my ass, thought Beth. The boy was selling weed to the customers. He was too young to get anything but a slap on the wrist, making him the perfect pusher for the gang.
“Let me see,” ordered Ty.
The boy obediently reached into his coat and showed Ty the freezer bag filled with what Beth believed to be smaller baggies of weed.
“You make any money?” asked Ty.
“Some.”
“Give it to me.”
Was he actually shaking down a child?
“I’m supposed to give it to Chino.”
“Did I ask you what you were supposed to do?”
The boy held out an envelope. Ty snatched it from him, took the weed and then took his cap. “This bag is light, Randy.”
“No. I swear.”
“Light,” he repeated. “I’m telling Faras that you’re a thief.”
“No.” Randy was crying now. “He’ll kill me.”
“He doesn’t kill children. Run home, Randy, and don’t come back or I’ll put a cap in your ass.”
Randy wiped his nose and Ty took one menacing step toward the boy, grabbing the handlebars of the new bike. “I said run.”
The boy sprang from the seat and ran as fast as his sticklike legs would carry him. He was too young to be hanging around a bar. But not too young to have his services bought for a ball cap and a new bike. Ty might have done the boy a favor.
Beth pushed aside that thought.
Jake shifted in his seat. Yeah, she’d be uncomfortable, too, if this gem of humanity was her big brother. Luckily, she had no siblings and was free as a bird. She could pack everything she needed in the saddlebags of her bike and head to LA, DC or NY. But first she had to make a big case. Would her mother even notice she was gone?
Ty let the bike fall and headed for the door of the bar, carrying the weed in his leather bomber jacket, which was black, of course. Jake insisted that his brother operated on the fringes of the gang. Jake said that Ty’s responsibility was only to keep the gang’s cars running. All evidence pointed to the contrary.
He had enough weed on him right now for her to get a conviction, but since he was on the rez, arresting him would just get her in hot water with Lieutenant Luke Forrest, who headed this operation. She reported to him, for now. So she watched Ty walk away and ignored the bad taste in her mouth. If she got a break, she’d catch Ty Redhorse with something far more serious than a bag of weed. She didn’t expect to get that lucky. Most of her luck came from hard work and taking the occasional risk.
She reached for the door release.
“Wait,” she ordered Redhorse. “Don’t leave unless you see me leave with your brother. Then follow us.”
Beth had dressed in clothing that showed she was a woman but also concealed her high-performance liquid chromatography, abbreviated as HPLC and commonly known as pepper spray, her service weapon and handcuffs. On her right hand she wore a series of carefully selected rings designed to inflict maximum damage and lacerate skin should she have to throw a punch.
What she intended was to charm and pick up Ty Redhorse in front of all his buddies on his home turf. Tomorrow, well after all the customers in this watering hole had assumed that he’d made a successful score, Beth would let him know who and what she actually was. She suspected that Ty did not want Faras Pike, the leader of the posse, to know what he had done to help his older brother, Kee, and that he was on less than stable ground with the gang. A little more shaking might just get him on their side.
Risk and reward, she thought, and slid from the truck and onto the packed dirt parking area.
“Help me get my sled down,” she said.
Jake lowered the back gate and set the metal ramp. Because of the intentionally disabled starter motor, Beth needed to bump-start her motorcycle. She released the straps holding her bike and mounted the seat, then rolled it down the ramp in second, using the incline to get it going fast enough to allow the engine to engage.
She roared across the street, anticipating Ty’s face tomorrow morning at eight, when he saw her walk into the interrogation room. Between now and then, she intended to find out everything she could about the second-oldest Redhorse brother.
Ty walked into the roadhouse and glanced about. The mix of the usual patrons filled the stools surrounding the rectangular bar, which had seating all the way around except for the hinged portion that allowed the help in and out.
Beyond the center altar to drinking was the stage, which rose a good sixteen inches above the floor level but was dark because the musical entertainment didn’t begin until nine. By then most of these men—working men—would be home with their families. They just needed a short transition between one and the other.
There were exceptions—men who were not drinking after work because they were still on the job. The first, Quinton Ford, sat on a bar stool. Quinton was lanky with close-cropped black hair and a hawkish face that bore acne scars on his gaunt cheeks. One hand rested in his open jacket as he used the half-lowered zipper like a sling. Ty knew his hand was on the grip of a pistol. Quinton faced the door with the other hand on his untouched beer. His eyes met Ty’s, and Ty nodded to Faras Pike’s man. Quinton raised his chin in acknowledgment and then his gaze flicked back to the door.
Ty was no threat to Faras Pike.
There were tables to the left and everyone knew the ones under the wall of highway signs, stolen from all over the state, were reserved for Wolf Posse members. There at his usual spot was Faras Pike, the leader of the tribe’s gang. Perched on his knee was his current favorite, Jewell Tasa.
Jewell wore a glittery sequined gold crop top that featured an unobstructed view of her midriff, which was tight and toned. Jewell’s skinny jeans and biker boots made her a shimmering billboard of gang colors. Her makeup was thick, ringing her eyes like a raccoon, and her long black hair had been bleached blond at the tips.
Faras spotted Ty before Jewell did, and lifted her from his lap. Then he gave her rump an affectionate pat to send her off to the group of women at the nearby table. She spotted Ty and sauntered past him, hips swaying as if advertising what he could not have.
The unattached women at the table gave Ty encouraging smiles. He was not interested in more entanglements with the gang, no matter how tight they wore their clothing. So he turned his attention to Faras.
The head of the Wolf Posse was small with a face that had been handsome once, but the smoking, drinking and responsibilities of his position weighed heavily on that face and Faras now looked like a man nearing forty, instead of twenty-eight. His hair was drawn back in a single braid and he wore a hoodie, jeans, cowboy boots that were all black and several thick gold chains around his neck. His take on the black-and-gold color scheme. His ears were pierced and he wore diamond studs in each that Ty very much feared were real.
Seated between him
