Club Property: Adults Only Motorcycle Club Romance: Roadrunners MC (3 page)

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see a problem with it,” he said. “You’ll just need to catch up with the work when you return. I’ll pass on the message that you’ll miss classes for a couple of weeks.”

“Thanks,” Carrie replied.

She was amazed that the meeting was over so quickly, but wasn’t about to complain about it. Getting to her feet, she walked across to the door to leave the room. All she needed to hope now was that the college didn’t contact her parents, although she didn’t think they would. She intended to leave right away, so she walked to her dorm room to pack a bag with clothes and some of her other belongings. Afterwards, she made her way to the main exit and looked over her shoulder towards the building as she stepped through the gates.

Whether she saw the place again would depend on what she found at the other end of her journey, and that was the thought on her mind as she walked to the nearby bus station. She bought a ticket for the next service leaving for San Francisco and walked to the stand to wait for its arrival. It surprised her that there were only a few people getting on, but it meant she got a couple of seats to herself and she got herself comfortable.

“This is fucking nuts,” she let out under her breath as she stared out the window of the bus, but she wasn’t about to give up on her plan to visit Carl now.

Her anticipation was already on the rise as the vehicle left the station and she settled down to a trip that might very well change her life for ever.

“For fuck’s sake,” Carl ‘Crash’ McCallister complained in a loud voice and shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you guys not to take your ride to another mechanic?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Bobby protested and held out his arms. “I was stuck upstate and needed to get it fixed. Did you fucking expect me to push it here just because you freak out if anyone else touches our bikes?”

“What’s wrong with giving me a call?” Crash went on. “That’s the whole point of me having a crash truck. I could have come to pick up the bike and brought it here.”

“I was hundreds of miles away,” Bobby pointed out. “And I didn’t want to wait, so I just found someone that could do the work to get me on the move.”

“Yeah, and look at the fucking botch job they made of it,” Crash said as he stared at the bike.

“It got me here, didn’t it?” Bobby said.

“With your bike almost fucked,” Crash pointed out. “If they did such a good job, why are you here now asking me to look at your ride?”

“Are you going to check it over or not?” Bobby asked.

“Of course I am,” Crash let out in an annoyed voice.

There was nothing else he could do. He hated the thought of anyone other than him touching a Roadrunner vehicle and tried to drum it into the gang member’s heads that they needed to come to him if they wanted any maintenance or repair work carried out. Most of them did that, although there was always the odd dickhead or two that ignored him. One of his main jobs for the organization was keeping the vehicles running, and he would have travelled to pick up Bobby’s bike if the call had been made to ask him. That it hadn’t been annoyed him, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“Can you fix it?” Bobby asked.

“Do bears shit in the woods?” Crash replied.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bobby said and laughed.

“Just leave it with me,” Crash told him. “I’ll get on to it straight away, so it should be ready for this evening.”

“Good man,” Bobby said and walked to the door of the workshop then disappeared from view.

Crash walked to the fridge in the corner of the room and opened it to get a beer.

“Drinking on the job,” a voice said. “That’s not good.”

The grin flashed across Crash’s face when he turned to see Andy ‘Six’ Carter walking towards him.

“Do you want one?” he offered.

“Sure,” Six replied.

Crash got another bottle of beer from the fridge and opened it as Six got to him. He handed it over and they both enjoyed a drink of beer.

“Are you busy?” Six asked.

“That dickhead Bobby got his bike repaired upstate,” Crash replied. “It was a botch job, so I need to sort out the mess and get it running properly.”

“How long will it take?” Six asked.

Crash shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll probably be at it for a few hours I guess. Is there something you need me for?”

“The boss wants us to carry out a job,” Six replied.

“Doing what?” Crash asked.

“Arms shipment,” Six replied. “I just need to go over the details with you and Patch to make sure we are ready for it.”

“Sure. Do you need me right now?”

“No,” Six went on. “The job isn’t for a couple of days yet, so just come and find me later on when you’ve finished your work. I just spoke to Patch and he will be here in a couple of hours too.”

“OK,” Crash agreed.

The pair of them stood making small talk as they drank, but Six was quick to leave the mechanic’s room when his beer was finished. Crash got on with stripping down the engine of Bobby’s motorcycle to find the problem and fix it before reassembling the machine. It took almost three hours to complete, and then he decided to take the bike for a spin to make sure that it was now in prefect working condition.

“Another job well done?” the man of the parking lot gate joked when Crash got to it.

“We’ll soon find out,” he replied.

He throttled the engine when the gates opened and liked the sound of the roar he got. The bike shot forward when he accelerated, and in the next twenty minutes or so he put it through its paces in the streets around the Roadrunner building. Everything seemed fine with it, so he drove to the gates and showed his face to the CCTV camera on top of them. It got him inside and he saw the bike’s owner waiting when he returned to the workshop.

“How’s it running now?” Bobby asked.

“Perfectly, if I do say so myself,” Crash answered. “The next time you have a problem, come to me with it… even if you are upstate.”

He got off the bike and tossed the keys to Bobby. His work for the day was finished, so he went to the small cubicle at the rear of the room to have a shower and change out of his overalls. He dried himself afterwards and put on his leathers before heading off to the recreation room in search of the man he now wanted to see. Six was playing pool with Patch, but the two of them gave up the table when Crash came in.

“Let’s find somewhere private to talk,” Six said.

They walked out to the hallway and moved along it to the room they normally used to discuss their jobs. There was no one inside it, so they locked themselves in and sat at the table.

“So… this job is a weapons transport?” Crash said to get the discussion started.

“Yup,” Six confirmed. “It’s a new client, so the boss wants someone experienced on the job and we drew the short straw.”

“Shit,” Patch let out. “I fucking hate new jobs.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to suck it up,” Six said with a grin.

“Who is the client?” Crash asked.

“An affiliate gang in Portland,” Six replied. “They’re called the Disciples.”

“That’s a new one on me,” Crash went on. “The Portland Disciples.”

“As far as I’ve been told, the boss has hooked in with them and agreed to supply them with weapons,” Six went on. “We’re giving them a discounted price for the help and support they can give us in Oregon.”

“Do we really need help there?” Patch asked.

“The boss seems to thinks so, and some backup never hurt anyone,” Six went on. “Supplying them with weapons will be good business, and hopefully they will have connections in the state that we can take advantage of to extend our influence.”

“The trip is across state lines to Portland then?” Crash queried.

Six nodded his head and got a map from his pocket. For the next hour or so they went over the plans for the job until they were all familiar with it.

“OK, we roll two days from now on Friday morning,” Six said. “Be here with your game face on at six o’clock. I’ll make sure the truck is loaded up with the weapons and ready to go. This is a simple job that should run like clockwork, so it should be a walk in the park for us.”

“I fucking hate new jobs,” Patch let out to echo his earlier complaint. “They always give me a shit feeling, and crossing the border makes things all the worse.”

“You worry too much,” Six told him with a smirk. “This will be a breeze.”

“If you say so,” Patch said without much conviction.

“And what’s your take on it, Crash?” Six asked.

“We get in with the weapons then out with the money as fast as we fucking can and get home in one piece,” Crash replied. “That’s all I’m interested in.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Six said.

His words brought the meeting to an end and he smacked his hand down on Patch’s shoulder as he got to his feet.

“Are we going to finish that game of pool now?” Six asked.

“Sure, I’m happy to take your money if the table is free,” Patch answered then turned his attention to the other man at the table. “Are you going to join us for a drink?”

Crash shook his head.

“I’ll leave you two to enjoy your game of pool,” he replied. “It’s been a long day and I need to get some rest.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Six asked.

“Only if I’m called in,” Crash replied. “Bobby’s motorcycle was the last repair work I needed to get done. I’ll just rest and get myself ready for the job unless someone gets in touch asking me to take a look at their ride.”

“Sure, I’ll see you early on Friday morning then,” Six said.

Crash followed his two friends out to the hallway, but he headed for the exit as they walked in the direction of the recreation room. He stepped out the door of the building to the chill of a dark evening and turned the collar of his leather jacket up then reached in his pocket for the pack of cigarillos. Lighting one of the narrow cigars, he stood for a few minutes puffing on it and looking around the vehicles in the parking lot. He’d worked on all of them at one time or another and took pride in the fact that he kept them in perfect working order.

“Fucking Bobby,” he cursed under his breath as he thought of the bike he worked on that day.

Gang members taking their rides to other mechanics was something he couldn’t abide, and he tried to quell the annoyance that welled up by concentrating on the taste of the cigarillo he was smoking. When it was burnt all the way down to his fingertips, he dropped the butt and crushed it under the heel of his boot. He then moved across to the crash truck and closed his eyes for a few seconds when he was sitting behind the steering wheel. The tiredness of a long day came over him and all that was in his mind now was to get to his apartment and relax with a beer to end the day. When he opened his eyes, he turned the key in the ignition and drove the truck to the parking lot exit.

“You finished for the day?” the man at the gates asked when Crash rolled down the window of the truck.

“Yup, that’s me heading home,” he replied.

He waited until the gates swung fully open then got the vehicle moving to join the late evening traffic. It was slow going at first on busy streets, but the volume of traffic died down as he got closer to his home and he was able to pick up some speed. Thirty-five minutes after leaving the Roadrunners’ building, he turned onto the street where his apartment building was located and drove along to a parking space opposite it.

“Fucking streetlights,” he cursed when he killed the headlights.

The lamps along the street had been out of service for weeks and he wondered if they were ever going to be repaired. He waited a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the darkness before getting out of the truck and locking it. It wasn’t as if he was expecting any trouble, but his nerves kicked in when he turned to walk towards his apartment building and saw the shadowy figure sitting on the front steps.

He was immediately alert and slowed his pace as he tried to peer through the darkness towards the person. The petite figure appeared to be a girl and, as far as he could make out, she was just sitting calmly, as if she was waiting for someone. His nerves remained on edge as he approached the steps, but he relaxed when he climbed them and moved past the person towards the building entrance.

“Not even going to say hello to me, Mr. McCallister?” the girl said.

The sound of his name being spoken came as a surprise and it showed in his voice when he turned around.

“What the fuck?” he let out. “Who the hell are you?”

The girl got to her feet and took off the baseball cap she was wearing, and it allowed him to get a better look at her. The face was familiar, if somewhat older than he remembered, and the name came to him straight away.