Danny thinks for a moment. "Yeah. I remember because Nash was still drunk when he got to work that morning. This customer kept asking detailed questions and Nash kept having to pass him off to other people because he couldn't focus."
"What did the customer look like?"
Danny's description matches what Tate and Shaw gave me. Older, weathered, leather vest. Same guy. Multiple Brothers remember him, same date, same detailed questions.
But there's no record of him in the system.
Someone with access altered the logs. Someone who knew this customer's visit could be connected to the investigation.
Through the window, Cole's attention finds me again. I catch his gaze, hold it for a moment. He doesn't look away. Doesn't pretend he wasn't watching. Just acknowledges it with the slightest nod before returning to his work. The kind of silent communication that says: I know exactly what you're doing, exactly what you're finding, and I'm allowing it to continue because it serves my purpose. For now.
The awareness between us is building. Undeniable. Inconvenient as hell.
I finish with Danny and move on to Mike. He's the fourth interview, louder than the others, more expressive. Former Marine, infantry based on the stories he casually drops.
As we're settling in, Nash walks past wearing a kutte with an extra patch I haven't seen before. Black background, white wings, dates underneath.
Mike sees me looking. "Memorial patch. Brother we lost in Afghanistan."
His tone shifts, becomes careful. Respectful. The casual ball-busting energy from earlier is completely gone.
"I'm sorry," I say, and mean it.
"We all knew the risks." Mike's voice is quiet. "We wear the patches to keep him riding with us."
The moment sits heavy between us. Then Mike shifts, returns to the present. "You wanted to ask about unusual customers?"
I walk him through the same questions. Mike's answers align with the others, but he adds details from his position at intake. He was the first point of contact for the mysterious customer, the one who initially dealt with the detailed questions about shipping and logistics.
"Guy was smooth," Mike says. "Knew enough about bikes to sound legitimate, but the questions were off. Like he was more interested in our operations than the actual build."
"And this was early October? Day after Nash's birthday?"
"Yeah. I remember because Nash was completely useless that morning. Kept disappearing to throw up in the bathroom." Mike grins slightly. "Had to handle intake by myself most of the day."
I pull up the gun show footage again. "Is this the customer?"
Mike studies the image. "Yeah. That's him."
Every Brother I've interviewed remembers this customer. Same date, same detailed questions. All recall him clearly. But the visitor logs show nothing.
Someone with system access or inside knowledge is covering tracks. The evidence is adding up to a sophisticated operation that requires both external execution and internal compromise.
I finish the interviews and compile my notes. The pattern is clear. Ghost orders created by someone who understands the shop's systems. Security footage with professional blind spots. Visitor logs altered to remove evidence. All pointing to inside knowledge and outside motivation.
Through the shop window, Cole's watching again. He's making no effort to hide it. Our eyes meet and something passes between us. It's recognition, maybe. Acknowledgmentof the awareness building despite every professional reason it shouldn't.
I pack up my equipment, thank the Brothers for their cooperation. Head out to the parking lot where my Triumph sits in the far corner.
I stop.
Both tires are slashed. Deep cuts, professional work. Not random vandalism. Not an opportunity crime.
This is a message.
I pull out my phone, start documenting the scene. Photographs from multiple angles, close-ups of the slash patterns, wide shots showing the parking lot and sight lines. Standard evidence collection, even though I already know this won't lead anywhere.
"Problem?" Cole's voice behind me.
