They all stare, taking in our cuts.
“Can I help you boys?” the one with the wrench asks.
Mauler throws out a hip and extends his hand. “Mauler. Saint’s Outlaws. You the one they call Notorious Dave?”
The guy shakes his hand, nodding. “Yes, sir. What brings you boys here?”
“We recently patched over the Desert Dogs. They said you were a decent mechanic.”
“You come all this way for decent?”
Mauler chuckles. “Okay. They said you were fantastic.”
He wipes his hands on a rag. “You need some work done?”
“Nope, but we’ve got a garage in Las Cruces. Always lookin’ for more mechanics, if you’re interested.”
“Las Cruces, huh? Yeah, I heard the Dogs had joined up with your club.” He leads us back toward the counter. “I’m kind of set up here. Not sure about movin’ to Las Cruces.”
I scan items pinned on the bulletin board by the door and spot a familiar face in one of them. The guy is standing with his arm around Dave. “Nice photo.”
“That was my fortieth birthday last year. That’s me and my brother.”
My gaze shifts to Bandit, but I’m not sure he knows.
“You see him often?”
“Nah. Not so much.” He suddenly gets nervous, and I’m wondering how soon after we walk out the door, he’s on the phone makin’ a call.
“Well…” I extend my hand. “Offer still stands if you change your mind.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, taking my hand.
“Blue.”
“Blue. Nice to meet you.”
We exit, and I’m on my bike and firing it up. Bandit looks at me curiously, but I just shake my head. “Not here. Let’s go.”
We head back the way we came, and when we hit the interstate, I pull over.
Bandit and Mauler pull up next to me.
“What the fuck is wrong?” Bandit asks.
“That photo on his wall? That brother of his is a Devil King. I recognize him from the time they shot up Las Cruces and almost killed Rio.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yeah. He’s got a wicked scar along his jaw. It’s him. No doubt.”
“Well, we just found our way to track down those sons-of-bitches,” Mauler says.
“Let’s get out of here. I bet he’s already made a call,” I say.
“Christ,” Bandit mutters, and I drop my bike in gear and hit my throttle, roaring up the on-ramp to the interstate.
We haul ass all the way back to Las Cruces.
