Biker by Mike; Baron Read Free Book Online Page B

ass. Moon turned around. The boy was with two friends, sauntering with exaggerated innocence, fully cognizant of what he’d done. Moon followed him for the rest of the day. Found out where he lived. And then he waited. He waited for eight years, when they both were in high school. He waited for that boy after school. Every day that boy took the same shortcut home through the woods. Moon waited with a baseball bat and when the boy came, Moon sprang from hiding and broke the boy’s knees. He placed the bat on the boy’s throat and told him who he was. Then he stood on the bat until the boy was dead. Moon told me this and I believe him. That was his first murder.
    â€œHe said if I ever told anyone he’d kill me.”
    Cass returned with the checkbook and a glass, handed the checkbook to Ginger, walked to the far end of the patio to smoke a cigarette. Cass pulled the black valise onto her lap and used it as a desk.
    â€œI’m writing you a check for ten thousand dollars. Let me know when you need more.”
    â€œGinger, that’s not necessary.”
    â€œI think it is. Cass speaks very highly of you, and I trust her instincts.” She tore the check out and handed it over. “Find my little boy.”

CHAPTER 9
    Cass and Pratt returned to Cass’ farm with Ginger’s file. Once inside they fell onto the old sofa in the living room and tore each other’s clothes off. This is the life, Pratt thought, fucking her doggie style on the sofa. Cass was by far the best-looking woman he’d ever scored and he had no intention of letting her get away. Until she grew tired of him, as she inevitably would.
    â€œSon, don’t expect it to work out ’cause either she’s gonna dump you or you’re gonna dump her. That’s just the way it is.”
    But life had proved Duane wrong on a number of points so there was hope.
    Pratt swallowed three ibuprofen, bungeed the file to the back of his bike and promised to call. Cass ran down the steps for a final embrace that stitched pain like a machine gun up his side and roused his dick.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” Cass said, smiling.
    â€œYou are.”
    â€œCan you ride, baby?” Cass said, hanging on to him.
    â€œI can always ride. A cement mixer could run over me and I’d still ride. I’ll call you.”
    â€œYou’d better.”
    He got on his bike and cranked.
    Pratt needed his computer. The computer had revolutionized investigations. Everyone and everything was up on the Internet somewhere. Half the prison population was on Facebook. Thank God Chaplain Frank Dorgan had convinced Pratt to take a computer class in prison. He had even learned how to type.
    Pratt rode the back roads. He saw several deer, one of which watched him curiously as he motored by.
    Dear Lord ,he prayed, please help me find that good woman’s son and grant her some peace .
    It was seven by the time Pratt pulled into his driveway and used the remote in his tank bag to open the garage door. One half the double-car garage housed his stealth Honda, a gray four door. The other half was devoted to bikes, including the basket-case chopper whose engine rested on the living room table. Old tin Harley and Indian signs hung on the wall. There was a workbench laden with tools, a motorcycle lift, an air compressor and a ten-speed Trek.
    He got off the bike and collected his mail from the roadside box. Bills, The Horse , various come-ons. He sat at his computer in the spare bedroom he used as an office. He Googled War Bonnets. The Wikipedia entry said:
    The War Bonnets Motorcycle Club is an outlaw motorcycle gang and organized crime syndicate. The club is headquartered in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and was originally formed in 1969 by Native American Vietnam veterans who were refused entry to the Hells Angels because of their race. Law enforcement officials estimate there are approximately 100 to 200 full patched (official) members .
    It