Out of the Shadows (Renegades)

by Ana Stone

Why she’d be stupid enough to want him to remember her was a mystery. That day in the motel, he’d been wearing a club patch. Motorcycle clubs were not something she wanted to be involved with ever again. If he was part of one, then the best thing she could do was put him out of her mind and move on.

  If only she could forget about him. As much as it annoyed her, she’d done little else but think about him. What was it about him that was so familiar? She’d never met him prior to being shot. She would have remembered. Did he remind of someone from her past? If so she couldn’t remember who.

  Yet still she felt that she knew him. Or was that her mind playing tricks on her? Maybe the truth was she wanted to know him.

  She blew out her breath and stood. Pull up your big girl panties and get on with it.

  Roxy took one final look around, slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of her luggage. Time to go.

  As promised, the local P.D. had delivered her car to the parking lot of the hospital. It wasn’t hard spotting a 1968 GTO. It kind of stood out in a field of late model sedans and SUV’s. She unlocked the trunk to stow her luggage then unlocked the driver’s side door.

  There was nothing like the sound of four hundred horses under the hood. The rumble of the engine brought a smile to her face. Roxy rolled down her window and backed out of the parking space. In minutes she was on the main road, headed for Harmony. To her surprise, when she’d called about the job interview she’d missed, she was told there was still an opening.

  She figured she might as well check it out. She had nowhere else to be.

  It was one of those days that it was hard not to appreciate being alive. The sun was shining, the sky was a glorious blue, dotted by fluffy clouds and spring was in full bloom. She took her time making the drive.

  Roxy wasn’t one of those people who needed to have music blasting while she drove. The GTO was equipped with its original radio and she hadn’t added any additional audio to the car. Still she did not even bother to turn on the radio. She liked it just the way it was. The roar of air from the opened windows was music enough for her.

  She saw the sign at the edge of town and slowed. Harmony.

  It was like stepping back in time. Shops lined the streets; the sidewalks separating them from the street were clean and boasted of at least two benches on each block with refuge cans mounted on metal posts and a street light for each block.

  The shops themselves were reminiscent of a time gone by. A local dress shop, a shoe shop that advertised repairs on its window and a bridal store occupied one block. Across the street was a barber and a dry goods store. On the next block was a beauty salon, a drug store, a five-and-dime and children’s clothing store.

  The town boasted of a tack shop, a feed store, an insurance company for all your needs, a spa, an herb shop, a small hotel, and a town square dominated by what was labeled City Government and a police department, along with a small park. The streets were wide enough to host angled parking in front of each shop. No parallel parking for Harmony. Pull right up.

  She wondered if that said something about the amount of traffic in the town. If right now was any indication there wasn’t a lot of it.

  Roxy drove slowly through town, taking in the sights. Once she reached the edge of town she continued. A couple of blocks down the road she saw a large compound, five large metal buildings surrounded by a ten foot chain-link fence and heavy duty gate that stood open.

  The building closest to the street bore a name painted on it. Renegade Custom Rides. Roxy slowed even more as she cruised by. The parking lot held at least half a dozen classic cars, along with more than a dozen motorcycles. Not crotch rockets. Harleys bearing an emblem on the tanks that could not be anything but a club insignia.

  Shit. The last thing she wanted was to park herself in a town that was home to a club.

  She drove to the next intersection, took a right and worked her way back to the main street. She wasn’t sure about the job interview now. If the MC was one that dealt drugs or ran guns then she didn’t want to have any part of the town.

  But maybe they weren’t. This was one clean town. People sat on the benches on the sidewalks. Kids played in the park and rode their bicycles down the sidewalks. Everyone appeared completely comfortable.

  As she reached the hotel, she decided she’d check in and spend some time on foot in the town. If she got wind of something that made her trouble radar ping, she’d call and cancel the interview and head out first thing in the morning. If not? Well, it wouldn’t hurt to go and see what they had to offer.

  *****

  Reese was boiling mad. For the first half hour all he did was curse and blame everyone but the Taliban for the mess at the motel in Selma. Despite the desk clerk’s statement, Dice and Razr were charged with possession of illegal weapons and taken into custody.

  Zeke wasn’t surprised. Reese’s temper was short-fused on his best days. Right now his tanned face was flushed, with veins standing out on his forehead and neck. Nearly as tall as Zeke, Reese was intimidating when not angered. Angry he caused more than a few of the men at the table to avert their eyes.

  The club had scrounged enough to bail them out, but they were hurting for money because of it. When Rice, Eli’s son. pointed out that at least they’d been able to bail the guys out of jail, all it did was earn Rice a dressing down in front of the whole club about how Zeke had high-tailed it from the fight like a girl, more concerned with covering his ass with the bitch he shot than his brothers.

  Once he finally wound down on his tirade, Eli spoke up.

  “I talked to the attorney this morning. He said it isn’t looking good for Razr and Dice because of their parole. He might be able to get them in front of a friendly judge, but it’s going to cost us twenty large for each to keep them from going back in.”

  “Forty fucking thousand?” Reese exploded. “Where the fuck are we supposed to come up with that kind of cash?”

  Eli shrugged. “Just letting you know what the attorney said. You don’t want them to go back in for parole violation you come up with the money, or they get eighteen to twenty-four months.”

  “What about Zeke?” Reese asked.

  Eli cut a look at Zeke before answering. “The woman that was shot gave a statement that cleared him.”

  “For the shooting.” Reese said. “What about the weapons charge?”

  “No charge. He’s licensed to carry and with the woman’s statement the shootings are being ruled self-defense.”

  Reese glowered at Zeke. “Being a fucking war hero has its advantages.”

  Zeke just stared at Reese without comment. He knew Reese was trying to goad him, but it wasn’t going to work.

  “Well, I ain’t going back in,” Razr announced.

  Zeke had no doubt that Razr would do everything possible, including high-tailing it out of Dodge to avoid going back into prison. Not that he couldn’t survive. Hell, he’d been in and out of prison most of his adult life.

  At a little over six feet tall, a build like a linebacker, with thin brown hair pulled back into a tangled pony-tail, Razr was probably the meanest and most dangerous man Zeke had ever met. A hair-trigger temper and a love for causing pain made him a man to keep your eye on. Only Reese was completely safe with Razr.

  “Then we need to find new funds,” Reese replied.

  “What’d you have in mind?” Chopper asked.

  Chopper always asked that kind of question. Despite his criminal history and love of violence, he was a man who liked to figure the angles. That made him indispensable to Reese, who rarely considered all aspects of a situation. It also put him in the position of getting on Reese’s nerves.

  Surprisingly, Reese ignored the question and turned his attention to Eli. “How soon the lawyer need the money?”

  “End of the week.”

  Reese stood. “Give me a few days to come up with something. Meeting adjourned.”

  He walked out. A few moments later the rest of the club followed suit
, leaving Eli, Rice and Zeke sitting at the table. Eli looked at Zeke. “You have any idea which way he’s gonna go?”

  Zeke shook his head. “He doesn’t confide in me.”

  “He doesn’t confide in anyone these days,” Eli commented. “That concerns me.”

  “It should concern all of us,” Zeke replied and stood. “I’ll catch up with you later. Got some things to take care of.”

  He went outside to his bike. Reese was on the steps of the clubhouse with Razr, Chopper and Dice. Zeke gave them a glance as he mounted his bike. Reese would do whatever it took to keep Razr and Dice from going back to prison. It was the ‘whatever’ that worried Zeke. Just how far was Reese willing to go?

  Chapter Five

  Roxy walked into the tattoo shop ten minutes prior to her appointment to meet with the shop manager, Randy Willis. It was a clean place. The lobby boasted of an old but in good condition leather sofa, a couple of chairs, coffee and end tables and a flat screen television mounted on the left side wall.

  A wall separated the lobby from the working area of the shop. From the left side, two thirds of the length of the separating wall was glass. The other third was standard plaster with a large window that slid to one side, beyond which was the receptionist, who sat in a closed cubicle.

  Roxy walked over to the reception window. “Hi, I’m Roxanne Quinn. I have an appointment with Mr. Willis.”

  “Yes. Hold on and I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Roxy gave the woman a smile then took a seat on one end of the sofa, watching through the glass wall. There were three stations, two on the left side and one on the right, behind the reception cubicle. Shiny white countertops over double cabinets were mounted to the walls beneath large adjustable angle mirrors. Each station was equipped with a client chair – and from the looks of them, nice models with multiple adjustments.

  Two artists were at work at the stations on the left side of the room. The station on the right was empty.

  The walls were white, clean and decorated with sample designs and what appeared to be custom designs, all arranged neatly with black frames on each. The floor was an old-school black and white tile pattern that made her wonder if the shop were used at one time for a barber.

  On the far back wall were hundreds of framed photos, obviously of work done by the shop’s artists. In the center of the wall was a closed door.

  The back door opened and a middle aged man with two full sleeves and tattoos on both sides of his neck walked out. He crossed the room and opened the glass door to the lobby. “Roxanne?”

  “Yes, sir.” She stood and reminded herself mentally that this was not the military so to chill.

  “Randy Willis.” He said with a smile.

  “Roxy, sir.” She returned the smile and offered her hand.

  He clasped her hand briefly then gestured toward the rear of the shop. “Come on back.”

  Roxy followed him through the shop to the office in the back. In contrast to the order and tidiness of the lobby and shop, his office looked like a tornado had blown through. “Excuse the mess,” he said as he took a seat at his desk. “My wife, Debbie – the gal up front – swears I do this just to chap her ass.”

  Roxy shrugged. “We all have our ways.”

  “Yeah, ain’t that the truth.” He replied and started shuffling papers on his desk. “Damn, where did I put that?” He picked up the phone on his desk and punched a button on the base. “Deb? Where did I put that resume? Okay, thanks.”

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “She’s bringing a copy.”

  Roxy nodded. A few moments later Debbie entered the office. She handed Randy the printed copies. “He’d lose his head if it wasn’t attached.”

  Roxy smiled. The words were spoken with the kind of affection that clearly spelled a happy marriage.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Randy responded and looked down at the paper in his hand

  “Don’t want to ruffle your feathers, but with your creds why do you want to ink?”

  “I enjoy it.” It wasn’t a lie. She did enjoy creating the designs. Putting ink on someone was a work of art that wasn’t easily set aside. Ink required commitment and when a client walked away proud and happy with something she’d created it made her feel good. A piece of her went with every client, often for their entire lives.

  She’d learned to ink before she enlisted and had done street inking as a way of surviving on her own. After enlisting she continued and had gotten pretty good over the years.

  “Pay isn’t that much, hon.”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  Randy studied her for a few moments. “What is it about?”

  “Just looking for a place that fits.”

  He was quiet for a few moments then nodded. “Fair enough. Tell you what; let’s give it a trial run. Say six weeks at forty percent of sales. If you work out I’ll bump it to fifty. Hang in for more than a year with no beefs from clients or infractions of the codes and you’ll get sixty.”

  “Thank you, sir. That sounds more than fair.”

  “All righty then. When can you start?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  “You have a place to stay?”

  “I’m at the hotel right now. Just got here so I haven’t had time to look. Do you know of anything for rent? Not an apartment. Maybe a small house?”

  “No, but I know someone who might. Let me write down her number for you.” He searched around for a pen as he talked, located one and scribbled something down on a note pad. “I’ll give her a call and tell her to expect hearing from you. She owns some rental houses and might have something available.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

  “Not a problem.” He handed her the note with the information and stood. “Why don’t we give you a week to get settled and get you in here the middle of next week?”

  “That will be fine, sir. Thank you, Mr. Willis. I appreciate the opportunity and won’t let you down.”

  “It’s Randy and I’m sure you won’t Roxy.”

  She shook his hand. “Thanks again. See you next week.”

  “You bet’cha. Here, let me walk you out.” He opened the door and waited for her to exit. “I’m feeling like a barbecue so I might make a run down to the Wagon Wheel and pick up some barbecue for lunch.”

  “They have good barbecue there?” She asked as they crossed through the shop.

  “Good enough to make a hound dog break its chain.” He stopped at the door to the reception cubicle.

  She chuckled. “Then I might have to give it a try sometime. Thanks again, Randy.”

  He nodded. “See you soon.”

  Roxy was just pulling the glass door open to the lobby when a man wearing a police uniform approached the door from the opposite side. She held the door for him.

  “Thanks, young lady,” he said with a smile.

  “Anytime, sir,” she replied and waited for him to enter.

  He was not a big man. Maybe five foot ten, and a hundred and seventy pounds. She estimated him to be in his mid-to-late fifties from the thinning brown hair on the top of his head and creases beneath and around his eyes. His eyes were what she noticed the most. Sharp and clear and from the way he looked at her, he was sizing her up.

  “Hey, Art,” Randy said from behind her. “I was just about to head down to the Wagon Wheel. Wanna join me for lunch?”

  The police officer paused in the doorway. “Sure. Why not?”

  Randy walked over to where Roxy stood, still holding the door. “Art, this is Roxanne – uh, Roxy Quinn, soon to be my new artist. Roxy, Arthur Phillips. Chief of police.”

  Roxy used her foot to hold the door and extended her hand. “A pleasure, sir.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Chief Phillips replied and took her hand. “Welcome to Harmony Miss Quinn.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Well don’t keep the lady standing there all day,” Debbie called from the door of the receptio
n area.

  “Oh, sorry,” Randy grabbed the door.

  “Thanks.” Roxy smiled and gave the police chief another look. “Nice meeting you, sir.”

  She went outside, got in her car and looked at what Randy had written on the note card. The name Stella and a phone number.

  Roxy shrugged. In a small town people were accustomed to being on a first name basis. That was probably the reason he’d neglected to put a last name. She put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. She’d left her cell phone on the charger at the hotel, so she’d go back there and give the woman a call.

  As she drove through town, she suddenly felt a wave of hope wash through her. Maybe Harmony would be the place she fit. Maybe it would work out, at least for a while and she could put ghosts to rest and find a new direction for her life.

  *****

  Harmony’s Mayor, Dillon Morris breezed by the officer on duty at the front desk and straight into the Chief’s office. Chief Phillips was on the phone when Dillon entered.

  “Let me call you back,” he said into the receiver and hung up the phone. “Mayor Morris. Something I can do for you?”

  “Were you aware that the Renegades are in violation of City Code 312?”

  Phillips bit back a sharp reply. He wasn’t sure what code 312 was, but he was pretty certain it would amount to some petty infraction. Dillon Morris went out of his way to cause trouble for the club.

  Dillon hated the Renegades. That was public knowledge

  Dillon wasn’t a native to North Carolina. He moved to Harmony fifteen years earlier when his family bought up a big chunk of the trucking and shipping operations in the area. It had always been rumored that his family was affiliated with criminal organizations.

  Rather than settle in one of the larger cities like Beaufort or Morehead City, he’d bought a huge parcel of land in Harmony and had an enormous estate built.

  A man of medium height and build, Dillon was considered handsome by most of the female residents of Harmony. His dark brown hair was cut fashionably short but with enough length in the top that in the wind, or when he was at the local gym, a hank fell boyishly on his forehead.