She remembered the fear of the unmarked sedan. "This man was scary, but he was right here in front of her. The unknown was worse. " Snake held the stare for another three seconds. Then he threw his head back and laughed.
It was a barking manic sound. "I like her, Frank. She's got stones. " Snake slammed a $20 bill on the counter. "Keep the change.
" The tension in the room snapped. Conversations resumed. The pool balls clacked. Sarah let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. For the next four hours, Sarah worked harder than she ever had in her life.
These men drank hard and fast. She learned the hierarchy quickly. Prospects. The guys without the full patch did the grunt work. They fetched ice, swept glass, and seemingly existed to be yelled at.
The members sat at the tables. And then there were the officers. Frank was the president. She figured that out by the president patch. and the way everyone, even the scary giant from the door, whose name turned out to be Big Mike, the sergeant-at-arms, deferred to him.
Around 2:00 a.m., the atmosphere shifted. The door burst open, and three men walked in. They weren't bikers. They wore cheap suits and bad haircuts. The music didn't stop, but the vibe soured instantly.
Frank stood up slowly. The lead suit, a man with a greasy complexion and shifting eyes, walked up to the bar. He ignored the bikers and looked straight at "Sarah. " "We're looking for Gary Miller," the man said. Sarah dropped the glass she was polishing.
It shattered on the floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Who's asking? " Frank's voice boomed from the corner. The suit turned to Frank. "Private business, pal.
This girl is Miller's ex-wife. We think she knows where he is. Sarah's blood ran cold. These were the collectors. They had found her here in the middle of a Hells Angels bar.
"I don't know where he is," Sarah stammered, backing up against the liquor shelf. I haven't seen him in six months. "Liar," the suit said, reaching over the bar to grab her wrist. Before his fingers could graze her skin, a massive hand clamped onto his shoulder. Big Mike was there.
He moved with a speed that defied his size. "You touch the staff," Big Mike grumbled, his voice like gravel in a mixer. You lose the hand. " The suit tried to shrug him off, but Mike's grip was iron. "We have a debt to collect.