She was wearing an oversized vest someone had made from an old bandana.
Under one arm she carried a tablet.
Dean stared.
"What's that?"
"Research."
Gary sighed.
"Lacy."
"I found something."
Randy laughed.
"Here we go again."
Lacy placed the tablet on the workbench.
"I searched reports about strange wireless signals around this neighborhood."
Gary studied the screen.
A map appeared.
One point blinked east of the garage.
"This signal bounced here."
Gary leaned closer.
"How did you find this?"
"Search crawler."
Dean looked confused.
"What?"
Lacy shrugged.
"It finds things."
Randy shook his head.
"Kid's going to run the country someday."
Lacy pointed at the map.
"I think we should go there."
Dean stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because whoever planted the camera had to send the video somewhere."
Gary looked at Dean.
Dean looked at the map.
Ten minutes later, they were driving toward an old storage facility.
The building stood behind a rusted fence.
Unit 14B was near the back.
Dean stared at the door.
"I own this building."
Gary raised an eyebrow.
"Since when?"
"Three years."
"And you didn't know who rented this?"
"I don't manage every unit."
Lacy stepped closer.
"Someone is inside."
They heard movement.
Dean knocked.
The door rattled.
A young man in a polo shirt stepped out holding a clipboard.
He froze.
Dean held out his hand.
"Let me see that."
The kid hesitated.
Then dropped it.
Dean picked it up.
Storage Unit 14B.
Renter: Iron Jaws Motorcycle Maintenance Fund.
Authorized signature: unknown.
Gary looked at it.
His face hardened.
"This is fake."
"How do you know?"
"Because the database number doesn't exist."
He looked inside.
Three black crates sat against the wall.
One was partially open.
Inside was a polished motorcycle muffler.
Lacy frowned.
She noticed the shipping tag.
"Those codes are wrong."
Gary looked at her.
"How?"
"They're old."
Dean's expression darkened.
Gary began taking photographs.
"This isn't storage."
"What is it?"
"Evidence."
He looked at Dean.
"Someone is planting stolen motorcycle parts here and creating fake documents that make it look like the Iron Jaws are trafficking them."
Dean's jaw tightened.
"Who?"
Gary hesitated.
Then he said:
"Preston Grant."
Dean went completely still.
He already knew that name.
And that was what frightened him most.
An Old Friend
That evening, the Iron Jaws clubhouse was unusually quiet.
Lacy sat near the back with a notebook.
Instead of drawing flowers or cartoons, she sketched wiring paths and floor layouts.
Randy watched over her shoulder.
"You like puzzles?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"They make sense."
She paused.
"People don't."
Randy laughed softly.
"Can't argue with that."
Inside Dean's office, Gary lowered his voice.
"Tell me about Preston."
Dean stared at an old photograph on the wall.
"We grew up together."
"How close?"
"Best friends."
Gary waited.
Dean finally continued.
"When we were kids, we built a motorcycle out of lawn mower parts."
"What happened?"
"Preston got a scholarship. Went to college."
"And you?"
"I stayed."
Dean looked down.
"He always wanted to leave Hawthorne."
Gary frowned.
"Now he's trying to destroy it?"
"Not destroy it."
Dean's voice was bitter.