Owned Read Free Page B

all calls and turn away visitors. I’m sorry, but I can take your name and have him call you,” she offered.
    “If you would, just let him know Doc is here to see him. I’ll wait over there,” I said as I pointed to the waiting area.
    “Doctor….?” she asked, her voice trailing as if she needed more.
    “Just Doc,” I said as I turned toward the waiting area.
    She picked up her phone as I walked toward the seats that were arranged in a circle around a glass table. The table was covered with magazines, many of them motorcycle magazines. I chose one of the current magazines and began to flip through the pages, looking at the photos. As I studied a photo of a new modified Harley Davidson, I heard a familiar voice call my name.
    “Doc Ead, to what do I owe this visit?”
    I turned and looked in the direction of the voice. Dressed in navy slacks, a light blue shirt, and a navy blazer King stood to my left, his hand extended. I stood and reached for his hand. A firm handshake turned into a hug. As I patted him on the back, it was apparent he still worked out more than he actually worked.
    “The club stumbled onto some things and your name came up. Can we talk?” I asked.
    “Interesting. Come in my office, Doc. We can talk there,” he said as he turned and walked toward his office.
    King, by nature, was intimidating to most people. At just short of six feet tall, close to 200 pounds, with a shaved head, goatee, and covered in tattoos - he certainly wasn’t an invitation for a conversation about religion or politics. Dressed in his business clothes, he looked like a boxer that was headed for a press conference. He closed the office door behind us, and sat in a chair beside me.
    “So, what’s going on, Doc?’ he asked over his shoulder.
    “I’m going to make this quick, King. Quick and simple,” I studied his face. His attempts to hide his worry were unsuccessful.
    He nodded slowly.
    “One of the hang arounds in our club was about to prospect, he’d been around for about a year. To cut to the chase, he was a thief. Stole a bike from Nacho’s garage, and broke into Shakey’s place and stole firearms and some other valuable stuff that was accessible,” I took a breath and exhaled.
    “Last night, Bear and I acquired access to a wareho use that the thief owns. He sub-leases it from another shit-head in this town.  Most people don’t know he even has this place. We found out he had it, broke in, got some files, and a lot of information about previous thefts and stuff he’s selling on the internet. We found some information on his computer. Looks like he stole some stuff from you too,” as I was speaking, King stood up and removed his jacket.
    “Who?” he asked as he tossed his jacket onto his desk.
    “King, that’s why I am here,” I said as I stood from the chair.
    “Who the fuck is it?” he asked again.
    “King, we want to handle this. What happened to the club is club business. What happened to you is your business, but we don’t want to muddy this up. I’m here as a matter of respect to let you know what we found,” I turned and walked toward him.
    He turned and looked me in the eye. His anger was apparent. Like the rest of us, I was certain he felt violated, used, and lied to. I waited for him to speak. He rubbed his hands together and did just that.
    “So, you going to tell me?” he asked as he walked away from me toward his desk.
    “Went by Slick , King. His name was…”
    “Dave fucking Daniels?” he growled from behind his desk.
    I nodded.
    “Son of a goddamned bitch. I let that mother fucker into my home . I loaned that little prick money when he was broke, I…” he turned to me, his right fist clenched, rubbing it into the palm of his left hand.
    “Here’s the thing,” I reached into my rear pocket of my jeans.
    I unfolded the two sheets of paper and handed them to King. He looked at the first sheet, studied it, and looked at the second sheet. He turned to me, his mouth open,