When we finish and return to the bike, Shaw is quiet. Processing information, building connections. I swing my leg over and settle behind him without being asked, already anticipating the route to our next stop.
Beth's tattoo shop is twenty minutes south, situated in a newer commercial development that still smells of fresh paint and possibility. Modern storefront, gleaming with new construction. She's sitting beside her tattoo station when we enter, recognition and wariness crossing her face.
"Need to talk about before the fire," Shaw says. "About anyone who approached you with business proposals."
Beth glances at customers, then gestures toward the back. "Five minutes, then we can talk in the office."
When she leads us to her office and closes the door, I take the lead. "Before your original shop burned, did anyone approach you about partnership opportunities?"
"Yes." Beth doesn't hesitate. "A few weeks before the fire. A man came in claiming he represented investors interested in expanding tattoo operations along the coast."
"What did he offer?"
"Partnership stake in exchange for capital investment. Said they'd provide funding for expansion, bringing in new andtalented artists, and the like." Beth's expression tightens. "Made it sound professional. But something felt off."
"What felt off?" Shaw asks.
"The way he talked about protection. About making sure my business succeeded despite competition. About connections that would help me navigate the local business environment." Beth meets Shaw's eyes. "He implied Brotherhood connections without saying it explicitly."
"What did you do?"
"I told my boyfriend—Danny, he's a member of the Brotherhood. He said nobody in the club was approaching businesses with investment offers." Beth's jaw sets. "So I refused. Told the guy I wasn't interested."
"How did he respond?"
"Got aggressive. Not physically threatening, but verbally intimidating. Said I was making a mistake, that refusing meant missing out on protection that would ensure my business survived." Beth's hands curl into fists. "He made it sound like bad things might happen to unprotected businesses."
Classic protection racket language.
"A few weeks later, my shop burned," Beth says quietly.
"But you rebuilt," I observe.
"Insurance payout gave me capital I wouldn't have had otherwise." Beth looks at me directly. "Which I know looks suspicious from an insurance investigator's perspective. But I didn't burn down my own shop. The fire destroyed more than physical infrastructure—it destroyed community connection, forced me to start over where I had to rebuild recognition and loyalty from scratch."
The emotion sounds genuine. Either she's telling the truth or she's exceptionally skilled at lying.
"Did he give you contact information?" I ask.
"Business card. I kept it, actually." Beth retrieves a card from her desk drawer. "Thought about giving it to police after the fire, but wasn't sure it was connected."
Shaw examines the card, then shows it to me. Generic design, company name: "Coastal Investment Partners." Nothing distinctive.
"Can I keep this?" Shaw asks.
"Please. If it helps figure out who's doing this."
Danny's machine shop is another forty-minute ride north, back through town and into an industrial area where metal buildings hunker against the wind. The pattern repeats itself like a broken record—partnership offer, implied connections, aggressive pushback when Danny consulted with Will, then a fire. By the time we pull up to the burned-out shell of what used to be The Anchor restaurant, I already know what Mike's going to tell us.
Mike confirms it with weary resignation in his voice. Partnership approach, implied connections, aggressive response, arson.
Each interview takes roughly an hour. Shaw knows how to interview without it feeling like interrogation, and his presence gets people talking. Between locations, we ride in silence, both processing and analyzing.
By the time Shaw pulls the Harley to a stop outside Ironside Customs, the sun is setting. Four interviews. Four identical stories. Partnership approaches, implied Brotherhood connections, aggressive responses to rejection, then fires.
Shaw kills the engine and I climb off, muscles sore from hours on the bike. He swings off and removes his helmet, studying me with intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
"Someone is using the Brotherhood as cover," I say. "Creating a pattern that points toward your organization while they operate with impunity."
