Lies & Deception Page 4

  Rocky stopped at an office with a large glass window that overlooked operations. Finn assumed it was the manager’s office. He’d never spent any time out there, mechanics not being something he was remotely keen on, and while he was growing up, he had done everything he could to avoid hanging out anywhere near Rocky. Rocky was a mechanic by trade, so this area was his domain. The closest Finn had got to the business was spending time with Carl after their father’s death. Carl had taken him under his wing and given Finn an overview of the operation, all their time spent safely in the main building and well out of Rocky’s way.

  They waited outside the door, but it was only a moment or two before the occupants came out.

  Finn’s heart nearly stopped beating when he saw it was the guy he’d run into earlier. Their gazes locked, and a strange electricity surged through him. The guy was gorgeous. He must have had at least four inches on Finn, forcing Finn to look up due to their close proximity. His brown eyes stared for a moment before he blinked.

  “Sorry. Excuse me,” he murmured as he slid past. Finn watched his retreating back before Rocky’s voice snapped him back to the present.

  “Another satisfied customer?” Rocky asked.

  “Not yet. He’s booked his bike in for a service, though, so you never know.”

  Rocky nodded. “Frank, this is Finn. I’m not sure if you remember him. Finn, this is Frank. He looks after the workshop now that I don’t have time to do it.”

  Frank extended a hand, and Finn returned the handshake, glad when he could release the grease-stained fingers.

  “G’day. Most people call me Blue. Nice to have Rocky’s little brother on board. You must be relieved to have finished school, and we’re bloody lucky to have you join us, what with what happened to Stan and all.”

  Finn glanced at Rocky. “Sure,” he said reluctantly. “I’m really looking forward to putting everything I’ve learned into practice.”

  “Good. Good.”

  Rocky grasped Finn on the back of his neck as he addressed Blue. “I want the two of you to spend some time together once Finn gets a handle on what needs to be done. I trust you’ll work well together.” He squeezed his hand around Finn’s nape.

  Frank nodded but didn’t look overly thrilled to know he’d have Finn looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

  There was no point putting it off. Finn knew he had to face the inevitable, and there were reasons for getting to know the ins and outs of the operation.

  He forced a smile onto his face. “Great. How about we start Monday? That’ll give me the weekend to get my stuff sorted, and then I’m all yours.”

  Finn knew it was the right thing to say when Rocky beamed at him.

  Chapter SIX

  MITCH HAD left his Harley-Davidson Sportster at Cummings Motorcycles when he was there on Friday and Ubered it home. The bike didn’t have any problems he was aware of, and Mitch maintained it religiously, but he didn’t think it would raise any suspicions when they found nothing wrong—he’d just look like an enthusiast with a passion for his ride. He’d received the call a short while before to let him know the bike was ready to be collected, which was why he was striding back into the workshop on the Monday after he was last there. He crossed his fingers that Rocky and Pete would be somewhere around the workshop and not in the offices so he could “accidentally” bump into them and make the whole endeavor worthwhile. Otherwise he’d just had his bike serviced for nothing. Although on the positive side, it wasn’t he who ultimately had to foot the bill.

  From the looks of things, it appeared the same people were on the premises. CMC employed six mechanics, plus the guy who ran the place. Background checks showed none of them had serious convictions, although most were assumed to be associated with the club. Antibikie legislation made consorting with criminals illegal, so clubhouses were a thing of the past, and Rocky was no doubt careful and worked around the laws.

  A young woman looked up as Mitch poked his head around the open office doorway. Her auburn curls bounced as she tucked an errant lock behind her ear and gave him the once-over. He blushed under the obviously appreciative gaze.

  “Well, hello there.” She leaned forward as he stepped into the office, her ample breasts almost spilling from the low neck of her singlet top as she crossed her arms in front of her and rested her elbows on the desk. Her arms were covered in ink, and a multitude of silver bangles circled each wrist. Large kohl-circled eyes peered at him with interest.

  “Hi. Mitch Nielsen,” he said, using the different surname the team had agreed on as part of his cover. He stuck with Mitch in case Peter had a chance to say his name. “I got a call to say my bike was ready to be picked up.”

  “Oh.” She sighed and looked disappointed at his businesslike approach and lack of interest. Too late, he thought maybe he should have engaged her in conversation, even if he hated the idea of responding to her flirting. Who knew what information he might have been able to glean? “Hold on, and I’ll check the paperwork.”

  She swiveled in the desk chair and faced the computer screen. She tapped a fast rhythm with her bright red fingernails, accompanied by the clanging of bracelets, as she looked up what was obviously his account. A couple of clicks later, and the printer on the sideboard against the far wall started to whir. She pushed her chair back, rose from the desk, and strode over to retrieve his invoice.

  She thrust the paperwork into his hands. “You might want to check it.”

  She perched her backside on the edge of the desk, long legs encased in skintight denim stretched out in front of her. He glanced at her briefly before running through the itemized invoice. Nothing out of place, just a list of labor costs, parts, and consumables used in the servicing of the bike.

  He looked back at the redhead. “It looks fine.”

  “Fabulous. How would you like to pay?”

  “Is cash okay?”

  She smiled, and Mitch had no doubt cash would always be the preferred method of payment in Rocky’s business. Mitch pulled his wallet from his back pocket and made a show of counting out the money. The whole encounter was going way too smoothly, and at this rate, he’d be out the door not even five minutes after he entered it. He passed over the cash.

  The phone rang.

  “Hold on a sec, will you? I need to get this.” Instead of walking around, she leaned over the desk and grabbed the receiver. Mitch nearly rolled his eyes as she flaunted her arse at him, going as far as looking back over her shoulder to make sure she had his attention.

  “What the fuck’s going on here?”

  Mitch stiffened but stopped himself from turning around. He’d stay cool and wait for Rocky to enter the room.

  The girl hung up the phone. “Oh, hey, Rocky.” She pecked him on the cheek when he reached her side, and Rocky wrapped his arm protectively around her waist. “I was just taking care of this guy. He’s just had his bike serviced.” She smiled at Mitch. “Give me a minute, and I’ll get your change and fix you up with a receipt.”

  Mitch nodded as she freed herself from Rocky’s grip and walked back around to the other side of the desk.

  Rocky glared for a moment before relaxing.

  “You haven’t been in before.”

  “No. I’ve been seeing a mechanic across town. He’s let me down a couple of times, and I’d heard good things about this place, so thought I’d give you guys a try.”

  Rocky beamed under the praise, but a hint of distrust still rested in his eyes. “What ya riding?”

  “A 2013 Sportster.”

  Rocky nodded but didn’t say anything. Mitch wasn’t sure if his choice of ride wasn’t up to par or whether the guy just wasn’t talkative.

  “Here ya go.” The girl passed over a twenty, which Mitch put in his wallet, and a printed receipt he folded and shoved in his pocket.

  “I’ll show you where the bike is,” Rocky said.

  Mitch thanked the girl and followed Rocky out into the workshop. Tinny rock music b
lasted from an old stereo system on a bench—no Bluetooth speakers connected to smartphones, just raw music being played from old CDs. A quick glance around showed the same guys in overalls he’d already seen, and a sense of disappointment came with it. Damn!

  “Hey, Rocky.” The high-pitched voice cut across the loud music. Both he and Rocky stopped and turned around. The redheaded office girl yelled across the space, “Pete just called. He said to let you know he’ll be over in five. He got held up on a phone call.”

  “Thanks, Ginger,” Rocky called back.

  The relief was immense. He only needed to drag this out for a little while longer, and he’d see Pete. The little pump of adrenaline got his pulse racing, and he prayed running into Peter would go well. The last thing he needed was for Pete to react badly or say the wrong thing. He glanced out the huge workshop doorway at the few customers walking across the parking lot between the sales showroom and the service area. He didn’t think too much could happen here, but he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.

  Rocky led him to where his bike was, the black-and-chrome machine standing gleaming and proud. A mechanic joined them and quickly ran Mitch through the work that had been done on the bike as part of a minor service. They had just wrapped up when someone called across the workshop.

  “Hey, Rocky. Sorry I’m late back, but I’ve got the car out the front if you’re ready to go.”

  Mitch turned at the voice he’d impatiently been hoping to hear. Pete’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and his mouth hung open. There was never any doubt he’d recognize Mitch; it was just his reaction the team was unsure of—a calculated risk, according to the task force leader.

  Mitch took the initiative. “Pete! Wow, it’s been a long time. What are you doing here?”

  “Um… I work here.”

  “You two know each other?” Rocky asked, looking between the two of them.

  “We do.” Mitch forced a wide smile. “Pete and I used to work together at the transport company.” He gave Pete a hearty pat on the upper arm. “Right, Pete?”

  “Ah… yeah, right. At Countrywide Haulage.” Pete moved his eyes from side to side as he glanced between Rocky and Mitch. His shoulders were rigid, and Mitch said a silent prayer he’d continue to follow his lead.

  “A couple of years ago,” Mitch said, acknowledging Rocky, then focusing back on his ex-boyfriend.

  The time hadn’t been kind to Pete, but with the years of drug abuse, it wasn’t surprising. His face was gaunt, and his dark hair was lank. His jeans hung from his waist, and his shoulders were bony protrusions in the sleeves of the T-shirt he wore. Mitch hoped the shock wasn’t evident on his face.

  When they first started dating, Pete had held a fairly senior position at the large haulage company. He was well respected in the area of logistics, and his job was secure and well paid. The beginning of the end began when he started to dabble in so-called party drugs, using on the weekends; ecstasy and cocaine were the drugs of choice. God knew what he took now.

  Whether there were other reasons or he just had an addictive personality, Mitch was never sure, but things escalated fairly quickly. Pretty soon Pete was using during the week, missing work, and lying to Mitch about what was going on. Mitch could never get him to talk about the reasons for the drug use, and they had many an argument. It was a tense time, with Mitch worrying about Pete and his health, stressing about their failing relationship, and worried shitless about the possible impact on his job. A cop with a drug-addicted boyfriend wasn’t ideal. After a couple of failed attempts at rehab and Pete’s continued refusal to open up to Mitch, they decided to go their own ways. Unfortunately Pete’s path appeared to be a downward spiral.

  “Pete was the one who gave me a chance,” Mitch said. He was addressing Rocky, but his words were meant for Pete. “He was running things at the place and, lucky for me, decided to give me a job. I drove for a year or two. Just short-haul transport, but the money was good, and the hours weren’t too bad.” He turned to Pete again. “So I take it you don’t work there anymore, Pete?”

  Pete shook his head mutely.

  “That’s a shame,” Mitch said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Mitch chuckled. “I would have asked you to put in a good word for me again. My current job sucks big-time. Arsehole of a boss, nine-to-five hours, and crap money.” Mitch ran a hand over the leather seat of his bike. “Seems like I might have to look at selling this baby. That’s why I got her serviced.”

  “So what kind of work are you in?” Pete still looked stunned, and Mitch thought maybe Pete half expected him to admit to being a cop even though he knew Mitch had done undercover work in the past.

  “Storeman. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Mind-numbing stuff and the pay’s shit.” Mitch stepped a bit closer to Pete and lowered his voice. “Hey, I don’t suppose you know of any better-paying jobs going or any way I could make a bit of extra cash on the side. You know, like the old days?” He could see Rocky in his peripheral vision. As intended, from the stiffening of his body, Rocky had overheard, but he didn’t say anything.

  Mitch prayed again, given the anonymous tips-offs they’d been receiving, that Pete would recognize the call for help and provide the assistance needed.

  Pete shuffled slightly. “I… maybe…. I’d have to talk to the boss.”

  “That’d be great. I could really do with the cash, man. It’d be good to get back into some delivery, protection, that kind of thing.” Mitch stepped back a little. “My number hasn’t changed, so why don’t you give me a call if something comes up?”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Hey, it’d be great to catch up. Maybe we could get together for a beer after work? Are you knocking off soon?”

  Pete glanced at Rocky. “Not for a couple of hours. Me and the boss got some stuff to take care of.”

  “Tell him to meet you at the pub, Pete. We should have things wrapped up by six.” Mitch almost cheered when Rocky made the suggestion. “But come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  “You know the Fury?” Pete asked.

  “Yep. So around six at the Fury. Sounds great. I’ll look forward to buying you a beer for old times’ sake.”

  Pete nodded, then followed Rocky from the workshop, giving Mitch a quick backward glance. Worry or confusion clouded his eyes, but that was to be expected. All in all, things couldn’t have worked out better.

  Mitch nearly high-fived the air as he pulled on his helmet, got on his bike, and headed out.

  Chapter SEVEN

  THE PUB was fairly quiet, given it was a Monday evening. A few men sat at the long timber bar in the front room, drinking schooners of beer. A few other small groups gathered around scattered tables. The sound of the cricket match showing on the big TV provided the main source of noise. The volume spiked every now and then as the pub patrons cheered, and the familiar musical tones of the poker machines could be heard whenever someone opened the door that separated the gambling area that housed the pokies from the main bar.

  A quick scan of the room showed no sign of Pete or Rocky, so Mitch exited through a doorway with a large sign pointing to the bistro. It was a relief to leave the strong smell of stale beer behind. The back bar and bistro area was more open, with large glass doors leading to an enclosed patio area with a huge barbecue. It was there Mitch found them, sitting around a large table with a number of other men.

  Mitch met Pete’s eyes across the room. The flash of fear was evidenced by his sudden pallor and quick glance around. Pete picked up his beer and took a long swallow before nodding at Mitch.

  He stood as Mitch approached. “Mitch, hi. I’m glad you could make it.”

  They shook hands. The rest of the group had gone silent and glared at Mitch with outright hostility. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, but Mitch stared them down. No way was he going to let on that they gave him the creeps—just the idea of Pete tied up with these guys was enough to get Mitch’s pulse racing.

  P
ete made a sweeping gesture. “These guys are my friends.” He indicated Rocky. “You met Rocky at the shop. Not sure if you were introduced properly, though. Rocky Cummings, this is Mitch.” Rocky nodded but didn’t stand. Pete addressed Mitch again. “Rocky owns CMC.”

  Mitch gave Rocky his attention. “Nice place you’ve got there. I was impressed with the job done on my bike. It’s running great.”

  “Best bloody shop in Sydney.” This from the guy sitting next to Rocky. It was the same guy who’d approached Mitch when he was in the showroom—Rocky’s right-hand man. He held out his hand. “Warren Jones. Everyone calls me Stack.”

  “Nice to meet you, Stack.”

  Stack was dressed like the others. Jeans, black T-shirt with motif, and boots. Full-sleeve tattoos. His head was shaved close to his skull, and a scar over his left eye hinted at an injury that hadn’t been properly stitched, but definitely served to make the guy look frightening. No doubt small kids would run a mile. Even Mitch wouldn’t like to bump into him in a dark alley.

  None of them were wearing jackets or vests with distinctive patches, but he hadn’t expected them to. Rocky was too smart to flaunt the club membership, especially with various laws banning bikie club members from wearing club colors on licensed premises. Between those laws and the laws that prevented convicted criminals from consorting, it was getting difficult for clubs to maintain their traditional concept of brotherhood.

  “Let me buy that beer I promised you,” Mitch said to Pete, then addressed the rest of the table. “Another round, guys?” Nods and grunts met his offer. “Hey, Pete, why don’t you come and give me a hand?”

  Pete stood behind him at the bar as he ordered. They waited while the barman gathered drinks, and Mitch used the opportunity to quickly talk to Pete. They wouldn’t have long.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asked, his voice dropping low.