Burnt Rubber: Adults Only Motorcycle Club Romance: Roadrunners MC (4 page)

“She’ll be in a bar called the High Wire at eleven o’clock this morning,” Harold answered. “I only got the call telling me that a meeting was set up ten minutes ago, so I’m not sure exactly where it is. You’ll just need to find an internet café and search for the name to get the address.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?” Marion asked.

“The first booth just inside the door is where she’ll be sitting,” her boss replied. “Apart from that, you’re on your own now. Just get to that meeting. It’s your best chance of staying alive.”

“Easy for you to say,” she replied.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Harold’s words signaled the end of the conversation, and she hoped his last comment turned out to be correct. She hung up the phone then made her way to the hotel. Her intention was to go to the room and wait some more, but when she got there she changed her mind and decided to leave straight away. The fear returned that staying in one place made her vulnerable to the Mob catching up, and keeping on the move seemed a more sensible idea. In truth, it didn’t really make her feel any more secure, and she warily watched the people she was passing for any signs that they might recognize her. No one did in the twenty minutes it took to find an internet café. She paid for an hour and went to a computer right at the rear of the place to hide herself away.

She found the address for the High Wire bar then brought up a street map to work out a route to get there. It was a bus ride away and she wasn’t familiar with the area, so she printed out a map then immediately went to collect and pay for it at the counter. She then brought up some newspaper websites to see if the story of the murder was being reported. There was nothing she could see, which could be because it was too early for the news to break. On the other hand, it could also mean that the body hadn’t been found yet, or that maybe the Mob cleaned up afterwards and it never would be.

When her hour was up, she folded the map to put it in her pocket and set off. It was nerve wracking being out in the open, but the bus ride was the only way she was going to get to the bar in time. She briefly considered getting a cab, but was running low on money and was scared to take any more out. Her knowledge of someone being tracked by modern technology such as phones and bank cards was limited to what she’d seen in the movies, but it was enough to put her off using them. In all likelihood it was probably stupid, but she wasn’t about to take the chance and give herself away.

It was around nine-thirty when she got on the bus she wanted, and she simply dropped down on the first window seat she came to. She stared out at the city scene she was passing as the journey progressed and tried to stop fidgeting. It was almost impossible to sit still, but she forced herself to do it. Thirty minutes later she stepped down to the sidewalk and the surroundings reminded her of the evening before. She certainly wasn’t in one of the nicer parts of the city, so she didn’t want to stand with the map trying to get her bearings and mark herself out as a stranger to the place. Instead, she just kept her head down and started walking.

When she saw the small ice cream parlor, she crossed the street to get to it and ordered a coffee. There was a window seat free and she walked across to claim it before anyone else came in. It gave her a chance to check the scene outside to find out the street she was on. She then got the map out to locate where she was and how to get to the bar. It was only ten minutes after ten, so there was no rush. She simply committed the route to memory and put the map in her pocket.

Nerves began to get the better of her as the minutes ticked past, and she could see how badly her hand was shaking whenever she picked up the cup. She made the coffee last as long as she could and it was cold when she eventually finished it. That meant she needed to make a move, and there was a fear to what she was about to do that she couldn’t shake off. There was no choice but to go through with it though, since the alternative was being alone, and she really didn’t know what she would do in that situation.

It was fifteen minutes before eleven when she walked out of the ice cream parlor. As she got closer to her destination, the eerie sensation that she was already being watched crept over her, but she put it down to nerves bringing on an overactive imagination. Her first sight of the bar only added to her agitation, with the broken sign and graffiti-covered, dirty paintwork giving the exterior a run down appearance. It made her hesitate, but she forced herself to keep walking. A glance at her watch showed that it was just before eleven o’clock when she got to the place.

“Here goes nothing,” she let out under her breath.

She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat as she reached out a hand to push open the door and walked into the unknown that waited for her inside the High Wire bar.

Angela Dickinson brought her car to a stop at the side of Hooper Boulevard and turned the key in the ignition to cut the engine. She glanced across at the yellow tape closing off the end of the alley and just sat to watch for a few minutes. The one uniformed officer in sight was obviously stationed there to keep onlookers away, although his job was made easy by the fact that there were none. That didn’t surprise her considering the derelict surroundings. She couldn’t imagine anyone actually wanting to come to the streets she was looking at, unless there was some pressing reason for them to be there. It was definitely one of the seedier areas of the city.

She could see the attention of the officer guarding the crime scene focusing on her vehicle as it remained in place, but knew the tinted windows would mean he couldn’t see who was inside. Grabbing her jacket to slip it on, she made a move to get out before he came across to investigate. Her block heels clicked on the concrete of the sidewalk, and she could see she was being eyed suspiciously when she smoothed down the front of her skirt. She took great pride in her appearance, and the sharp business suits she wore for work gave her an air of confidence. It seemed to work on this occasion and the uniformed cop appeared to sense she wasn’t just a curious onlooker as she approached him.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Angela got her badge out and flipped it open to show she was an FBI special agent.

“I’m here to see the crime scene,” she told him.

“Forensics returned about twenty minutes ago,” the officer said. “The examiner is down there just now.”

Angela wasn’t sure if the officer was telling her to try to stop her from entering the alley, or simply to let her know. Either way, she wasn’t about to wait.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’ll give me a chance to speak with him.”

She ducked under the tape before any more was said and caught sight of the man decked out in white overalls straight away. As she got closer, she saw he was crouched down at a large, dark stain and there was no doubt what it was.

“A lot of blood,” she commented.

The forensic examiner glanced up and his expression became suspicious when he didn’t recognize her.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Special Agent Angela Dickinson,” she said when she flashed her badge again.

“This isn’t a federal matter,” the examiner commented.

“It’s a Roadrunners matter, from what I gather,” she replied. “I’m the agent assigned to deal with the gang, so when news of the murder hit I was told to get down here and find out what happened.”

“Well, what happened was a drug dealer’s throat was slashed and you’re looking at his life spilled all over the tarmac.”

Angela simply nodded her head.

“Are you looking for anything in particular just now?”

“No,” he answered. “My work was pretty much completed last night, but I always come for a second inspection of the scene when things are quieter and there are less people around. You never know what you might spot. Not that it’s particularly needed in this instance.”

“Why’s that?” Angela asked.

“A murder weapon was found at the scene,” the examiner told her. “We did the analysis last night and came up with a match for the fingerprints.”

“That’s how you know it was a Roadrunner then?” Angela went on.

“Yup,” the examiner replied. “They’re treating it as pretty much cut and dried at the precinc
t—
if you’ll pardon thatexpressio
n—
considering the way the victim was killed.”

“OK,” Angela mused without much conviction.

In truth, her instincts kicked in to make her doubtful that everything was as definite as it seemed. She couldn’t say exactly why she felt that way, but the hunch that there was more to the murder than met the eye stayed on her mind as she glanced around. There was no point in bringing up her concerns to the examiner, however, and she left him to get on with his work so that she could look around some more. The dirty alley was strewn with litter and there was no way of knowing whether any of the pieces of trash and debris lying around were in any way significant to what happened the evening before. She suspected not, but it wasn’t her job to decide. After ten minutes she decided to go, but asked one final question before she did.

“Who’s in charge of the case?”

“Detective Allan,” the examiner told her.

“Thanks,” she replied and made her way towards the end of the alley.

She ducked under the tape and was aware of the gaze of the uniformed cop remaining on her as she returned to her vehicle. A glance showed he was still watching as she removed her jacket, folded it and carefully placed in on the passenger seat when she got in. He would probably report to his superior that a special agent visited the scene and more than likely pass on the information that the agent was an African American female. That didn’t particularly bother Angela, since Detective Allan was about to get a visit from her anyway. After a last glance towards the alley, she turned the key in the ignition and put the car in gear to get moving.

Twenty minutes later she drove into the precinct parking lot and searched for an empty spot. She’d almost made a full circuit of the place when she finally spotted one and came to a stop in it. Grabbing her jacket, she got out and put it on before making her way to the building entrance. She entered to a scene of slight disorder as people jostled for position at the front desk to speak to one of the officers. As she walked up to it, Angela could see that even in her heels she was dwarfed by most of the people. She wasn’t about to wait, though, and ignored the complaints as she forced her way through to the front.

“Which floor is Detective Allan on?” she asked and showed her badge.

It got her the information she wanted quickly, with the female officer she spoke to tapping at a keyboard right away.

“He’s homicide,” the officer said. “You want the fourth floor.”

“Thanks,” Angela replied before getting out of the crowded scrum.

Something must have happened to get so many people in the station at the same time, but she wasn’t really interested in what it was. There was only one thing on her mind. She decided to avoid the elevators and walk up the stairs instead. She stepped through a set of double doors when she got to the floor she wanted and stopped to look around. It wasn’t her first visit to the building, although she didn’t know the person she was there to see, so she stepped across to the nearest desk to ask where he was. The man sitting at it frowned as he looked up to see who was speaking but said nothing and simply turned to point out Detective Allan.

“Thanks,” Angela said and moved off.

She stopped right in front of Detective Allan and wasn’t sure if she was being deliberately ignored or whether he was genuinely busy with the papers he was studying on his desk.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” she said to be polite.

Detective Allan’s gaze came up to her and she was sure he’d been deliberately ignoring her. It was obvious the officer guarding the crime scene already passed on the details of her visit.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a voice that suggested that he wasn’t remotely interested in assisting her.

“My name is Angela Dickinson,” she said as she dropped on the seat opposite him. “I work as a special agent tasked with dealing with the Roadrunners gang. I believe you have evidence that one of their members committed a murder yesterday.”

“That’s not a federal matter,” he pointed out.

It was an echo of what the examiner said to her when she visited the crime scene.

“I know,” Angela replied. “My boss asked me to come down and see if there was any way I could assist. I know a lot of…”

“I don’t see how,” Detective Allan cut in. “This is a homicide matter in our jurisdiction and looks like a disagreement about drugs. It’s not the first time the Roadrunners have put someone permanently out of business and probably won’t be the last. One scumbag dealer off the streets, and a gang member to follow soon, can only be good as far as I’m concerned.”

Angela voiced the concerns that came to her when she heard the brief story of what happened at the crime scene.

“You don’t think it’s suspicious?” she asked. “I mean, in all the years you’ve been working homicide, how many crime scenes have you come across where the weapon is conveniently sitting right next to the body with the murderer’s prints all over it?”

“People panic,” Detective Allan replied and shrugged his shoulders. “People get disturbed in the act and their concern is getting away. Who knows why he dropped the knife? It could be any number of reasons. As far as I’m concerned, the evidence is there to see and I plan to act on it.”

It was obvious that he was taking things at face value, and Angela could understand it to an extent. He was more than likely working a number of cases and wasn’t planning to investigate any deeper than he needed to. It still didn’t ring true with her, but she’d already been told twice it wasn’t a federal matter, and she couldn’t exactly argue with that. She was starting to think her visit was a waste of time.

“You’re going to bring the Roadrunner in, I take it?”

“That’s the plan,” Detective Allan replied. “We just got word of where Andy Carter is holed up and…”

“Andy ‘Six’ Carter?” Angela interrupted him.

“You know him?” he queried.

“I know of his reputation,” she replied.

“Yeah, well that’s not going to do him any good now,” Detective Allan went on. “I have an armed team assembling as we speak and will have him in custody before the day is out.”

Angela knew there was really nothing more she could do at that moment. Detective Allan’s mind was apparently made up about what he was going to do, and it was his case, so she couldn’t really interfere with it. All she could do was report to her boss what she found out, and she was sure in the fullness of time she would hear about the outcome of the operation to capture Andy ‘Six’ Carter. There was no point in wasting any more time, so she got to her feet.

“Good luck,” she said.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Detective Allan said in a confident tone. “This biker will be off the streets and wearing orange prison fatigues before he knows what hits him.”

Angela just smiled and said no more before turning away to head in the direction of the exit. There was no point in warning Detective Allen that things might not be as simple as he suspected, because she knew he wasn’t interested in listening to what she had to say. Her experience was that the Roadrunners were never easy to take down, and she suspected it would be no different on this occasion.