Revved Up Soul

Chapter 34

Gabriel

Somewhere out there, Able's killer was running free. Word on the street, was that there was no word – something Gabriel found to be highly suspect; but did that really mean what some people were suggesting? His heart became weighted, heavy. The sun beat down relentlessly on him, the wind whipping back his hair – his eyes protected by his black riding goggles. It felt good to be out on the road again, even if it was for less than ideal reasons.

The black beast of polished chrome on which he rode slowed to a stop just outside Hart's Customs and Repairs. Gabriel stepped off and sucked in a deep breath, the wind running its fingers through his dark wispy, shoulder length hair. With a saunter to his step, he worked his way into the garage, waving at the small contingent of mechanics; two of them had their shirt on, one did not. The odd man out being Dale.

Salt of the earth, or bedrock of the bottom feeders, would be one way to describe this place, Gabriel mused. The walls dark and old, the equipment second-rate, and the waiting office to the right was spartan – housing only a couple of chairs and a water cooler purchased long ago. Even the air around the place smelled musty; oil stains and grease scattered along the concrete floor.

One of the mechanics turned to face Gabriel, "G-man," he said simply. This was Frank; he had thin silver hair that was slicked back, the lines of his face were wrinkled from a long life. His most defining feature, however, was his thick, bushy eyebrows of white.

I hate it when they call me that. "Frank," the words came out softer than he intended; of course, they always seemed to come across that way. Gabriel did not visit the place much, yet even still they pushed their nickname on him.

The other two turned to face Gabriel as Frank spoke, "There a problem?" He questioned, "lookin' eh, kinda pissed there bud." Half empty beers on that work bench, keeping things professional I see.

Gabriel's expression did not change; he stepped up close to the three men, looking up at them – as they were a head taller. "Falling on bad days," Gabriel offered quietly, "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me," the blade was in his tongue, every word more pointed than the last. "I'm looking for the man," he started, producing a picture of his brother-in-arms Able Reynolds, "or a woman, that killed this man," Gabriel tapped the picture with his finger.

The three looked clueless, the lines of their faces turning into grief, or at least as much grief as one could muster for a man they did not know. For Gabriel, it was not so easy to quell his emotions. Dale was next to speak up, "I'm real sorry tah hear about that man."

". . . Thanks . . ."

"We knew that guy pretty well, s'Able aint it?" There was something in this one's eyes – he'd seen Dale the least whenever he was pulled along to this place. What it was exactly, Gabriel could not place. Frank nodded.

"I looked into his financial records," Gabriel stated, "says that he was here a couple of days before he—"Gabriel caught himself, a lump threatening to form in his pipes. "Did he uh, say anything unusual?"

They all came together in a chorus of mumbles and gestures, looking between one another and Gabriel. Frank replied, "I mean he'd shoot the shit with us, but he wasn't talkin' 'bout anything out the ordinary."

Great, another dead end – unless this one's hiding something; probably too stupid to even put his underwear on right. This just feels so hopeless. "I see," Gabriel commented, "just, for curiosities sake, what all did you guys do exactly? His credit statements say that he got charged an awful lot." If there was something done to Able's bike, wouldn't he have noticed it? The classic red Fallis 38' was practically obliterated on the SOD.

Dale was next to speak, "Well he got our basic package, but on top of that there was ah fee for tha custom work that I did." Interesting.

"By that you mean . . ." Gabriel gestured with his wrist in a circular motion.

The man proceeded to explain in great detail what he provided for the 38' Fallis.

Able really went all out on that bad boy. "Alright," Gabriel said, "thanks for your time, anyway." He turned on his heel and walked away. On his way back to his bike, he peeked his head over his shoulder, noting the large black chains imprinted on Dale's sweat laced back. Something turned in his gut about that man; he decided that if nothing else cropped up, he would have to pay a more personal visit to the man. He'd have the means, Gabriel thought, but I still can't think that a guy like him could pull the wool over Able's eyes; the guy's just awkward, he convinced himself. Gabriel slid onto his motorcycle and kicked the engine to life. It let out a beast-like growl, screaming as the wheels spun and spat out loads of gravel beneath its tire. At this point, there wasn't anyone else left to grill – it would have to come down to what Gabriel feared the most: an inside job.

The question was who, and the real trial would be convincing the Club.

As he sped down the road, pinpricks of nervousness danced across Gabriel's body, today was going to be a bad day, something just wasn't sitting right. Running guns was always a dangerous game, and it was one that most of the Knights wanted to be out of – but there wasn't enough legit business to break away; or at least, that was what the club President kept insisting. Does he really still have the best of interests in mind?

Gabriel thought back to a couple of months ago when he and Alex did a run. They had taken a shipment of MAC10's to Port Angeles, and sold it to a host of Mexican bangers; not too friendly, but business was business and money had to be made. The deal was, and always had been, that the guns stay out of Sequim, Washington.

So why was it that so many crimes were being committed with mac10's? Obit's kept coming in; thugs blasted like Swiss cheese, broadcasts showcasing an ungodly amount of collateral on civilian's cars and owner's shops. Shit's not right. If the guns that we're delivering are coming back, shit's only going to get worse for everyone involved.

Worse still, weapons flowing back into the city unregulated was like spilling blood into the waters; the sharks will come, and there'll be hell to pay – money only cares about money.

Maybe Luke had the right idea in staging a coup.