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“What? No fucking way,” he laughed. “I appreciate it, but those guys are serious as fuck and don’t jack around. I want my bike done, but I’m finding it hard to believe.”
“Call them,” said Ian. The man stared at him, others now standing around their table. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll call them.” Ian dialed the number, showing everyone the number on his phone. He then put it on speaker.
“I’m busy as fuck, you old goat. What the hell do you want?” said Tango.
“Hello to you, too, asshole. Listen, I may need you to take on a few bikes as a courtesy. If they’re willing to help us out, they want some customization done to the bikes.”
“They gonna help with the op?” asked Tango.
“Judging by the looks on their faces, that would be an affirmative,” said Ghost.
“Yea. We’ll take care of it. We’re taking on some apprentices from the Vo-tech school. Great talent, and they can do a lot of the little work while we do all the customization.”
“Thanks, brother. See you soon.”
“Believe us now?” smirked Nine.
“Fuck yea! What sort of help do you need?” he asked.
“First, what’s your name?” asked Gaspar.
“I’m Crawdad. That’s Tater, Badger, and Stu.”
“Stu? They couldn’t come up with something better than that?” smirked Ghost.
“Uh, my actual name is Stu,” he said, shrugging.
“Way to go, dumbass,” laughed Gaspar. “Listen, we’re looking for a guy on a motorcycle, bald head, tattoos everywhere, no vest. He’s probably buying and selling stolen goods. He was working with a man named Tolbert.”
“I’m not sure you want to find him,” said Tater.
“Why not?”
“Bad things happen to people who are around him. He sucks you in, makes you think he’s helping you, and then you get slammed in the face with a sledgehammer. The dude is definitely not who you think he is.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think he’s anyone because I don’t know him. I need a name and a location.”
“Okay, but you’re not going to like it.”
“A fucking cop,” growled Ghost. “This guy is a fucking cop.”
“Tater said he wasn’t working with anyone else. That he preferred to work alone, but he has to be selling this shit to someone. Who?” Nine looked at his three best friends and shook his head.
“Hey, we made some calls,” said Crawdad. “He’s been seen a lot near the White Kitchen Preserve.”
“That’s a fucking swamp,” growled Gaspar.
“It is, but some developer put a bunch of glamping cabins over there. You know, those cabins that make people think they’re roughing it when they’ve actually got central air and heat, a working stove and refrigerator, and a designer mattress.”
“If he’s staying there, then he’s not from here,” said Nine. “He doesn’t have a residence.”
“I’m not sure,” said Tater. “He just said he’s in one of the cabins over there. Sticks to himself. You have to take your car or bike to a lot. Then they give you a boat to get to your cabin. Sounds like a lot of effort to me, but I guess that tells you he’s hiding something.”
“Yea,” nodded Ian.
“Can I ask what he’s hiding? I mean, I don’t mind helping you guys. You seem like solid dudes. But what is he doing?”
“Stealing toys and other things that are earmarked for kids for Christmas,” said Gaspar.
