“A lot of people have that color.” Dan squirmed in his chair.
“But they aren’t rapists.” Barnard pounded on the table.
Dan shook his head. “I want a lawyer,” he said, then looked down at the table.
Barnard stood up and walked out of the room. “I pushed too fucking hard,” he said to Wexler, who met him in the hallway.
“We got him on the murders at Cherry Vale. While he’s stewing for those, we’ll have time to get more evidence on the rapes. I know he’s the one doing them. He’s a sick bastard.”
“Yeah. I’m going to interview a few more witnesses. I’ll catch up with you later.”
When the detective walked into the sunlight, he squinted. Sitting in the interrogation room made a person lose track of everything. Putting his sunglasses on, he ambled to his car.
Chapter Thirty-Six
After Dan’s arrest,Goldie breathed a little easier knowing a killer had been put out of commission. If he hadn’t had any interruption from the staff that night, he would’ve saved the taxpayers a helluva lot of money. But the badges got him, and now the criminal process would go on for months, maybe years.
“They’re saying that fucker who tried to kill your grandma is the serial rapist. They should give you a fuckin’ medal,” Paco said.
“I shoulda killed the bastard. I was ready to, but the citizens interfered,” Goldie replied.
A blast of heat surged in, and Goldie turned around just as Diablo entered the club. He gave Goldie and Paco a chin lift.
“Any news on my bike? I don’t want those fuckers to dismantle it for parts. AndEasyridersis coming to the rally next week.”
“I got an address for their mechanic shop. Dog says Rusty hangs there most days.”
“Does Dog know anything about my bike?”
“He says no, but we know that’s a crock of shit. I’m positive it wasn’t his idea, but he’s not gonna sell out a brother, even a shitty one.”
“Let’s get the bike. Then we can decide how to handle Dog and his fuckin’ club.”
“You need some help?” Paco asked.
“If you’ve got nothing else to do,” Goldie replied.
“Hell no. Stealing a Harley’s a capital fuckin’ offense. When do we roll?” Paco motioned to Ruger to bring him a shot.
“As soon as we assemble a posse.” Diablo grinned.
Army, Diablo, Paco, Muerto, Brutus, Eagle, and Goldie took off on the old highway to find the stolen Harley. After forty minutes, at Diablo’s direction, the group of riders turned down a small road that led to a makeshift shop surrounded by a broken-down wooden fence. Tires, auto and bike parts lined the dirt lot. Switching off their engines, the bikers entered the shop, guns drawn, startling Rusty and four other Jagged Aces members. Rusty jumped up from the chair.
“What the fuck is this?” he said as he stared at Goldie.
“Don’t fuck with me. Where’s my bike?” Goldie went up to him and shoved him back into the chair.
“I don’t know.” He looked at his fellow members. “Do any of you guys know where his bike is?” They shook their heads. “Guess you should be better at keeping track of your shit.” The four men sniggered.
“Guess you’ll be finding out what happens to pussies who steal a Night Rebels’ Harley,” Goldie gritted.
“We’re not gonna waste time on this shit. Tell us where the fuck the bike is and no one dies. It’s pretty simple,” Paco said.
The Jagged Aces were mute.
While his brothers talked shit to the losers, Goldie spotted a drill on the worktable. Before anyone could react, he grabbed it and switched it on, then lifted Rusty’s leg. “Hold this fucker down!” Goldie yelled while he pulled off the asshole’s boot and sock. Army and Diablo stood behind the wide-eyed Rusty, pressing down hard on his shoulders.
Then Goldie drilled right through the thief’s instep and back out. Rusty was screaming and wailing as skin, blood, and bone flew around them. In the end, Goldie’s tactic served a purpose: Rusty’s memory came back, and he gave up the location of the bike.
