Biker Blues

by Dale Mayer

  While the men worked on the system, she disappeared into her bedroom and pulled out a large bag. She really could use a few more articles of clothing. The weather had been shifting a lot, so she needed something warmer for the evenings. Hell, the mornings were damn cold too. She laid several sweaters on her bed and then added a stack of underclothes and long-sleeve shirts.

  She dug back into her closet and pulled out a soft blanket she loved to have around her shoulders in the evenings.

  There were other boxes in the back she hadn’t remembered stacking in there, and she grinned when she found her ski gear. There was a great mountain close by, but she hadn’t gone in a long time. She stuffed it back in and shifted around several other boxes for a pair of boots she knew were stuffed in the back. Dragging them out, she walked backwards to get out of the closet.

  “How much stuff do you have stashed in there?” Morgan asked.

  She gave a small shriek and turned to glare at him. “Did you have to scare me like that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I figured you’d heard me.”

  “I can’t hear anything when I’m in there. The closet goes on forever.”

  He leaned in. “Weird. Nice to have the space, but they should have just opened this up and doubled the access space. You could have a third door in there instead of just two.”

  “Now that would be lovely.” She tossed her boots onto the bed and turned to see what he was referring to. “And would make so much more sense.”

  He turned to the bed and waved his hand. “Are you going to be able to pack all that up?”

  “Sure. You’ve got a truck. So no problem.”

  He shook his head, opened his mouth, and said in a hard voice, “What the hell is that?”

  “What?” She stared in bewilderment at him and the bed now heaped high with her belongings.

  “This.” In two steps, he walked over and lifted up a thick roll of money. “Is it yours?”

  “Ah shit. No, of course it’s not mine.” She stared at her boot on the bed and the roll of money. “Is that from Billy?” She spun around to look in her closet. “He’s been in my closet?”

  “He might have. If the money isn’t yours, any idea who else would be hiding this kind of money as a hidden gift?”

  Numb, she shook her heard. “No.”

  “I’m presuming it was in your boot and fell out when you tossed them.” He reached over for the boot and shook it again. It was empty. He picked up the second and dumped it.

  A second fat roll of money fell out.

  “There’s got to be ten, maybe fifteen thousand here in each roll,” he said.

  She sat down slowly on her bed. “So that’s what he was looking for.”

  “Yeah, the question now is what do we do with it?”

  *

  Morgan glared at the money. It was a big enough amount for someone to keep looking. He had no idea exactly how much was in there, but the rolls were too big for his hands to close around. He was only guessing but suspected it was a lot more than he’d said. They could hardly leave it here, but taking it with them now that they knew about it was a different story altogether.

  “Damn it.” From the kitchen, he heard Dean call out to him, “Morgan, you there? I need a hand.”

  “Coming,” With a warning look at Jazz, he stuffed the money back into the boots and walked out toward the hallway. Jazz had collapsed on the bed, staring at the money. If they’d found two rolls, then maybe there was more. Who knew how much his brother had stolen?

  And how much the victim was expecting to find.

  If the numbers differed, Morgan couldn’t imagine the fallout.

  He just knew it wouldn’t be good.

  Chapter 5

  Jazz couldn’t stop staring at the rolls of cash. Fear like she’d never known rippled inside her soul. Her intruder would kill to get his money back. Did she want to tell him that she’d found it? If so, how? Personally, she never wanted to see him again. She could turn it over to the police but if the guy came back, then what would she say to him?

  She rubbed her arms, hating the goose bumps dotting the skin. This was too much. Billy had a lot to answer for. She closed her eyes. Damn it. And who was to say that the biker had actually been the only one to have money stolen from him? What if Billy had stolen from two people? Hell, why stop there? Maybe he’d stolen a little bit from everyone he knew. Little amounts would be hard to tell. If he’d stockpiled it over time, he could have amassed a huge amount by now. And that was even more scary. The one dude had been horrible, but what if there were others like him?

  She stood up and tugged a loose sweater on over her shoulders, wincing as she forced her shoulder to cooperate.

  Grabbing up her bag, she quickly packed up her clothes. She didn’t want to be here any longer. To know that Billy had come and gone so freely in her own personal space was hard. Invasive on top of so many other invasions. A horrible feeling all around.

  When her bag was full, she closed it up and turned to see what she’d left behind. There was still so damn much. Too much to take all at once. She’d have to do a serious clean out. And that thought made her sick to her stomach. Had Billy rifled through her closet, her underwear? God, he’d been sick.

  Had he napped in her bed, mocking her silently? Playing with her life as if he was a kingpin that no one knew about?

  And Roxy, had he done the same to her?

  Had he stowed money in her closet, too? Roxy was a packrat, the complete opposite of Jazz. Just like her artwork, she was a minimalist in life. She had just the barest furniture required and even fewer dishes. But when it came to her clothes, some of her own rules had been broken. There was too much in here.

  Realizing there could be more money, she was determined to sort now and know for sure.

  Instantly, she hopped to her feet and started tossing things into three piles. One for charity, one to move to Morgan’s place, and another to pack away for later use.

  The thought of Billy having pawed through her things, her life…yeah, maybe selling was the only way she could get rid of the icky feeling. The real estate market was up so she’d definitely get her money back. But it was a big chunk of her life to walk away from. Except…it was no longer the safe place she’d carved out for herself.

  But then what? Move in permanently with Morgan? Was she ready for that? Was he?

  It really didn’t matter. She’d find a solution. If nothing else, she could rent until she figured out her next move. She stood up and lugged her packed bag to the doorway, then went back and tossed stuff she was keeping onto the bed. She’d continue to set up a security system here as she wouldn’t want anyone else to experience the horrible last week she’d had, either. What if the guy came back looking for his money and there were renters here?

  She didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.

  “Jazz?”

  She turned to face Morgan, hearing the concern in his voice. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Several strides and he was at her side. A gentle finger stroked across her cheeks. Lifting it, he showed her the glistening drop on his fingers.

  “What’s the matter?” He gathered her into a close embrace.

  She snuggled in closer to his warmth. His strength. “What’s right? I don’t know that I can live here knowing your brother has been in and out whenever he wanted. He could have been here when I was home. Laughing at how stalkerish he was being.” She shuddered.

  “I’m so sorry for Billy’s behavior.”

  “No,” she cried. “I’m not blaming you. He’s hurt you too.”

  “And we can’t keep letting him hurt us. He’s dead. He’s gone.” He grasped her shoulders lightly. “We have to move forward.”

  She nodded dumbly. “A little hard when I find out he’s been in my closet. My bedroom. My house.”

  “I know that,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s grab your stuff. We’ll come back on another day and deal with the rest o
f this. Don’t make any decisions right now.”

  She nodded and watched as he grabbed her bag and money-stuffed boots, then motioned for her to step in front of him.

  “Morgan, someone is here for you.”

  Dean’s voice filtered through the house. Jazz frowned. “There shouldn’t be anyone here.”

  Morgan glanced at her. “It could just be the neighbor.”

  She nodded but dragged her feet outside. There was no one there. “Dean? Where is he?”

  Silence.

  She turned back to see Dean standing beside Morgan, a gun to his head. She froze. “Dean, what are you doing?”

  “Collecting my money,” he said grimly. “The money that bastard brother of Morgan’s stole from me.”

  Jazz raised stricken eyes to Morgan’s hard, angry ones. “Then why the gun?” she said bitterly. “Did you ever plan to do the security system or just to set it up to be a Peeping Tom system, Billy-style?”

  “I’m nothing like his fuck-up of a brother,” Dean glared at her.

  “Holding a gun to his head makes you exactly that,” she snapped at him, hating to see yet another betrayal in Morgan’s eyes.

  “Give me the money.”

  Refusing to give in to the fear, she walked over and grabbed the boots. She peered into the first one then made it appear as if it were empty. She peered into the second one and pulled out the roll with the smaller bills.

  “How do I know that this money was yours?”

  “Doesn’t matter if it is or not. Billy stole a ton of shit from me.”

  “You could have just asked,” Morgan said quietly. “Or do you plan to kill us, too?”

  Indecision crossed his face. He snatched the money out of Jazz’s outstretched hand. “I figured you wouldn’t give it to me.”

  She shrugged. “We,” she paused for emphasis, “aren’t Billy.”

  He groaned. “Really? You’d have given it back to me if I’d asked?”

  “Yes. And you’re not the only one who Billy stole from. We were accosted last night in my store by an intruder who was after money that Billy stole from him.”

  “Borg?” Dean’s face paled. “Oh Shit. He’s a bad ass. Keeps his fingers in all the pots, the dirtier the better. And he let you live?”

  “He’s hoping we’re going to find his money. But I’ve given it to you, so now you can give it to him.” Jazz gave him a fat smile. “Of course, you might have been in cahoots with Billy and he just forgot to share the spoils with you.”

  Dean lowered the gun. “Fuck. He stole a bunch of shit from my house, made it look like a bloody break-in. I’m in security for Christ’s sake. I had videotape of what he’d done. I called him out on it and threatened to go to the police. To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t. I should have. It would have solved all my problems. Instead, he talked me out of it.”

  The look on his face was so lost, so bewildered…she could understand.

  “Billy was very…persuasive,” Morgan said quietly. “He could make the most implausible thing plausible.”

  “Yeah, that he could.” Dean stared down at the money in his hand. “He made me somehow believe that there was a bigger chunk of money coming my way if I didn’t turn him in and somehow…somehow I believed him.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not me. But after my wife left me, I was in a spot,” he shrugged. “And obviously not in my right mind, or so I’d like to think. He’d never have talked me into this nightmare otherwise.”

  “And the big money pot was stealing from Borg?” she asked incredulously. “That man is going to kill you if he finds out.”

  “He won’t find out.” Dean glanced over at the two of them. “Unless you guys tell him.”

  Jazz immediately shook her head. “I won’t tell him.”

  She waited half a beat then said, “Do you know how much money was stolen?”

  “Over twenty thousand. I was supposed to get half.” He looked wistful for moment before his face hardened. “Now if Borg finds out, I’m dead.”

  “Do you know how to get a hold of him?” Morgan asked. “Because if you want out of this hole, giving it back is the way to go.”

  Dean’s face lit up with hope. “There was a place…a tattoo parlor in town that Billy used as a message place.” He frowned at Jazz. “I figured it was your shop.”

  *

  Morgan stared over at Jazz. Her skin had gone sheer white, her eyes huge orbs of fear.

  “What kind of messaging system did he have?”

  “No idea. For all I know, he left messages in the window or some such thing,” he said. “Billy was into spy bullshit like that.”

  Morgan nodded. He reached out and tucked Jazz closer against him. He’d been keeping a close eye on the gun in Dean’s hand. This play could go bad so many ways.

  Not to mention they were out in the open and anyone could see them. Waving a gun around was likely to get the cops called on them. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

  Dean had been a victim as much as anyone here. But when life had given him an opportunity to make the right choice, he’d allowed greed and Billy to help him make a wrong turn.

  He understood. He’d allowed Billy to help him make a few wrong choices as well.

  And like Dean, he could only blame himself. Morgan had made his way back to the right side of his poor decision. Was it possible to help Dean to get back on track from his? If he’d been actively involved in a robbery, that was a whole different story.

  He’d have sworn that Dean wouldn’t be mixed up on this. But neither could he forget that his good friend had a gun in his hand.

  Yet at the same time, he hadn’t hurt them. Even now, Dean looked undecided. He was staring at the roll of money in his hand. Staring at it as if it were poison. Which it was.

  “Dean?” He waited until the man lifted his gaze to stare at him.

  “What?” But Dean’s gaze was absentminded, as if he was lost in his thoughts.

  “I have to ask, what are you planning to do?”

  He felt Jazz’s startled movement, her awareness of the situation.

  Dean waved the gun arm around then dropped it down as if in disgust.

  “Jesus, what the hell am I doing?” He slumped to a sitting position on the front step and groaned.

  “How about starting with putting the gun away before someone calls the police?” Morgan asked quietly.

  “Ah hell.” He slipped it into his jacket pocket. Not quite far enough way to make Morgan happy, but way better than having it waved around Jazz’s head.

  But a defeated Dean wasn’t nice either.

  Jazz stepped back from Morgan, and his arms immediately felt empty.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  Chapter 6

  Jazz wanted to walk away from her house. From all the hellish moments she’d had here. But first she had to get out. Making a decision, and very tired of dealing with the bad hand other people dealt her, she grabbed the bags from Morgan’s grip and walked away.

  She never said anything. She just tugged it free, walked to the truck, and tossed it over the back of the box. She walked back over and collected her boots. There was no way she was leaving the money in the other one. She had to have something to give Borg if he returned. And if he didn’t, then she’d have to decide if she was going to give it to the police or to a charity. Maybe she could do both. Give it to police and if no one claimed it, she could collect it after thirty days and give it to charity then.

  She tossed the boots up in the front of the truck cab and hopped in. Like hell she was going back out. She wished she had the keys because that was a given that she’d be driving out of here right now. In fact, she was tempted to hit the horn anyway. Her own truck was parked on the side, her bike at the back. But she didn’t think she could escape in either without pissing Morgan off – and as for Dean’s reaction – she had no idea. She wasn’t going to take the chance. Especially if that left Morgan to deal with an angry De
an.

  The two men talked together for a few moments, then Morgan walked toward her.

  Quietly, he stepped into the truck and turned on the engine. Backing out of her driveway, he pulled the truck forward and down the block.

  Jazz turned to look behind them. There was no sign of Dean.

  “So,” she asked quietly. “He let us go, but is he likely to change his mind?”

  “I don’t think so.” Morgan shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the roll of bills. “He gave this back.”

  She made a startled exclamation and snatched it up. “Really? Why?”

  “Because he’s trying to get out of a bad situation.”

  “And giving back the money he was promised is going to do that? How does that make any sense?”

  “He figures the money was part of the wrong turn in his life. As was Billy. With Billy now gone, he wanted nothing to do with the money. And he knows he’s in deep trouble if Borg ever finds out he had a hand in this.”

  “And that part about Billy using a tattoo shop for communicating with his friends?”

  There was a deep silence. Then he said admittedly in a deep voice, “He didn’t know the name of the shop but did say he thought it was on Carlson Street. And that it could be yours. It’s one of the reasons he suspected we might have the money.”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Christ. Does this mean that Billy was stealing for Borg? And didn’t hand it all over one time?”

  “I’m afraid so. And someone – possibly from your store – was their go-between.”

  “And the dragon tattoos?”

  “I can’t say. But I’m wondering if they aren’t people who worked for Borg?”

  She twisted. “Did you ask Dean if he had one?”

  He took his eyes off the road and stared at her. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You need to. There has to be a connection.”

  “I doubt Borg would make his employees get a dragon tattoo in that location. Tattoos are common in gangs, but not like that.”