CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RILEY
The bookstore conversation with Finn is still fresh in my mind as Chase and I meet with the PR firm at the garage. My primary responsibility is to Chase and the business, but that’s no reason to act like an ass and dismiss everyone else’s concerns.
I’ve been defensive on behalf of the mechanics, and probably because of my own sob story, too. Just wish I had realized that before things spiraled out of control.
“Unfortunately,” says Sloan, the head of the firm, “the chance to fly under the radar has passed. That’s why we’ve put together an aggressive campaign to counter-message the bad rep you’re developing.”
Zeke, her partner, nods in agreement as he hands Chase and me each a binder. We’re huddled together in the office at the back of the garage, the mechanics clanging and banging away at their jobs up front.
“We’re suggesting a strategy on several fronts,” Zeke says. “Local news. Customer relations. Social media.”
I flip through the pages, already hating this.
Chase frowns, too. “Is this really necessary?” he asks. “We’re bikers. For the most part, that means we prefer to be left alone.”
Both Zeke and Sloan turn their eyes up front. Through the window, we see the protest still gathered on the street. There’s a guy in hot pink overalls handing out papers that describe the negative impact we’re having on the local community.
“You might prefer to be left alone,” Sloan says, “but if your bottom line is already taking a hit, you can’t afford to hide. Frankly, there’s an economic crunch in the neighborhood, and on top of contributing to that stress, you’re a loud, convenient place for anxiety to coalesce. This isn’t going away.”
“Think of it this way,” Zeke tries. “You’re not just playing defense. You’re taking advantage of this opportunity to define the garage. It’s a chance to announce your brand.”
Chase rubs his forehead. “Branding. Never was too good at that part of running a business.”
I frown at the notes. I’m as reluctant as Chase is to go on a publicity blitz, but I know the professionals are right.
“If we don’t do anything,” I say, “our brand is going to beloud assholes.”
Zeke chuckles, but when he sees the look on my face, stops smiling.
“The good news is that you’ve got plenty of material to work with,” Sloan says. “I’m already familiar with the community work that the biker organizations have done over the years, fundraisers and rallies that directly support gayborhood causes.”
Zeke nods. “But we still need more from you. We need to get at the emotional heart of your garage. The soul.”
“Cleaning carburetors and replacing tension belts?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” Sloan replies. “Why’d you open the garage in the first place? What are the passions behind this business?”
“Cleaning carburetors is a passion,” I mutter.
Chase glances out to the garage, where the mechanics are all trying to stay busy despite the steadily decreasing workload.
“A lot of bikers have had rough lives,” he says finally. “They’re tough people who don’t always fit in with the rest of society easily. They need that sense of freedom that you can find on the open road.”
“We’re often outcasts,” I agree. “But the bikes give people a way to relate.”
Sloan nods. “That’s it,” she says. “Perfect.”
Zeke jots down a few notes. “Ask around with your mechanics and some of your regulars. Find people who are willing to share their stories. Our social media team will package it up, and we’ll plan some events to drive the message home. Maybe a major fundraiser for a community org?”
“Pride is coming up,” Sloan adds. “Got any plans?”
“We were considering a party at the garage,” Chase says. “Although I’d decided, with all the protest lines, that now wasn’t the right time for that.”
“On the contrary,” Zeke says. “Now is the perfect time.”
Sloan nods. “And the community scavenger hunt is this Sunday. Maybe you could put a team together.”
