Twister clapped once.“Move.”
The clubhouse shifted around us again.
Magnum checked his sidearm.Swift kissed Britta one more time.Hodge grabbed his cut from the back of a chair.
I pulled Goldie toward the stairs so I could get the extra vest from my room.
Behind us, Tempi called out, “Goldie.”
Goldie turned.
Tempi pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at Goldie.“Come back.”
Goldie smiled softly.“I plan on it.”
Britta lifted her chin.“And don’t let Wheels boss you around too much.”
I looked at her.“Really?”
Britta shrugged.“Only a little.”
The Saints were done waiting for the next hit.Now we were going to knock on Gene Kettler’s door.And whatever the hell he knew, he was going to tell us.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wheels
Gene Kettler lived in the kind of house that wanted people to think it had nothing to hide.
That was my first thought when we rolled down the quiet street near Lake Monona and slowed in front of the address Podge had found.
The place was big, but not mansion big.Not gated-community big.Not security-guard-at-the-end-of-the-driveway big.
It was the kind of big that blended in if you weren’t paying attention.
Two stories.Cream siding.Dark green shutters.Wide front porch.Fresh mulch around the landscaping.A flag hung near the front steps, barely moving in the still afternoon air.The lawn was too perfect.The hedges were too even.The windows were clean enough to reflect the sky back at us.
Nothing about it screamed rich.Nothing about it screamed dirty, either.
That was the point.
A few blocks away, people pushed strollers on the sidewalk.A dog barked behind a privacy fence.Somewhere nearby, a lawn mower rumbled.Normal neighborhood.Normal afternoon.Normal man living in a normal house.
Except Gene Kettler’s name was on decades of permits he had no legal business signing.
Except The Ledger was willing to kill for what those permits helped hide.
Twister pulled to the curb first, and Magnum parked behind him.I rolled in next with Goldie on the back of my bike, Hodge behind me, and Swift bringing up the rear.
No one killed their engines right away.
We sat there a second, letting the bikes rumble low along the street while every one of us looked around.
Rooftops.Windows.Parked cars.Neighboring houses.The side yard between Gene’s place and the next house.
Twister cut his engine, and we all followed.Silence dropped hard after the bikes died.
Goldie climbed off behind me, and I immediately turned, putting myself between her and the house without thinking.
