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Bea nodded sharply.
“A car exploded off of old Snellville road, by the gas station.”
“Holy crap,” I began. “What does that have to do with me?”
“When we got out there, it wasn’t just the car on fire, there was a motorcycle, too. Cade’s motorcycle.”
“Cade’s motorcycle was on fire?” I asked, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. Was he there, is he hurt?”
“No, no one was hurt. There was no one at the scene by the time we got there. I came straight here after leaving the site. I’m going to head back out to the gas station once it opens back up, talk to the owner, see if anyone saw anything. I probably shouldn’t do this, but I thought maybe you’d want to come.”
“Let me grab my purse,” I said, already walking away from her to do so.
My mind was spinning during the drive out to the gas station.
/> Cade had been gone for two weeks . . . Why was his bike on fire just outside of town? Was he back? Had something happened? Why hadn’t he called?
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bea said in her cop voice, which I knew meant she wasn’t sure of anything. If she knew he was fine, she’d be talking to me in her friend voice, not using the tone she used on victims so they wouldn’t freak out.
I bit my lower lip and contemplated calling Slade, Cade’s VP.
It wasn’t something I’d do unless there was an emergency, but, this was an emergency, right?
“Let’s find out more before we figure out what to do next, okay?” Bea added, as if she’d read my mind.
I nodded, unable to speak. Not just because of my pounding head, but because my heart was in my throat.
We got to the dilapidated gas station, and any hope that there was some sort of video camera or security camera fled. I brought my gaze to Bea, who tried to give me a reassuring look, but failed and we got out of the cruiser.
“Let me do the talking,” she said, which was fine with me, because I seemed to be completely numb anyway.
The old guy behind the counter was wearing a blue button up that said Bubba. His hair was greased back and his lower lip was protruding with what I assumed was a lump of dip.
“What can I do fer ya?” he asked, picking up a plastic bottle and spitting in it.
“We’re here about the explosion and fire that happened just off your property.”
The man scowled.
“It’s that damn MC, always causing trouble around here . . .”
“The MC that owns Custom Motorcycles and Service?” Bea asked, writing in her little notebook.
“Nah, not those guys, they do good work,” he argued. “I’m talking about the other one.”
“Other one?” Bea asked, looking at me.
I shook my head. I hadn’t heard of another MC in this area.
“Yeah, they’ve been slowly moving down from up north, taking over the south side. They’re not on the up and up like the mechanics, these guys are bad news.”
“I don’t suppose you have a name, or any footage from what happened here last night.”
He looked at Bea and shook his head, then said, “No, but my boy might. He runs the place at night and has seen them around more than me. They usually come out after the sun goes down, like cockroaches.”
MY STOMACH WAS churning as we rode out to meet with Bubba’s son.
Bubba hadn’t been able to give us much information, but what he had told us had my mind reeling.
