She's a good person in a bad situation, he said. Yes, Marcus said. And she's important to you. Will looked at his car coffee cup. She's like family, he said.
It was as much as he was going to say. Marcus nodded. He let it rest there. He'd always known when to let things rest. They were halfway through breakfast when Will's phone rang.
He looked at the screen. Hutchkins. He answered it. Dale. Will.
Hutchkins voice was tight in a way that told Will the man was working to keep it even. I'm looking at Main Street right now from the window of my office and I'm seeing a situation that I think you should explain to me. They're having breakfast. Will said. Will.
Dale listened to me. They drove all night and they're having breakfast at Patty's Diner. That's all that's happening right now. A short silence. Will could almost hear Hutchkins doing what Hutchkins always did, sorting the variables, thinking in straight lines.
How many are we talking about? About 31. Another silence longer. 31. Thereabouts.
Hell's Angels. Yes. Hutchkins breathed out slowly. I'm going to need you in my office at some point today, Will. I know.
I'll come by after breakfast. Bring Marcus. Marcus is the man in charge. The one you want to meet. Another breath.
Okay, Hutchkins said with the exhausted calm of a man who has decided that the circumstances of his Monday morning were something he would process over the weekend. After breakfast, Will hung up. Marcus was watching him. The sheriff. He wants to meet you, Will said.
That's fine, Marcus said. I want to meet him, too. A straight line man is useful. Will looked at him. How'd you know he was a straight line man?
You trust him, Marcus said. You trust specific kinds of people. The diner had filled steadily since they arrived. Not just the angels, though they occupied the counter and four of the tables, but towns people drawn by the sight of the motorcycles coming in ones and twos through the front door with the slightly stunned expression of people witnessing something they hadn't been prepared for. Some of them recognized Will and came over to where he sat at the counter, wanting to be near something that felt like the opposite of what they'd been living inside for 6 weeks.
Tommy Reese came in at 9:00. He came in alone without his wife which told Will something and he stood in the doorway. Sus stood the doorway for a moment looking at the room at the writers and their vests and the ordinary diner mourning that was happening around them and his face moved through several things in the space of a few seconds. Then he walked to the counter and squeezed in beside Will and put his hand out. I should have done this different, Tommy said.
His voice was rough and his eyes were somewhere between ashamed and determined. I should have stood like you stood. You have a wife, Will said. You have a business you built for 30 years. You made the calculation that made sense.
It didn't feel right. No, Will said. It never does. Tommy looked at Marcus, who was on Will's other side and had been listening without looking like he was listening, which Will recognized as a 40-year skill. Tommy looked at the vest.
He looked at the patch. He straightens slightly, the way a man straightens when he decides to stand on his own spine, regardless of how his knees feel about it. My name is Tommy Ree, he said to Marcus. I own the hardware store down the block. Marcus looked at him directly.
Marcus Hayes, he said, I understand you've been dealing with something difficult. I have, Tommy said. I should have dealt with it better. A man makes the choices he can make with what he's got. Marcus said, "You're here now."
Tommy nodded. He ordered coffee and sat on a stool and didn't leave. And Will understood that something had shifted in Tommy Ree in the space of those 2 minutes that 6 weeks of fear had not been able to shift. Brandon Keller found out about them at 8:40 in the morning. He found out the same way he found out most things through Trace, who had been running to get gas on Sunday morning and came back with the information delivered in a voice that was making a significant effort to remain professional and was not entirely succeeding.
There's a lot of them, Trace said. Brandon was still drinking his first coffee of the day in the warehouse on the east edge of town, sitting at the folding table that served as his office, looking at his phone. He put the phone down. How many is a lot? More than 30 bikes all the way down Maine.