Chapter 7 - SHADOWS IN THE DINER
The weight of Emma’s words settled over the small group like a suffocating blanket.
Mason took a slow step back, his heavy boots creaking on the floorboards. He looked from the pale, terrified little girl to the empty seat near the window where Ray had sat every Thursday morning for thirty years.
“No...” Mason muttered, shaking his head, his silver beard swaying. “No, that’s impossible. Ray was with us in Harrisburg two weeks ago. He was at the clubhouse working on the shovelhead engine all weekend.”
“Was he?” Wade asked, his voice dead flat as he slowly stood up from his knee, keeping one broad hand resting firmly on Emma’s shoulder. “Did you watch him every hour, Mason? Did you track where he went when he left the lot at night?”
“We don't track each other, Wade!” Cole snapped, his voice tight with anger and confusion. “We’re a club! We trust each other! You’re listening to half a sentence from a distorted tape and a kid who walked in off the street twenty minutes ago!”
Wade turned on Cole so fast the leather of his vest snapped. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out the folded cream paper Sarah had written, and slapped it flat against Cole’s chest, holding it there with a single thick thumb.
“Read the name on the back,” Wade growled. “Read who she addressed it to.”
Cole looked down at the dark cursive ink: WADE.
“She knew I’d be here,” Wade said, his voice vibrating with a terrifying intensity. “She knew I was alive. And she knew that the only reason she had to hide for ten years was because someone in this room told the people who were hunting her where she was!”
The diner patrons were slipping out now. Truckers were leaving cash on the counter and hurrying out the side exit. The waitress had backed into the kitchen, her eyes wide as she watched the heavy, leather-clad men turning on each other in the middle of the dining room.
Emma stayed pressed against Wade’s leg, her small hands holding onto his dark jeans. She felt the heavy, rhythmic pulsing of his leg muscles, the immense power of the father she had never known, standing like a wall between her and the men surrounding them.
Mason walked slowly over to the empty window seat. He reached down and picked up the half-empty porcelain mug Ray had left behind. The coffee was cold now, a dark skin forming over the surface.
Mason looked down at the cracked red vinyl booth, then out the window at the highway.
“He left his helmet,” Mason said quietly.
Everyone stopped.
On the small wooden hook beside the window frame hung an old, scratched black half-shell helmet. Ray had left so fast he hadn't even bothered to take his gear. He had jumped on his bike bareheaded and fled into the morning light.
A man doesn't abandon his gear unless he knows he’s never coming back.
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Cole’s mouth went dry. He stared at the helmet hanging on the wall, then back at Wade. The anger in his eyes slowly dissolved into a sick, hollow horror.
“He did it...” Cole whispered. “God almighty... Ray did it.”
