rap?” I said, consciously fighting to keep my voice even-keeled.
I almost name-dropped Shannon in there but decided holding the biggest bullet for last was best. If I could somehow uncover something incriminating right now without having to pull that out, then it would work even greater when I first used it in court and got him to react in such a way as to seal his conviction.
Admittedly, it was a long shot, given the number of things that had to go right to get him there. But I certainly hoped for the possibility of it. I hoped for anything that would give my best friend peace.
“I can’t control what my club members do,” he said. “And if I could, I’d still give them the freedom of choice. You know why? Because I’m a good leader, and that’s what good leaders do.”
The idea was so laughable, even the guy who had rode in with him—whom I recognized as Michael Giordano, Patriot, if memory served me right—rolled his eyes.
“Oh yeah, Abe Lincoln and Winston Churchill are looking at you right now with approval,” I said, shaking my head. “Tell me, Lane, if this is just a car shop, why don’t you show me around? Show me your little base of operations.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
All the dark humor, all the dramatic sayings, all of that went out the window. The one question that could have stopped me in my tracks had come up. The Reapers had clearly had experience with the law and knew what they were doing.
“It’s only a matter of time before I get one for something you guys do,” I said, admitting defeat for the moment. “I know how you operate. You think you’re some group of noble outlaws, the gritty antiheroes of Springsville. The good guys with a dash of rebel. But I know what you guys are. You’re just a bunch of crooks who hide behind blue-collar jobs. I’ll give it to you, most people like that work desk jobs and pretend to not know anything. At least with your jackets and your patches and your runs, you make it easy for us.”
