"You know him?"
Rick shook his head.
"Not personally."
"Club?"
"Ravens of Mercy."
Marcus frowned.
"That's not a club."
Rick lowered his voice.
"Not officially."
Officer Ortiz looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
Rick hesitated.
"They call themselves a motorcycle club, but they've been causing trouble around here for months."
Colton and his friends had apparently been involved in several confrontations.
Nothing serious enough to make the news.
Broken windows.
Threats.
Parking disputes.
A few damaged vehicles.
People usually decided it wasn't worth fighting.
Marcus looked at the screen.
"Until tonight."
Officer Ortiz turned toward Evelyn.
"Ms. Hart, I need you to come down to the station and make a formal statement."
Evelyn nodded.
"Of course."
Marcus touched her shoulder.
"You don't have to do this alone."
She looked at him.
"I know."
Outside, Colton watched them emerge.
His smile had disappeared.
He approached Officer Ortiz.
"Officer, can I go?"
Ortiz looked at him.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you're being detained while we establish what happened."
Colton's eyes hardened.
"You're arresting me?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying you should stop talking."
Colton looked toward Evelyn.
"You really think this is going to end well for you?"
Evelyn stopped.
Marcus looked at her.
She turned around.
"Do you know what Daniel used to tell me?"
Colton said nothing.
"He said people reveal themselves when they think nobody is watching."
She smiled faintly.
"Tonight, someone was watching."
Then she walked away.
Colton stood frozen.
He had thought he was frightening her.
Instead, she had made him feel something much worse.
She had made him wonder what else she knew.
Daniel Hart
At 10:18 that night, Evelyn sat alone in her kitchen.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Her damaged Harley sat beneath a tarp in the garage.
She couldn't look at it anymore.
Not tonight.
She opened a wooden box from the cabinet.
Inside were photographs.
Daniel standing beside the Harley when it was still new.
Daniel wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater.
Daniel holding their daughter, Claire, when she was six.
Daniel asleep in a hospital chair.
Evelyn touched the last photograph.
She remembered that day.
Daniel had been too weak to stand.
She had wheeled him into the garage.
The Harley was parked in front of them.
He looked at it for several seconds.
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"When I'm gone, don't turn this into a shrine."
She had cried.
"Don't say that."
"I need you to hear me."
She looked at him.
Daniel smiled.
"Ride it."
"I don't know how."
"Learn."
"Daniel—"
"Promise."
She had finally nodded.
"I promise."
The memory faded.
Evelyn opened another drawer.
Inside was the original registration for the motorcycle.
Underneath it was an old envelope.
She pulled it out.
The handwriting was Daniel's.
She hadn't opened it in six years.
She had been afraid.
Tonight, she opened it.
There was one page.
Evelyn,
If you're reading this, then I didn't get the extra time I kept asking for.
I'm sorry.
But don't spend the rest of your life waiting for the day you stop hurting.
You don't have to stop loving me.
You just have to keep living.
That motorcycle isn't mine anymore.
It belongs to the road.
And if one day someone tries to make you feel small because you're riding an old machine, remember this: machines don't carry memories.
People do.
Ride for me.
Daniel.
Evelyn pressed the paper against her chest.
For six years she had believed the motorcycle represented everything she had lost.
Maybe she had misunderstood.
Maybe it represented everything Daniel wanted her to find.
The next morning, Evelyn called Marcus.
"I want the bike repaired."
Marcus was silent.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"That might take time."
"I have time."
"There's something else."
"What?"
Marcus hesitated.
"The damage wasn't random."
Evelyn frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I ran the club name through someone I know."
"And?"
"They've been looking for something."
"Something?"
"Someone."
Evelyn stood.
"Who?"
Marcus's voice became serious.
"I don't know yet."
"Marcus."
"I'll find out."
Evelyn looked through the garage window.
"Then find out quickly."
Because suddenly she understood.
The motorcycle might not have been damaged simply because it was parked in the wrong place.
Maybe someone had wanted her attention.
Maybe Daniel's Harley had been a message.
And maybe the men who thought she was an ordinary fifty-two-year-old widow had chosen the wrong woman.
The Name on the List
Marcus had spent thirty years learning how to find information people didn't want found.
He had worked as a mechanic.
He had managed a motorcycle shop.
He had spent years volunteering with veterans.
And he had built a network of people who owed him favors.
By Saturday afternoon, he had an answer.
He met Evelyn at a small diner.
He placed a folder on the table.
"Ravens of Mercy aren't interested in motorcycles."
Evelyn opened the folder.
Photographs.
Names.
Addresses.
Invoices.
Court records.
"What are they interested in?"
"Protection money."
She looked up.
"For what?"
"Businesses."
Marcus pointed at several pages.
"They pressure small garages, roadside restaurants, towing companies, and motorcycle shops."
"And Murphy's?"
"Yes."
Evelyn frowned.