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“That’s my point, though,” Piper said. “These guys don’t fit the profile. Not only have I not seen any evidence of the typical drug trafficking associated with biker gangs, like heroin or meth… but it turns out, there’s also hardly any of that stuff in the entire county. At all. I checked the stats.”
“Maybe it’s just not a good market.”
“Central Pennsylvania?’ Piper said with a laugh. “Are you kidding? You practically trip over H and meth out here. But not in this county. And not only that, but I haven’t seen any evidence of the club engaging in violent acts against civilians.”
Harris was frowning, staring at her like her dad used to when she was a teenager and she tried to convince him that it was a great idea to let her stay out past curfew. He clearly wasn’t hearing what he wanted to hear.
“So you think this is some sort of good guy biker gang?” he said at last.
“I didn’t say that,” Piper said. “I’m simply saying…”
“Because a few weeks ago,” he said, “you reported to me that you observed three female Mexican nationals being transported to the clubhouse, who were then handed off to some guy from another REMC charter.”
“I remember,” Piper said.
“Then, not twenty four hours later, there’s an explosion on the highway that left behind a crater the size of a dump truck. Analysis of the debris showed traces of C4 plastic explosive, along with the wreckage of guns, ammunition, heroin… not to mention four bodies of a rival MC. The Warlords.”
Piper said, “I read the report.”
“Did you read the part where the wreckage of the vehicle that was blown up matched the description of the same box truck you observed being dropped off at the MC clubhouse the night before you spotted the Mexican women?”
“Yes.”
“And you still don’t think your good guy bikers are involved with something criminal on the federal level?” Harris said.
Piper didn’t really know what to say to that. It was true, so much of what she had seen at the clubhouse had got her thinking that this MC wasn’t like the others, but Harris had a point. There was some smoke around that club, and where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
Harris must’ve seen that his questions were making their point, because his tone got very serious once again.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Special Agent Marino,” he said. “You're not getting too close to this, are you?”
“No,” Piper said quickly, then slowed herself down to repeat, “No, sir. Of course not.”
“Because there's plenty of people who are dying to get into undercover work. We can pull you out right now and replace you with…”
“That won’t be necessary,” Piper said.
“You’re sure?” Harris said.
“I’m sure.”
“Then be sure,” Harris said. “Get back in there, and find me something. Try to get access to that meeting room and plant a bug. In the meantime, get closer to one of these guys and try to get him admitting something that you can use to effect an arrest.”
“And then?” Piper said.
“And then we pressure that guy to give up more of the club,” Harris said. “This is how it’s done, Piper. This is what you signed up for.”
“I know,” Piper said.
“Then work this guy… what was his name? Bronco?”
“Pony.”
“Pony,” Harris said. “Jesus. Don’t any of these guys have real names?”
“It was his call sign in the Rangers,” Piper said.
One of the many details she’d learned about him during her time at the clubhouse. As much as she had learned about Pony, she realized that she wanted to know even more, and now that Harris had read her the riot act about getting too close to her subjects, she had to wonder if her curiosity really was professional or something else.
