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She sucked in a surprised breath. He really was willing to go out on a limb for her. “You’d do that?”
“Yes.”
Cora felt a sudden wave of gratitude for Finn. The fact that he was even willing to try meant a lot to her. “Do you think it will work?”
“I think it’s the best chance you’ve got,” Finn said.
13
Finn drove Cora across town, pulling his car into a gravel lot just off Fifty-Fourth Street. Eli Shelton’s motorcycle shop was a single-story building at the end of a one-way road running parallel to the north highway. The sign above the shop had the wordCHOPPERSpainted between a set of wicked-looking canine teeth, complete with salivating fangs.
Across the street was a gas station no longer in business, its boarded-up windows and weathered paint adding to the overall aura of neglect. Aside from a nearby vacuum repair store and a grungy diner on the corner, the rest of the area seemed abandoned. Nothing about the place was warm or inviting, which made it perfect for the president of the Booze Dogs.
Cora stepped from Finn’s shiny Porsche, feeling as out of place as his car looked in such a seedy environment. There were three open garage bays with motorcycles in various states of repair, and at least ten burly biker men hanging around inside. A few were working on bikes, but most were sitting on fold-out chairs, talking and drinking beer. Several Harley-Davidson motorcycles were parked in front of the main shop entrance, and Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” boomed from one of the open bays. Cora felt like they were about to step into an old MTV music video.
“Ready?” Finn asked over the hood of his car. He gave her an encouraging smile. His hair was as neatly combed as ever, and today he was wearing a charcoal designer suit with a blue silk tie. He was tan and clean-cut, like he should be at a country club or in a high-rise office—anywhere but this place. Once again, Cora felt overcome with gratitude that he’d gone out of his way to accompany her. He didn’t belong there, and neither did she. In her soft red blouse, dark jeans and low wedge boots, she felt overdressed for a visit with the Booze Dogs.
“Come on.” Finn led the way like a man completely at ease with who he was and where he was going. It was impressive, considering the dark looks they were getting from some of the men in the garage.
One of them made Cora quicken her pace. The man was bald and big as a mountain, with huge arms and corded muscles along his neck, but it wasn’t his size that made her nervous. It was the look in his flat black eyes. She’d seen an episode during shark week on TV once, where a great white attacked a seal. The shark’s eyes were dead and expressionless, void of all emotion. Just like this man. He was even bigger than Bear, which she wouldn’t have thought possible until now.
One of the guys caught sight of her and Finn. He smirked and called, “Jaaack,” drawing the name out into a low rumble. Another man joined in, then hollered something at them Cora didn’t catch. She hurried toward Finn and entered the shop.
The inside of Choppers was so unexpected, Cora’s mouth dropped open in surprise. It was a sparkling showroom. Rows of gleaming bikes were parked on raised platforms across the shining tiled floor. The walls were painted a slate gray, with black-and-white framed photographs of motorcycles speeding down the open road. A few of the framed images were more abstract, and upon further inspection, appeared to be close-ups of gears, handlebars, or other engine details. There was a waiting area near an office with black velvet chairs, a soda machine and low tables filled with magazines. Beyond the office door was a short hallway leading to another garage.
“Wow,” Cora said, stepping into the showroom. The overall atmosphere was understated, sophisticated and elegant.
“Eli doesn’t kid around when it comes to his business,” Finn said. “The outside is deceptive on purpose.” He walked past a counter near the wall and rapped on the office door. When no one answered, he tried again. Muffled swearing and the sound of clanking tools could be heard from down the hall.
“Eli,” Finn called.
There was a scraping sound followed by a hacking cough and another metallic clang. Then a raspy voice barked, “Out back.”
Finn motioned to Cora, then led the way toward the garage.
A grizzled old man with a scruffy white beard was hunched down, working on a bike. He was tall and wide with a beer gut to rival Santa Claus’s bowlful of jelly, but there was nothing soft or cheerful about his appearance. Deep lines were etched on his face from a lifetime of too much sun and tobacco, and his arms and shoulders were thick in the way of a retired weightlifter. If Santa quit his job and took to the streets, picking fights, swigging beer and chain-smoking cigarettes, he’d look like Eli Shelton.
“Eli,” Finn said.
When the old man saw him, his weathered face splintered into a grin. “Well, well. Look who decided to step off his high horse to come visit.”
“It’s been a while.” Finn leaned his broad shoulder against the doorway.
Eli snorted. “Too long, but that ain’t on me. You’re the one who likes the view better from the moral high ground.”
“It serves its purpose,” Finn said with a shrug. “And yours, on occasion.”
“Ain’t that the truth. It’s the only reason you still got that pretty face, Jack.” Eli let out a hacking cough that ended on a chuckle. “You may have changed venues, but you still don’t lose, do you?”
Finn’s shoulders stiffened. Cora only noticed because she was half-hidden behind him in the doorway. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable, but his voice was smooth when he asked, “How’s the family?”
“Mabel hasn’t stopped singing your praises ever since you took her mama’s case and got the charges dropped. She thinks you walk on water.”
“How about the kids?”
“Both married now,” Eli said. “Got two grandkids driving me batshit crazy.”
Cora had a hard time imagining Eli as a grandfather. He didn’t seem like the kind who would teach you baseball and read bedtime stories when you were afraid of the monster under the bed. He looked more like someone who’d take your baseball bat, drag out the monster under your bed and bludgeon it to death.
