Chapter SIX
MITCH HADleft his Harley-Davidson Sportster at Cummings Motorcycles when he was there on Friday and Ubered it home. The bike didn’t have any problems he was aware of, and Mitch maintained it religiously, but he didn’t think it would raise any suspicions when they found nothing wrong—he’d just look like an enthusiast with a passion for his ride. He’d received the call a shortwhile before to let him know the bike was ready to be collected, which was why he was striding back into the workshop on the Monday after he was last there. He crossed his fingers that Rocky and Pete would be somewhere around the workshop and not in the offices so he could “accidentally” bump into them and make the whole endeavor worthwhile. Otherwise he’d just had his bike serviced for nothing.Although on the positive side, it wasn’t he who ultimately had to foot the bill.
From the looks of things, it appeared the same people were on the premises. CMC employed six mechanics, plus the guy who ran the place. Background checks showed none of them had serious convictions, although most were assumed to be associated with the club. Antibikie legislation made consorting with criminals illegal,so clubhouses were a thing of the past, and Rocky was no doubt careful and worked around the laws.
A young woman looked up as Mitch poked his head around the open office doorway. Her auburn curls bounced as she tucked an errant lock behind her ear and gave him the once-over. He blushed under the obviously appreciative gaze.
“Well, hello there.” She leaned forward as he stepped into the office,her ample breasts almost spilling from the low neck of her singlet top as she crossed her arms in front of her and rested her elbows on the desk. Her arms were covered in ink, and a multitude of silver bangles circled each wrist. Large kohl-circled eyes peered at him with interest.
“Hi. Mitch Nielsen,” he said, using the different surname the team had agreed on as part of his cover. He stuckwith Mitch in case Peter had a chance to say his name. “I got a call to say my bike was ready to be picked up.”
“Oh.” She sighed and looked disappointed at his businesslike approach and lack of interest. Too late, he thought maybe he should have engaged her in conversation, even if he hated the idea of responding to her flirting. Who knew what information he might have been able to glean? “Holdon, and I’ll check the paperwork.”
She swiveled in the desk chair and faced the computer screen. She tapped a fast rhythm with her bright red fingernails, accompanied by the clanging of bracelets, as she looked up what was obviously his account. A couple of clicks later, and the printer on the sideboard against the far wall started to whir. She pushed her chair back, rose from the desk, and strodeover to retrieve his invoice.
She thrust the paperwork into his hands. “You might want to check it.”
She perched her backside on the edge of the desk, long legs encased in skintight denim stretched out in front of her. He glanced at her briefly before running through the itemized invoice. Nothing out of place, just a list of labor costs, parts, and consumables used in the servicing of the bike.
He looked back at the redhead. “It looks fine.”
“Fabulous. How would you like to pay?”
“Is cash okay?”
She smiled, and Mitch had no doubt cash would always be the preferred method of payment in Rocky’s business. Mitch pulled his wallet from his back pocket and made a show of counting out the money. The whole encounter was going way too smoothly, and at this rate, he’d be out the door not evenfive minutes after he entered it. He passed over the cash.
The phone rang.
“Hold on a sec, will you? I need to get this.” Instead of walking around, she leaned over the desk and grabbed the receiver. Mitch nearly rolled his eyes as she flaunted her arse at him, going as far as looking back over her shoulder to make sure she had his attention.
“What the fuck’s going on here?”
Mitch stiffenedbut stopped himself from turning around. He’d stay cool and wait for Rocky to enter the room.
The girl hung up the phone. “Oh, hey, Rocky.” She pecked him on the cheek when he reached her side, and Rocky wrapped his arm protectively around her waist. “I was just taking care of this guy. He’s just had his bike serviced.” She smiled at Mitch. “Give me a minute, and I’ll get your change and fixyou up with a receipt.”
Mitch nodded as she freed herself from Rocky’s grip and walked back around to the other side of the desk.
Rocky glared for a moment before relaxing.
“You haven’t been in before.”
“No. I’ve been seeing a mechanic across town. He’s let me down a couple of times, and I’d heard good things about this place, so thought I’d give you guys a try.”
Rocky beamed under the praise,but a hint of distrust still rested in his eyes. “What ya riding?”
“A 2013 Sportster.”
Rocky nodded but didn’t say anything. Mitch wasn’t sure if his choice of ride wasn’t up to par or whether the guy just wasn’t talkative.
“Here ya go.” The girl passed over a twenty, which Mitch put in his wallet, and a printed receipt he folded and shoved in his pocket.
“I’ll show you where the bike is,”Rocky said.
Mitch thanked the girl and followed Rocky out into the workshop. Tinny rock music blasted from an old stereo system on a bench—no Bluetooth speakers connected to smartphones, just raw music being played from old CDs. A quick glance around showed the same guys in overalls he’d already seen, and a sense of disappointment came with it.Damn!
“Hey, Rocky.” The high-pitched voice cutacross the loud music. Both he and Rocky stopped and turned around. The redheaded office girl yelled across the space, “Pete just called. He said to let you know he’ll be over in five. He got held up on a phone call.”
