I tried one more time two years later. Different agent, same office. That time they didn't even give me the courtesy of an investigation. Just told me grief does strange things to people. Hank walked to the window, stood beside her.
Outside, the desert stretched endless. Somewhere out there, Ellis Blackwood was living his life. Retired with honors, probably. Pension and benefits and the gratitude of a nation that didn't know he'd been selling its weapons to the highest bidder. "What about Daniel?"
Hank asked. "You said he started investigating last year. He'd been asking questions about his grandfather, Ray's dad. Wanted to know about his life. I finally told him about the ledger, about the video I shouldn't have."
Conniey's voice broke. He was so angry. Said he was going to find evidence going to expose Blackwood, even if the FBI wouldn't help, he started digging, asking questions around town, talking to people who'd worked at the depot. And then his brakes failed on Highway 89, coming down from Flagstaff. His car went off a cliff.
The investigators said the brake line had corroded. Natural wear and tear. She turned to face Hank. My son was a mechanic. He maintained his own vehicles.
His brakes don't just fail. Gunner stirred walked to the door then back restless the dog sensed the tension the rising danger Hank understood what Connie was asking even if she hadn't said it directly she wanted him to do what the FBI I mean wouldn't what her son had died trying to do she wanted him to expose Blackwood to make Ray's death mean something but 20 years was a long time evidence got lost memories faded and Blackwood would be prepared now after Daniel's questions had tipped him off that someone was still digging There's more," Connie said. She walked to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a folder. Manila worn at the edges. Daniel found this before he died.
I didn't even know he had it until I was cleaning out his apartment. She handed the folder to Hank. Inside were documents, printouts from the county recorder's office. Property deeds, business licenses. Hank scanned them, his trained eye, picking out the relevant details.
A mining company called Desert Lithium LLC incorporated 5 years ago. Property purchases throughout the county, all parcels on what was officially Bureau of Land Management Territory. Public land, lithium, Hank looked up. The new gold rush, Connie said. Electric cars need lithium batteries.
Arizona has some of the richest deposits in the country. Whoever controls those deposits controls billions of dollars. Hank flipped through more pages. The majority shareholder of Desert Lithium LLC was listed as a corporation which was owned by another corporation shell companies stacked on shell companies. But Daniel had done the work following the paper trail through layers of obfiscation.
At the end of it all, one name appeared Ellis Blackwood. He's moved on from guns to mining, Hank said slowly. Not moved on, expanded. According to Daniel's notes, Blackwood uses his old military connections to access restricted land. Public land that's supposed to be protected, but with the right permits and the right bribes, he can extract whatever he wants.
Lithium, copper, rare earth minerals, all of it through shell companies that can't be traced back to him directly. And Sheriff Thornton, local muscle, his family's been in Pineriidge for generations. He controls what happens here. Make sure no one asks too many questions. If someone does, she gestured at the folder.
Break lines fail. Heart attacks happen. Accidents. Hank set the folder down, his mind working through the implications. This wasn't just about revenge for Ry anymore.
This was about an ongoing criminal enterprise, one that had been operating for decades and showed no signs of stopping. The sound of engines cut through the quiet. Multiple motorcycles, the distinctive rumble of Harley's. Gunner's ears perked up. Hank moved to the window.
Five bikes rolled up the gravel road chrome gleaming in the late afternoon sun. They pulled into a loose formation in front of the house engines, cutting off in sequence. Five men climbed off, all wearing the same patch Hank wore Iron Brotherhood MC Tucson chapter. Luther Cain led them, wrenched, 65 years old and built like a fire hydrant, graying beard down to his chest. Behind him came Vernon Hayes preacher, thin and tall with the calm demeanor that had earned his road name.
Then Otis Webb Rattlesnake moving with the careful precision of a man who'd spent years behind a sniper scope. Floyd Briggs Hammer, stocky and powerful engineer's eyes, taking in every detail of the house's construction. And finally, Silus Montgomery Doc, who'd stitched up more Marines and field hospitals than most doctors saw in a career. Brothers, not by blood, by choice. Hank opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.
Gunner followed tail wagging once in recognition. [ __ ] you long enough, Hank said. Wrench grinning. Had to stop for G and food. And Preacher needed to find a clean bathroom cuz apparently truck stop facilities aren't good enough for his delicate constitution.
It was disgusting, Preacher said mildly. There are standards. The others laughed that easy camaraderie that came from years of writing together. But their eyes were sharp scanning the surroundings, cataloging threats. These were men who'd been in bad situations before and knew how to read the signs.
Hank descended the porch steps, gripped Wrench's hand. Thanks for coming. You called, we came. That's how it works. Wrench's expression turned serious.
So, what kind of trouble are we looking at? The kind that got my best friend killed 20 years ago. The kind that might get us killed, too, if we're not careful. Well, hell, Rattlesnake drawled here. I thought this was going to be boring.
Connie appeared in the doorway, and five bikers immediately straightened a reflex of old school manners. You could take the men out of the core, but you couldn't take the core out of the men. Ma'am, they said in unison, she smiled despite everything. You boys hungry? I've got pot roast in the slow cooker.
Ma'am, we're always hungry, Doc said. But we don't want to impose. It's not imposing if I'm offering, and you're going to need your strength, she looked at Hank. Tell them. They should know what they're getting into.
So Hank did. Standing there in Conniey's driveway with the sun starting to dip toward the horizon. He told them about Rey, about Blackwood, about the weapons trafficking and the mining operation and the dead son and the waitress with bruises on her arm. He told them about a town called Pine Ridge where the law was corrupt and justice was a memory. When he finished, the brothers were quiet for a long moment.
Then Wrench spoke. So, we're going up against a colonel, a sheriff, and whoever else Blackwood has on his payroll. Looks like. And we've got what a 20-year-old video and some property records. That's about it.
No FBI support, no local law enforcement we can trust. Nope. Wrench looked at the others. They nodded. Some kind of silent communication passing between them.
Then he turned back to Hank. When do we start? Relief flooded through Hank, though he kept it off his face. Tonight, we need to know what we're dealing with. Rattlesnake, think you can do some reconnaissance?
Get eyes on the mining operation without being seen. Does a snake shed its skin? Hammer? I need you to look at a car. Brake line supposedly failed on Highway 89.
Might be at an impound. Might be at a scrapyard. Either way, I need to know if it was tampered with. Hammer nodded. Consider it done.
Doc, there's a girl at the diner, waitress named Autumn. She's scared, possibly in danger. I need you to make contact. Assess the situation. You still carry your medical kit?
Always. Good. If she's hurt, help her. If she needs to disappear, help her with that, too. And me, preacher asked.
You and I are going to have a conversation with Sheriff Thornton. Nothing aggressive, just two concerned citizens asking questions about a tragic accident involving Conniey's son. Concerned citizens who happen to be bikers. Exactly. Wrench cracked his knuckles.
What about me? You're going to do what you do best. Get into places you're not supposed to be and find things people want to keep hidden. A slow smile spread across Wrench's face. Now that sounds like a good time.
Connie watched this exchange with something like wonder. You're really going to help. Ma'am, preacher said gently. Your husband saved Hank's life. That makes him our brother, too.