Get Your Murder Running (Book 4) (A Harley and Davidson Mystery) Page 5

  Hank pushed up from the table and stormed back to the food truck. He refilled his sweet tea. He needed the space from Coil more than he needed the drink. He was so angry that when he closed his eyes, he saw white flashes of bright light behind his eyelids.

  When he came back he’d gotten control of his temper. “I need you to come clean with me. Right now.”

  Hank held up his cell phone so Coil to see the name and number of Ava Grace O’Brien. She was Texas’s tough as nails Attorney General and made her reputation busting bad cops.

  “You threatening me?” Coil said, sliding his dark shades back over his eyes.

  “Only if you force me to.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s taco Thursday,” Hank said. “We got all day.”

  “Tony Smith,” Coil said.

  “Who?”

  “Yeah, that’s the point. You never heard of him, yet I owe him my life.”

  “Your partner?” Hank asked.

  “I owe him big time. And it’s time to pay up.”

  “Sounds to me like he’s got you over a barrel.”

  “It didn’t start out that way, but over time, yeah, I guess he’s kinda got me by the short hairs.”

  “Are you willing to throw it all away for this guy, no matter the consequences?”

  Coil dropped his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I might have to.”

  Chapter Seven

  Friday

  Hank slept in Friday morning. He’d stayed up all night debating what to do about Coil. The best he could figure was to let his friend make the first move. As a last resort, Hank decided he would involve AG O’Brien. If it came to that, it would be because Coil forced the decision. Hank could live with that. It was the right thing to do.

  He rubbed at his eyes but ended up asking Siri what the time was. He was so blurry-eyed he wasn’t sure it was his teeth he was brushing. Siri replied that it was ten-fifteen and the morning’s weather was cloudy and fifty-two degrees.

  Hank sat on the tub’s edge and checked his texts. Grateful his font size was large enough to see. He had a message from Agatha.

  I know you were up all night, but please call when you wake up.

  He went to the sink as his shower steamed in the background. He sunk his face in hand-fulls of cold water. He just couldn’t clear the fog. He was exhausted, and knew Agatha would have a dozen questions he wasn’t alert enough to answer at this point, so he texted back.

  Call you later.

  Hank let the hot water run over his head and across his shoulders, and he felt the life seep back into him. The stress of wrangling with his best friend and the fury of tangling with that scumbag detective Whitehorse had really taken a toll on him. It was Friday, and Hank wanted to connect with the ex-Rattler, Sully. His bike had been stored at the shop all week, and he at least wanted to touch base.

  He stepped out of the shower to someone banging on his front door. With nothing but a towel, his instincts remained high and he grabbed the pistol he kept Velcroed under the sink in case of emergencies. It was just before eleven, so a late-morning home invasion seemed out of character. He peered through the window to see Agatha raise a fist to start pounding again

  “Seriously?” he asked as he jerked open the door.

  Agatha’s eyes got big and round and her mouth dropped open. One of his hands was holding the door open and the other was holding his pistol. Nothing was holding up his towel but the loose knot he’d tied.

  He’d have been lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the admiring look she was giving him, and his lips twitched as she visibly swallowed.

  “Well,” she said. “At least you’re not wearing socks and sandals.” She pushed past him and came inside, and he closed the door behind her.

  “What’s up with all the banging?” he asked,

  “I was worried about you. You’re usually Johnny on the spot at calling me back or texting. I thought maybe something was wrong. What have you been doing?”

  He looked down at his still dripping body and said, “Showering.” And then he headed back toward the bathroom where his clothes were waiting. Being mostly naked around Agatha was an unsettling feeling.

  “We’ve got serious stuff to discuss,” he said. “I’m heading over to the Harley Davidson shop to meet a guy about my bike. You want to come along and we can talk on the way?”

  “Sure. Can I go like this?”

  Agatha was most comfortable in her workout clothes. It was a good thing she also looked incredible in them. Her orange and purple tennis shoes were the only color in an otherwise solid black ensemble of yoga pants, a tank top and light jacket tied around her waist.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll be just a minute,” he said, closing the bathroom door.

  “Maybe you should wear the towel more often,” she said through the door. “I like it.”

  “There’s no place to hide my weapon,” he said, grinning. And he could hear her chuckle.

  When he came out he was dressed in khakis and a blue polo.

  “Is that your idea of casual?” she asked, eyeing him up and down.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing, but we’re at two different levels of dress. I look like a slob and you look like you’re about to go to a job interview. You just look so stuffy.”

  “You coming or complaining the whole trip?” Hank asked, grabbing his keys.

  “I can do both, but after we’re done, let’s stop and get you some proper biker gear.”

  “We’ll see,” Hank said as he held the door to his BMW open for her.

  Hank didn’t mind the forty-minute drive to Reverend Graham’s Harley Davidson shop. Since moving to Texas, he’d learned that it would take no less than an hour to go just about anywhere. Forty minutes was considered a short trip. It would also give him time to brief Agatha on his last interaction with Coil.

  “So, how’d Austin go?” she asked.

  “Not good. Something is going on, and the more I try to trust Coil, the more I can’t.” He reached for a plastic water bottle in the console. “He’s either getting set up or he’s setting me up for a fall. I can’t get my head wrapped around all of the angles because I’m not familiar with the players involved.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and maybe I can fill in what I’ve learned. I haven’t been sitting home twiddling my thumbs, you know?”

  “Coil said his ex-partner, Tony Smith had him by the ba…over a barrel. He said it didn’t start out that way, but over time things changed. He also said Smith saved his life and Coil owes him, so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Hank took another big swig of water and swallowed. “What cuts the deepest is that he said he’d be willing to sacrifice our friendship if it came down to it.”

  “Whoa,” she said. “He must really be in deep. But what could have him so tied up?”

  “It’s got to be the connection to his undercover days and the Rattlers,” he said.

  “You think he and Smith were looking to steal the gold, and now that he’s found it, he feels Smith is owed a share of it?” Agatha suggested while she peered at her iPad.

  “Could be. Heck, anything is possible at this point. What I think what we should do is run out this investigation and maybe we’ll discover the link between Coil, Smith and Beau.”

  “Here we go,” she said.

  “Found something?” Hank asked.

  “Maybe so. Tony is Antonio Dunbar Smith. He transferred from the NYPD to the Austin Police Department around 2006. He went straight to undercover work as part of the same multi-agency task force that Coil belonged to. My notes say he’s still on the job, but unsure where he is currently assigned.”

  “That’s it?” Hank asked.

  “You got something more?” She snapped back.

  Sheepish, Hank looked at her apologetically. “His name is Tony Smith.”

  “I do have more on your arch nemesis, Detective Sergeant Whitehorse and his partner Detective
Skinner.”

  “Hit me,” he said.

  “Skinner is the youngest Ranger to ever be promoted to detective. Here’s a link to his profile. Hello,” Agatha said, purring. “Isn’t he pretty.”

  “Seriously?” Hank scoffed. “I’m sitting right here.”

  “You jealous?” She teased him.

  “No,” Hank lied. He couldn’t compete with guys half his age.

  “Well, no need. He’s all-jarhead Marine. His military record is incredible, so no wonder the Texas Rangers wanted to promote him so soon. Although, his cop career hasn’t nearly been as decorated as his war-time adventures.”

  “That so?” Hank asked.

  “There’s nothing suspicious in his report, but it seems like he saves his energy for overseas deployments. You put him in camouflage and a machine gun and this guy can save the world. Give him a short sleeve dress shirt and used-car salesman tie and he can hardly close a case.”

  “He’s still green, yet. He’ll come around. I liked him.”

  “I’m not saying he suspicious, just a bit slow.”

  “What do you have on Whitehorse?” Hank sneered.

  “Seems old Jason runs on the opposite side of the yard. He’s what they call a case closer. The man’s got the highest case closure and arrest rating in the entire Texas Ranger bureau of gumshoes.” Agatha swiped up on her screen and burst out laughing. “Sorry, but he looks like a catfish.”

  Hank snickered.

  “Anybody can throw cuffs on the innocent. What’s his conviction rate?”

  Agatha twisted toward Hank. “What?”

  “A conviction rate? It’s tracked to make sure clowns like Whitehorse don’t just arrest anyone for the sake of closing out cases. It’s the oldest scam in the book. I’d bet he’s about at the twentieth percentile.”

  “Well,” she said. “I’ve learned something new today.” She scrolled through her files. “And yes, it looks like your guy has an issue with his conviction rate.”

  “I knew it,” Hank said, slapping his palm on the steering wheel

  “But not what you think. He carries the highest conviction percentage amongst active Texas Ranger detectives.”

  “No freaking way.”

  “I’m telling you. It’s right here in black and white,” Agatha said, laughing. “Maybe you read him wrong.”

  “Not possible. I know scum when I see it.”

  “So what does this all mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I know partners get close. Very close. But what in the world could have Coil so shaken that he’d jeopardize his position as sheriff and turn his back on his friends?”

  “Maybe Smith holds something over him that would cost him the position of sheriff. Coil might not have a choice in it at all. Secrets kept never fade between friends. Especially when there’s proof of the secret.”

  “Or when the secret comes back from the dead,” Hank said, sighing.

  “Beau?”

  “I’m afraid so. What can you dig up on Beauregard Sam Houston? He’s the link to Coil’s past and future.” Hank felt a sickness in his gut. This was his best friend they were talking about.

  “I’ll run it through, but don’t expect too much. You think Coil will finish his explanation? I mean, he told you that much already, maybe he’s just needing to cleanse his soul. He is a God-fearing man after all.”

  “Maybe,” Hank said, but didn’t sound convincing even to himself.

  “What’s the deal with this Sully guy we’re meeting? He’s an outlaw?” Agatha asked.

  “All Reggie said was that Sully used to ride with the Rattlers, but now he owes him. He said Sully would teach me how to ride the bike.”

  “You mean you bought that big ol’ motorcycle without knowing how to ride it?” Agatha asked. “Men are so weird.”

  Hank felt the prick to his pride.

  “You know,” Agatha said. “Coil sure has a lot of folks who owe him.”

  Hank nodded. “That’s the nature of police work.”

  Chapter Eight

  Friday

  Hank wasn’t sure what to expect from Sully, but he agreed to meet him behind the mechanic’s shop as he’d requested. It was just after noon and the sky was cloudless and beautiful. The rev of engines could be heard all around them, and the place was packed.

  Rev’s, as it was called by the faithful who frequented the Harley shop, was an icon in the central Texas community. It sported the traditional company logos and classic black and orange colors. The parking lot was dotted with signs designating motorcycle parking only, an exterior walk-in beer cooler for their legendary keg parties, and huge, sweeping metal fabricated doors for service area entrance and bike storage.

  There was a slight haze from the engine heat and motor oil that clung close to the black asphalt parking lot. Peering below it were yellow and white painted lines. Rubber orange cones were staged in various designs. It all signaled to Hank it was time to learn how to ride.

  Hank saw a sinewy figure emerge from the haze. He had a slight gimp in his stride, but his attitude looked like no one to mess with. A bandana with red and orange flames was tied around his peanut-shaped head, and salt and pepper dreadlocks hung over his shoulders

  Sully was about five-feet-seven, and he might have been a hundred and forty-five pounds soaking wet. He could’ve been fifty or seventy, but his age was well entombed within the sun-soaked wrinkles of a life lived on the rough and tumble highways of America. His brown skin held faded remnants of homemade and jailhouse tattoos.

  Hank read the man like a book as he approached, and wasn’t at all happy about this scenario. Simply put, Hank did not like one thing about Sully. Not one thing at all.

  “Hey,” Sully said. “You must be Hank.” Sully stretched out his bone-frail hand. It was covered with rings and leather bracelets were wrapped around each wrist.

  Reluctantly, Hank examined Sully’s hand before taking it into his.

  “That’s me,” Hank said.

  “I’m proud to meet ya. Coil’s told me all about you.” He turned the charm on Agatha. “And who’s the lovely lady?”

  Hank wanted to tell the man to mind his own business, but in typical Agatha fashion, she jumped in with both feet.

  “Agatha Harley,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Sully’s left eye was clouded over like a marble, and Hank wondered what eye he should be looking into. He smiled at Hank with a sincerity that he didn’t expect. Actually, Coil told him nothing about Sully except that he’d agreed to teach him to ride and that he was a former Rattler.

  “You ready to learn to ride that beauty?” Sully asked.

  “I guess so,” Hank said. “How long will it take?”

  “I got an hour for lunch.”

  “That’s all it’ll take? An hour?” Excited by the good news, Hank pounded Sully’s meatless shoulder.

  Sully let out a cackle that exposed two rows of mostly missing yellow teeth.

  “No, city boy, but you’ll at least know where the buttons are. But don’t worry, son. We ain’t stopping there. By the time we finish, you’ll be an old pro. I’m here as long as you need me.” Sully winked. “Or the good Lord takes me.”

  Hank was surprised. And oddly touched. It was clear Sully had lived a hard life, but there was kindness in him. He looked over at Agatha, and she winked at him. She was probably enjoying herself. Every new experience was open season to make an appearance in one of her books. She was literally learning something all the time. Hank had always been impressed by her brain.

  “You know,” Hank said. “It’s already been a long day. I don’t want the lady to have to wait around. Maybe we could do this Monday?”

  Sully gave him a look that said he understood his need not to embarrass himself in front of Agatha and he said, “Sure, man. Whatever you want.”

  They walked over to check out Hank’s brand new Harley Davidson Ultra Limited. It was a beast of a touring bike at over one hundred and two inches long and almost a thousand p
ounds. The Milwaukee 8 engine glimmered in the sun’s rays. Sully had not only parked it out back for their lesson, he’d shined it up brighter than a new penny.

  “What else did Coil tell you?” Hank asked.

  “He said to do whatever it took to teach you to ride, and that you’re his closest friend.”

  “We do go back a long ways,” Hank said. “Maybe you could help me with something.”

  “You changed your mind about starting lessons today?” He asked.

  “No, I need your help on something else, but it doesn’t involve Coil.”

  “Oh,” Sully said tugging at his long, braided goatee. “I’m not sure. I owe him.”

  “Oh, we’re not asking you to go against Coil,” Agatha said guilelessly. “This is something completely separate.”

  “For you, darlin,’ I’ll do my best. Whatcha got for me?”

  “I need to know about the Rattlers,” Hank said, keeping his voice low.

  Sully’s smile disappeared and he seemed to deflate in front of their eyes. The sterling silver rings that adorned each finger clanked on the metal tank as his hands vibrated uncontrollably.

  “Look, I’m reformed. I ain’t no one-percenter anymore. I’m clean.” Sully looked away with a glint of guilt, but there was a glimmer of a grin. “Well, I ain’t no angel, but I did turn in my colors. See?”

  He held out both forearms. There were horrible scars across both of them. Hank winced.

  “What happened?” Agatha gasped.

  Sully scrubbed at each arm, his smile faded.

  “When the club takes back their property, that includes all patches, bikes, and old ladies. Even tattoos.”

  “They cut them off of you?” She pressed her hand against her stomach as if she were going to be sick.

  “Dremel tool.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sully.”

  “That didn’t hurt as bad as losing my wife.” He knuckled wetness from his weary eyes.

  “Your wife?” She exclaimed.

  “Yep. Connie was a club old lady when I met her. We married after, but first, she belonged to the club before she belonged to me. These old scars might heal, but that one never will.”