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"It looks like it."
Cami read down the thread. There were references to other encounters with cops from other commenters and then a further comment from Seth.
He'd said, "The boys at Strykers would stage a protest."
Strykers. Now why did that ring a bell?
“Do you know what Strykers is?” she asked Connor.
“Nope. Not familiar to me,” he said, causing Cami to remember that her partner had, in fact, spent years away from Boston. He’d only been moved back here a couple of months ago in response to a group of agents all quitting to work for startups. She was more likely to have local knowledge than him.
Unable to make the connection, Cami looked it up online. And there it was, familiar to her from only a few minutes ago.
Strykers was the biker bar they'd driven past on the way to Seth's house. Connor had been focusing on the road, which was why she’d noticed the name. “It’s the hangout of a biker group called the Avenger Team.”
“The Avenger Team,” Connor echoed, and from the tone of his voice, Cami knew that he thought this particular splinter group of bikers might spell trouble.
"If it’s his local, and his group’s hangout, he could be there now," she said, pointing to the picture of it online.
"Do you have a visual ID for this guy?" Connor asked. “We need to know what he looks like.”
That took a little more research, but thanks to the police database, Cami was able to call up a head shot.
"Here he is," she said.
He had a broad, unsmiling face, with a heavy mustache and dark, bushy hair. She saw a thick linked silver chain around his neck. Once seen, his features were unforgettable. They knew who to look for.
Now, could they find him at the bar that seemed to be his local hangout as an Avenger Team member?
Connor got back in the car, and they drove the couple of miles back in the direction they'd come from.
The biker bar was in a building that seemed to be a converted warehouse. It was a solid, hulking brick structure with a heavy door and little in the way of windows. And there were more than a few motorbikes outside. Counting quickly, Cami estimated that there must be at least thirty bikers inside.
She did not think for a moment that the FBI would be welcome in this place. For sure, problems awaited them on the other side of that big, heavy door. She wondered if Connor was thinking the same as he marched up to the door and pushed it open.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A hubbub of noise, thumping rock music, and shouts greeted Cami as she stepped inside.
The biker bar was dark inside, so dimly lit that Cami's eyes struggled to adjust. The walls were face brick, high and raw. Tables were packed into the space, and a wooden bar dominated the far wall.
Was it her imagination, or did the noise quiet down slightly as the bikers caught their first sight of Connor? Cami immediately sensed that the atmosphere was hostile.
Ignoring the vibe, although she was sure he picked it up, Connor was strided through the room, glancing at the people sitting at the tables, and heading for the packed bar counter.
Cami followed, looking around her as she went, trying to see if she could spot Seth among the crowds. But all she was picking up so far was a host of unfriendly glances as they pushed their way through the crammed tables to the long wooden bar.
The bikers who frequented the Strykers Club were mostly middle aged, and they were burly, rough-looking men with a variety of facial hair. They were staring at Cami and Connor, and Cami could hear mutters of "feds" as they passed by.
Connor ignored these and continued to scan the tables as he paced toward the bar. He didn't seem to be worried by the increasingly hostile glances and the angry murmurs she could now hear. Cami followed him, trying to keep her expression impassive. But she couldn't help feeling very threatened by this atmosphere.
Averting her eyes from the unfriendly glances, she noticed that there were a whole host of ceiling lights that didn't seem to be used anymore—spotlights, lasers, and colored lights. She wondered if this had been an old nightclub, now repurposed for the bikers.
Quickly, as she walked, she launched a program on her phone to see if there was anything she could identify from the surrounding networks. Anything at all that could prove useful.
There wasn't time to monitor the search once she'd set it to run, because Connor had already reached the bar.
He addressed the barman, a tall man who looked to be in his forties, with hair tied back in a ponytail and a few thick, silver rings on his fingers.
