Page 9 of Alpha Hunt
“Well, this is it,” he says as he glides the truck into a spot beside a line of similar haulers. “The truck yard’s right around back. You can’t miss it.”
Casey claps a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for the ride, Jed. Maybe we’ll see you around again sometime.”
Not if I can help it. The man would be pawing her if I wasn’t here. Fucker. As it is, he eyes me cautiously before swinging his door open and hopping out. We do the same on the other side. Casey makes a show of stretching her arms overhead. Jed’s eyes bulge as her chest thrusts out. I slide an arm around her waist and give him a broad smile.
“Thanks again, Jed.” I grin at him, tightening my grip as Casey tries to pull away. “Best we get along then, angel.” I sweeten my voice. She bristles as I guide her off in the direction of the convenience store behind the gas pumps.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses as she pries my hand away from her hip.
“Me? You were practically on his lap!”
“I was getting information from him.”
“We got all we need,” I say, looking around us. She’s put a little distance between us but falls into step beside me as I make my way past the store to a walkway out back that leads to a rusted gate. There’s no mistaking the yard beyond.
I push open the gate, and we step into the truck yard. The place reeks of diesel fumes, motor oil, and sweat. A cacophony of sounds assaults my ears – the rumbling of idling engines, the hiss of air brakes, and the metallic clang of tools on metal. The air is thick with dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the hazy atmosphere.
A burly man in greasy overalls ambles over, wiping his hands on a rag. “Can I help you folks?” His eyes track a trail up and down Casey’s lean form before turning to me.
Casey opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “We’re looking for someone who can take a look at our car. Had some engine trouble back on the highway.”
The man eyes me skeptically. “You won’t find no car mechanics here. This is a truck stop…for rigs only.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Best place for you is the Greased Nipple; it’s a watering hole down on Calhoun Street. Frankie Fingers hangs out there most days. He’s the only grease monkey around these parts who knows his way ‘round cars.”
I nod, mentally mapping the directions. “Much obliged.”
As the man saunters off, Casey shoots me a look. “The Greased Nipple? Really?”
“If we want to find out about dodgy shit happening here, we need to start with the underbelly. You’re welcome to give your own suggestions if you have any.” I keep my voice low.
She purses her lips but doesn’t argue as we retrace our steps out of the truck yard. The bar is only a block away, and from the looks of it, a real dive. Weathered wooden façade, neon signs in the window advertising cheap beer, and a faded mural of a busty woman on the side of the building.
We pause before the doorway.
“I’ll go on ahead,” she says under her breath. “Best if they don’t see us as a couple. We can pursue separate avenues if we split up.”
I nod because I realize she’s right, but I’m not comfortable as she walks in before me. I wait a minute or two before going in myself.
The interior is even less appealing than the outside – dim and smoky, with ripped vinyl barstools and sticky tabletops. The place is busy, which isn’t surprising for a late Saturday afternoon. But I get the sense that a lot of the patrons are resident barflies.
Casey’s already halfway into the room, and I see burly men in leather jackets eyeing her, their gazes lingering a little too long. She just flicks her ponytail and saunters up to the bar like she owns the place. I move a little further down the bar counter and pull up a stool.
“I’m looking for Frankie,” she announces to the bartender, a wiry man with tats covering his arms. “Heard he’s the guy to see about getting a car fixed up.”
He eyes her up and down before jutting his chin at a cluster of bikers at a tall table in the corner. “That’s Frankie’s crew over there. But fair warning, darlin’ – they don’t take too kindly to strangers.”
Casey studiously ignores me as she starts to head for the bikers’ table. I reach for her arm to halt her as she passes me, and she stops short.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I don’t know why I’m acting this way, but I’m suddenly not happy with her talking to those assholes. Probably because they look dangerous.
She glares down at where my fingers are closed around her forearm. I release it. “I’m going to talk to them. What do you think?”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why the fuck not? If we’re going to find anything out, we have to start somewhere. I’ll ask a few questions. See what comes up.”
“I can do it. You wait here.” I get up and start to walk. Now she’s the one who grabs my arm to stop me.
“Don’t be nuts. They’re going to take one look at you and start fixing for battle. I’ll be more…approachable.”