“Were they wearin’ any cuts or colors, Raven?” I ask.
“Nope, just regular street clothes I guess you could say.”
I hear a rustle in the background, then Smoke’s voice joins hers. “I’m here.”
“So anyway,” Raven continues. “I thought it was weird that I heard a bike rumbling outside, but when I looked out the front window and saw six, I just had this bad feeling.”
“We’ve had a few nice-ish weather days recently, but it’s still too damn cold to be out riding,” Hammer speaks up for the first time.
“They were wearing leather jackets, sweatshirts or flannels, jeans, and riding boots. A couple had beanies on.”
“So either they’re not an organized club—”
“Or they are trying to hide who they really are,” Smoke finishes my thought.
“They wanted to know what club I was affiliated with, not like they couldn’t tell by the patches. Then they asked why I was property of two guys instead of just one. I gave vague answers, but I could tell they wanted to ask more. I pretended to be leaving so I told them to have a seat and a waitress would be right with them. I went into the stockroom and watched them from the small window in the door. They sat at a table near the front, each ordered only one beer, chugged them down like they were water, handed a crumpled wad of cash to Cinnamon, and walked out not ten minutes after they walked in.”
I grab my cell phone off the table and call Cypher, our club tech guru.
“Hey,” he sounds half asleep.
“I need you down in my office. Bring whatever gadget you need to pull and show me security footage from The Lodge.”
“Be right down.” This time he sounded wide awake.
“Raven and I are gonna head back to the clubhouse,” Smoke speaks up again. “Brewer is here too, so we won’t be riding alone.”
“Please be safe,” Haze says before taking the call off speaker and mumbling something to them privately and too quiet for the rest of us to understand.
The door opens again, this time as Cypher comes in and shuts it behind him. “What do you wanna see?”
Haze relays the information that Raven gave him.
Cypher’s fingers fly across his keyboard for a few seconds, then he flips the tablet around so the rest of us can see. It’s just like she described. These guys were in and out quicker than any other customers we have ever had. Normally people come to have a meal, or relax with a few drinks, but they were not there for happy hour.
“They definitely were scooping the place out,” Hammer says what we’re all thinking.
Steel scoots forward and points at the screen. “Can you zoom in on the guy in the red and black flannel?”
Cypher clicks a few buttons and the guy’s face is frozen then enlarged.
“Fuck,” Steel mutters as he pulls his phone from the inside pocket of his cut. “I know that asshole but can’t remember his name.”
“Know him from where?” I ask.
“Prison,” he replies. “Yo, Ray. Are you near the clubhouse? Okay. Meet me in Whiskey’s office.”
As we wait for Ray, Cypher clicks at the keys a few more times, pulling up the clearest still image he can grab of each of the six guy’s faces. As soon as Ray knocks and walks in, he has all the faces lined up on the screen in two rows of three.
“Well there’s a face that would make any momma cry,” Ray says as soon as he looks at the tablet.
“You remember his name?” Steel questions.
“I don’t think I could ever forget that whiny asshole.” He cracks his knuckles and points at the screen. “His name is DrakeSanders. He’s right about our ages, early thirties maybe. He was in the cell between us for a good six months. Talked some mad shit about his buddies back home, but I don’t know where he is from or if they were actually into anything illegal.”
“Did he have any club affiliations you knew of?”
“I don’t think so,” Ray shakes his head.
