Athena Sisterhood

by Dharma Kelleher

  The rain was coming down harder and forming puddles. “That’s a lot of ground to cover in just a few minutes,” said Rios. “You thinking multiple suspects?”

  Denetclaw shrugged. “Maybe. But based on the burn patterns, these Molotov cocktails all hit from roughly the same angle and with considerable speed, which spread the glass fragments over a greater area than if thrown from just a few feet.”

  Rios studied the hill that overlooked the bar. “So you’re thinking they threw all four fire bombs from the same location?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Thanks, Wayne. Johnson and I will check the hill for evidence.”

  “Good hunting, Antonia!”

  By now the rain was coming down steadily. Although Rios’ jacket provided some protection against the weather, her hair, pants, and shoes were soaked. Detective Johnson’s lips were shivering from the cold.

  “Can’t we wait until it stops raining?” Johnson asked as the two of them trudged up the slippery hill. A carpet of pine needles covered mud and hidden rocks, which threatened to twist an ankle.

  “I thought you said a little rain won’t hurt,” said Rios, wiping water from her face.

  Johnson grimaced, pulling her jacket over her head. “This is more than a little rain. This is a deluge.”

  “The longer we wait, the more evidence will get washed away.” Rios grabbed a tree just in time to keep from losing her balance.

  Johnson sighed and pointed ahead where the land leveled out a bit. Something yellow had been tied around a tree trunk. “What’s that there?”

  Rios hustled over to it and examined it. “It’s like a thick band of rubber. There’s another one on this other tree.”

  “Property markers, maybe?”

  “No, property markers are usually thin red plastic ribbon. I’ve never seen anything like this being used. And why on two trees just a few feet apart?” Rios sniffed the air as she caught a hint of something. “You smell that?”

  Johnson took a whiff. “Yeah, gasoline. Or maybe kerosene. Stronger closer to the ground,” she said as she bent down.

  “We could have lost that if we’d waited much longer. Arsonist must have been up here.” Rios took out her phone and took a photo of something on the ground.

  “What’d ya find?”

  Rios slipped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a pink disposable lighter, holding it by the top and bottom to avoid smudging any prints. Rios recognized the Gertie’s logo printed on the side. “Arsonist must have dropped this in the dark.” She slipped the lighter into an evidence bag she pulled out of her coat pocket.

  Rios looked down the hill at the burned-out building. “Man, whoever did this must’ve had a hell of an arm. Got to be at least forty, fifty feet from here to the edge of the bar. Even farther to hit the back and front entrances with any accuracy.”

  “Wait a minute, I think I know what this is,” said Johnson, staring at one of the yellow bands tied around a tree. “My oldest, Jeremy, has one.”

  “What is it?”

  “One of those giant slingshots. My son uses it for throwing water balloons back and forth with his friends.”

  “Could you use one to launch a Molotov cocktail?”

  “I don’t see why not. Long as it doesn’t catch fire.”

  Rios looked back and forth between the yellow band and the burned-out building. “I think you’re right. With a little practice one of those would be the perfect launcher. Let’s get the evidence techs up here, see what else they can find. Meanwhile, you and I will be getting some witness statements.”

  Chapter 33

  Shea made three calls before heading to work the next morning, but all had rung through to their respective voicemails.

  The first was to Monster. He had certainly seemed motivated by Shea’s threats of outing him. Had he tried to get the Thunder to back off? Or did the attack on Indigo and Savage happen before he had a chance? It was impossible to know without talking to him.

  She just left a curt message. “Call me today or I start posting photos on social media.”

  Shea’s second call was to Savage. When the call went to voicemail, she said, “Just checking to see how Indigo’s doing. Call me when you can.”

  Maybe they were just sleeping in. Or maybe Savage had convinced Indigo to go to the hospital. Either way, Shea was confident that Indigo was in good hands.

  Her final call was to Labrys. The fire at Bootlegger Bob’s worried her. The most recent reports on the news had said that half a dozen people had been killed and that a dark green convertible was seen leaving the area shortly after the fire began.

  Is this what Labrys meant when she promised to “deal with the Thunder”? It seemed like a stretch, even for Labrys. The girl was a control freak and a manipulator, but Shea had never known her to be violent.

  But even if Labrys wasn’t responsible, the Thunder might assume someone in the Sisterhood was. The war between the clubs had escalated, even if Labrys hadn’t done anything. They had to find a way to call a cease-fire before someone else got hurt. Otherwise, the Thunder might very well kill everyone wearing Sisterhood colors.

  The one bright spot in all of this shit was that at least she had a lead on the person the Thunder had sold the hex to. Bonefish, whoever he was, owned the Tenth Inning. If she could track him down and maybe record herself buying a few hits of hex off him, Rios could arrest him and hopefully release Shea from further obligations as a CI.

  At Iron Goddess, Shea spent the morning fabricating the clip-on handlebars for Stansbury’s café racer. Once completed, she attached them to the front forks, followed by the triple clamp and gauges. It would have to be taken apart again before sending the various parts to be painted, but the project was finally starting to look like a motorcycle.

  A few hours later, she stepped into the office after getting most of the grime off her hands and arms. “Yo, T, I’m heading out for lunch.”

  Terrance glanced at his watch. “It’s only eleven. Why so early?”

  She pulled her Glock out of her desk drawer and tucked it into the holster at the small of her back. “Got an errand to run in Ironwood.”

  “You’re packing heat for an errand? You planning on robbing a bank?”

  “Ran into Monster last night at the fair. He told me who the Thunder sold all that hex to.”

  “The stuff they stole from the Jaguars?”

  “Yup. Sold it to a guy who goes by the name Bonefish.”

  “How’d you get him to tell you that?”

  A wicked smile crept across her face. “Some good old-fashioned blackmail. With a photo I shot of him kissing a guy in front of the Bear’s Den.”

  “You caught him kissing a guy and you’re threatening to out him?” Terrance crossed his arms and gave her a disapproving look.

  “I know. I’m a horrible person for threatening to out a gay person. But if it stops more people from being poisoned to death, not to mention keeping the Thunder away from me and the Athena Sisterhood, I count that as a win.”

  “And what do you plan to do with this Bonefish fellow?”

  “Record him selling me some of the tainted hex.”

  “So why do you need the gun?”

  “Just being cautious.”

  “Uh-huh. When will you be back?”

  “An hour. Two at the most.”

  “Unless you end up in the hospital or the morgue.”

  “You’re such a pessimist.”

  “No, I’m a realist with a long memory of you getting yourself into trouble.”

  “I’ve also gotten folks outta trouble. You see that hunk of twisted metal in the garage?”

  “I did. What is it?”

  “What’s left of Indigo’s bike after a bunch of Thundermen ran her and Savage off the road last night.”

  Terrance sat up, a worried expression on his face. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”

  “She was pretty banged up, but I think she’ll recover. Savage took her home
on the back of her bike.”

  “You see? This is what I’m talking about. How long before someone shoots up this place? Again.”

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, okay?”

  Terrance held her gaze for a moment. “You hear someone burned down Bootlegger Bob’s?”

  Shea looked away as she zipped up her jacket. “Probably an electrical fire. That place was always a death trap.”

  “Cops are saying it’s arson. Five dead so far.”

  “Huh,” said Shea as nonchalantly as she could manage. “Tragic.”

  “You know anything about it?”

  “Me? Seriously, T?” Shea turned around and frowned at him. “You really think I would do something like that?”

  “When push comes to shove? Maybe. Just seems awful strange that the Thunder’s bar burns down the same night they run a couple of Athenas off the road.”

  “I may be a lotta things, but a firebug ain’t one of them.” She pulled on her helmet and stepped to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Chapter 34

  The Tenth Inning was on the east side of Ironwood’s Downtown Square, set in one of the area’s historic buildings that dated back to the state’s nineteenth-century mining boom. The walls, floor, and bar were aging hardwood, the ceiling covered with decorative tin tiles. On the more modern side, four TVs mounted near the ceiling played an array of sports channels—women’s basketball, downhill slalom skiing, a Formula One race, and a football highlights program.

  A handful of patrons drank silently at a table, nursing their liquid lunches. The barstools stood empty while the bartender, a rangy guy with bulging eyes and a shock of dark hair, cleaned beer mugs while periodically cursing at the basketball game.

  “Come on, you bitches! Throw the damn ball!”

  Shea slid onto a stool at the bar, wondering if the bartender was Bonefish. She was tempted to ask straight out, but decided on a more subtle approach. “Bushmills, please. Neat.”

  “Yeah.” The bartender kept his eyes glued to the set as the team in the white jerseys grabbed the ball and drove it down the court for a three-pointer. “Goddamn bitches ain’t worth shit this year.” He turned to Shea. “Sorry, you said Bushmills neat?”

  “Yeah.” Shea glanced up at the basketball game. “Didn’t realize the WNBA was playing this time of year.”

  The bartender poured the whiskey into a glass and slid it over to Shea. “It’s EuroLeague. Got a cousin who plays for the Wisla Can-Pack Krakow, but the team can’t seem to get their act together this season.”

  Shea laid a ten next to the glass, then took a sip. The smoky liquor fired up her courage. “Excuse me, I’m wondering if you could help me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Ain’t we all.”

  Shea forced a smile. “A guy named Bonefish.”

  The bartender’s demeanor changed from frustrated to suspicious. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Someone looking to make a buy.”

  “Buy?” He narrowed his gaze. “Buy what exactly?”

  “Party favors. Hex, specifically.” She laid ten twenties on the bar next to the ten. She normally didn’t carry much cash, but she’d stopped by the ATM and pulled out as much as she could afford. Jessica would have a fit.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Don’t know nothing about hex or anyone named Bonefish. I suggest you finish your drink and go.”

  “Look, I ain’t no cop. I’m a motorcycle builder. I’m friends with the Thunder. Honest. I just need to score some hex. Got a rave coming up.”

  The bartender leaned over the bar and growled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a sports bar, not some hip-hop disco. You looking for hex, try one of the clubs around the corner.” He shoved the stack of bills back at her. “Now get the hell outta here before Werner over there rips you a new one.”

  A burly man from one of the corner tables stood up. Bald, handlebar mustache, and wearing a wifebeater that revealed two sleeves full of neo-Nazi ink. He cracked his knuckles as he lumbered over.

  Shea got to her feet and held up her hands in compliance. “All right, my mistake. I can take a hint.” She backed out the door. The mountain of a bouncer followed her, stopping at the threshold to watch Shea shuffle down the sidewalk.

  Had Monster just fed her a line of bullshit so she would let him and Julia spend time with Annie? Anything was possible. But if it was bullshit, why would this string bean get so angry all of a sudden?

  She walked back to Sweet Betsy parked a few doors down from the bar. She unlocked her helmet and was pulling it on when she heard the rumble of an approaching motorcycle. Shea ducked down, concerned it might be a Thunderman.

  A rider wearing an Athena Sisterhood cut drove past on a familiar brick-red Indian Roadmaster. Labrys.

  Labrys pulled into a space on the other side of the Tenth Inning. Shea wasn’t sure why, but her gut was telling her not to say hello. Maybe she didn’t want to listen to Labrys scold her again for not wearing her prospect cut. Maybe she was starting to believe that her ex-girlfriend really was an arsonist and a murderer.

  Labrys left her helmet dangling from handlebars and pulled a fat white envelope from her jacket’s inner pocket before strolling into the Tenth Inning.

  Shea watched the bar’s front door, frustrated at once again being pulled into Labrys’ shit. So much for being a part of a motorcycle club that wasn’t dealing drugs.

  Shea considered rushing in and confronting her, but she didn’t want to risk becoming Werner’s punching bag. A glance at her phone told her it was past noon. She needed to get back to the shop.

  The back of Shea’s neck prickled as if someone was watching her. She scanned the street and noticed an unusually tall woman with an MMA fighter’s physique smoking a cigarette outside a nearby vacant storefront that was an art gallery until a few months ago. Despite the chilly weather, the woman wore only a tight black T-shirt, jeans, and Doc Martens.

  Shea realized how suspicious she must look squatting behind her motorcycle, watching the Tenth Inning’s front door. Shea smiled and waved. The smoking woman disappeared into the vacant storefront.

  As Shea’s legs were starting to cramp from squatting, Labrys walked out of the bar carrying a brown paper sack.

  More dope to sell, no doubt. Debbie Raymond, you are the worst feminist on the planet.

  Shea’d had enough. If Labrys was willing to kill people to make a buck, someone had to stop her. Shea hustled down the street and reached Labrys just as she was locking the paper bag in her top case.

  “What the fuck’s in the bag, Labrys?”

  Labrys jumped and turned, eyes wide with fear. “Good Goddess, you scared the shit out of me!”

  “Answer the question.”

  “It’s my lunch. Why?” Labrys’ expression grew more stern. “And why aren’t you wearing your cut, prospect?”

  “Don’t give me any of that prospect shit. You’re dealing drugs.”

  “Like hell I am! And how dare you speak to your president that way.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Debbie. I saw you walk into the Tenth Inning with a fat envelope. You gonna tell me it wasn’t fulla cash?”

  “Lower your damn voice.” Labrys looked around, then faced Shea. “Yeah, it was full of cash. I…uh…I placed a bet on last Saturday’s CAU football game. The barkeeper has a sports book going. I thought it would be an easy way to make some quick cash. Just a onetime thing, you know? Unfortunately, the Sentinels got their asses kicked last Saturday. So I had to pay up. A lot.”

  Shea studied Labrys’ face. She’d always been a fabulous liar. “Since when are you a college football fan? I remember you calling it another example of men getting preferential treatment over women.”

  “I could care less about the game. I just figured since the school is making millions off the game, why shouldn’t I get a piece of that action? How was I supposed to know Ahmed Ja
ckson was going to tear his ACL the day before the game?”

  The story seemed a little too convenient. Shea wasn’t buying it. “How much exactly did you lose?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but a little over two grand.”

  “This is the first time you’ve bet on a game and you risked two grand?”

  “Okay, maybe it’s not the first time I bet on a game. But yeah, I lost two grand. Don’t believe me, go in there and ask Tony.”

  “Who the hell’s Tony?”

  “The bartender. He runs the sports book.”

  “That’s interesting. Because I heard the Confederate Thunder sold the hex they stole from the Mexicans to the bar’s owner. A guy named Bonefish. And the next day, you walk in there with a wad of cash and walk out with a bag of something.”

  “You think I bought drugs?”

  Shea studied Labrys’ expression. “Show me what’s in the bag and prove me a liar.”

  Labrys held her gaze for a long moment, then turned away and pulled on her helmet. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have a class to teach in half an hour.”

  “And what about the fire?” Shea pressed.

  “What fire?” Labrys threw a leg over the bike and pulled on her gloves.

  “Bootlegger Bob’s burned down after you told me you’d deal with the Thunder for running Indigo and Savage off the road. News report says a green convertible was spotted leaving the scene. Sounds like your Audi.”

  “You think I had something to do with it? Really, Havoc, you need to have your head examined. You’re delusional.”

  “Five people are dead, Debbie.”

  “Oh well. Shit happens.”

  “What’s the rest of the club gonna think when they learn their president is a drug dealer and a murderer?”

  Labrys glared at Shea. “You better check yourself, prospect. I’m beginning to wonder where your loyalties lie. We’ll discuss this later.” Labrys started the bike, pulled out of the parking space, and cruised down the road.

  Shea returned to Sweet Betsy, revved the engine, and jetted down the road, narrowly missing a pedestrian in a crosswalk.