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A half an hour later, they pulled down some back streets into an old industrial area on the west side of Reno. They slowly rolled down the street. There were low metal buildings on the left containing a bunch of small businesses. Garage door, office door, garage door, office door with just enough room in front for off-street parking to pull up to the building. They rolled past an auto-detailing company, a roofing contractor, a pest control business and cabinetry shop. Cole turned in and stopped between a metal fabricator on the left and a produce supplier on the right. Five bikes rolled up and stopped in front of a blank door numbered 1925. There were no signs or logos of any kind to identify what business occupied this space.
They all looked around, taking in the building and adjacent businesses. Red Dog was the first to point out the obvious. “This don’t look like a dry cleaner.”
Crash looked over at Cole. “You sure this is it?”
Cole pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “1925 Dixon Rd. Yep. This is it.” He dropped his kickstand. “Come on.”
They all dismounted. Wolf eyed the business adjacent to the left. “Check out the custom chopper.” They turned to see a metallic green chopper parked in front. On the side of the gas tank was an image of the face of Frankenstein.
“Damn,” Green whispered.
“That’s killer,” Red Dog added.
Cole tried the door knob. Finding it locked, he banged on the door. They waited. Crash eyed the outside of the building. Suddenly the door cracked open, and a small elderly oriental man poked his head out.
Cole frowned and announced, “Lookin’ for Caesar.”
The oriental man stuck his head out further and took in the five bikers. Then he pointed to Cole and Crash. “You. You. No more.”
Cole and Crash exchanged a look. Crash turned to Red Dog nodding to Shannon. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Gotcha,” Dog replied and looped an arm around Shannon’s neck. “Come on, doll. Let’s go look at Frankie.” He pulled her toward the chopper.
Wolf and Green sat sideways on their bikes. Green lit a smoke, and Wolf’s shades scanned the street.
Crash and Cole followed the man inside. They passed what appeared to be an actual dry cleaning business. It looked like one of those places that all the corner storefront places shipped their shirts and shit to. They followed the old man all the way to the back of the building where he stepped past a big man steam pressing shirts and moved aside a hidden panel. He stepped through and motioned them to follow.
Cole and Crash exchanged looks. Cole went through the opening into a hidden room with lines and lines of slot machines and people sitting on barstools in front of each machine, playing away.
“Christ,” Crash murmured, following him through.
“Quite the little setup, huh?” Cole whispered back.
The oriental man motioned over to a large Spanish man who was standing to the side with his arms folded. The big man eyed Cole and Crash up and down, taking in the leather cuts.
“You Caesar?” Cole asked.
“You Cole?”
Cole nodded.
The big man nodded his head for them to follow him. They moved through the rows of slots, taking a right and moving down another row of slots. Then a left through another plywood panel into a separate area. When they stepped through, they saw about two dozen unplugged machines.
“Deal was you were taking six. Fourteen grand a piece.”
“Deal was we take six at twelve grand each.”
“Na. Na. Na. That’s bullshit. Price was fourteen.”
“These them?” Cole nodded to the slots.
“No. Same model. Yours are in a storage locker couple blocks from here. We work a deal, I turn the keys to the locker over to you. You load up on your own time, at your own risk.”
“Yeah, well, we need to see what we’re getting. Then we’ll decide whether they’re worth twelve or fourteen.”
Caesar didn’t like it, but he nodded. He turned and signaled to another man. “Jose. You’re with me.” Then he led Cole and Crash back outside. He took in the other three guys and turned back to Cole. “They stay here.”
Cole nodded.
