I stuck my head round the tool box and peered into the gloom, reluctant to venture much further in case of rats. I shuddered. Why did I have to go thinking about rats?
Then something caught my eye. A little flash of colour among the oil stains and the grime. I glanced behind me but the door to the workshop was still closed, so I dumped my empty mug on top of the tool box and stepped over a cracked crankcase, bending to pick up what I’d seen.
It was a small piece of broken fairing, not quite the size of my hand and jagged at the edges. It was dull white on one side but sprayed partly metallic blue, partly gold on the other. Distinctive colours that were instantly recognisable.
Slick’s bike.
I was so caught up in my discovery that I didn’t immediately hear the growling.
It started low and quiet over to my right, building until it sounded like a diesel engine running. A big diesel engine at that. I slipped the piece of broken fairing inside my jacket but kept the rest of my body very still, turning my head slowly to find a pair of wide-spaced eyes glowing at me from the dark, less than a couple of metres away.
The dog was massive. I didn’t realise just how big until it stood up. Up until that point I’d thought it was already on its feet. I began to back away, moving carefully, not straightening up in case the animal took me as more of a threat than it did already.
I kept moving backwards until I was just about in the centre of the workshop. The dog followed me out, head low, hackles up, still growling. As it came out into the light I could see it was a Rottweiler bitch wearing a chain collar around its enormous neck. She moved with amazing delicacy for her bulk, hinting at speed and agility as well as sheer muscle. The eyes gleamed with a shifty intelligence.
I backed past the partly constructed frame and snatched up a section of tubing, just in case. The dog shook its head just once, jangling the collar, as if to tell me that such a puny weapon wasn’t going to do me much good.
Behind me, the main door opened suddenly. I half turned so I could still keep my eye on the Rottweiler as Gleet stepped through. He stopped, saw me poised to take on his guard dog and almost smiled. Just for a moment it crossed my mind that he wasn’t going to call her off, then he clicked his fingers.
It was like he’d flicked a switch. The dog forgot all about me and trotted over to his side, butting against his thigh with her mammoth flat skull.
“I see you’ve met my Queenie,” he said, leaning down to ruffle her ears. The dog squeezed her eyes shut and yawned in pleasure, leaning against him. Even Gleet had to brace himself to take her weight.
I slowly put down the tubing and allowed myself to uncoil.
“We were just getting acquainted.”
“There’s no harm in her,” Gleet said, “if you don’t cause no trouble, like.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said dryly.
Gleet gave a grunt in reply and pushed the door all the way open. The dog sat down where she was and watched me carefully, just in case, barely turning her head as William and the tall Aprilia rider in the race-replica leathers half-pushed, half-dragged the remains of my bike into the workshop.
The gallant little Suzuki was looking pretty sorry for itself. Ignoring Queenie I hurried across for a closer look. The left-hand side of the fairing was wrecked, half of the clutch lever was broken off and one mirror was dangling. The whole of the plastic bodywork around the rear lights was smashed away, too. But that hadn’t happened out in the yard.
“It’s stuck in gear,” William said, waving a hand towards the locked-up rear wheel. “The gear-lever must have snapped off when you hit the wall.”
“Shit,” I muttered. Until then I’d fostered the vain hope that the Suzuki might still be rideable.
Gleet leaned across the seat and had a look. “Give me five minutes and I’ll cobble you something together,” he said, brusque. “It’ll get you home, if nothing else.”
“Thank you,” I said, surprised. Expressing my gratitude to his family was getting to be a habit, so while I was at it I added, “Your sister’s a bit handy with that crossbow.”
Gleet shrugged as he wheeled the welder over. “Yeah, well. They took away her shotgun licence,” he said, like that explained it.
He moved around the workshop, rooting through a box of spare bits for some square-section tubing he could graft on, then choosing clamps to hold it in place while he tacked it all together.
Meantime, I was aware of the scrutiny from the tall biker I’d seen with William and Paxo earlier.
“So you’re Charlie Fox,” he said. He had a soft voice that seemed given easily to mockery.
I didn’t reply to that one. There wasn’t much I could say other than to agree with him.
He flicked his eyes to the bike, then back to me. They were very blue, and intense with it. “Somebody doesn’t like you, Charlie,” he said.
“Hmm,” I said, thinking of my earlier ejection, “I get a lot of that.”
He almost smiled. “So who have you been upsetting?” he asked. “Or do you just have a confrontational personality?”
“Well, look on the bright side,” I threw back, reckless. “I haven’t hit you yet.”
William’s face creased into a big smile. “I
The other biker glanced across at him, frowning. “Yes, but that’s no reason,” he said, cryptic.
“True,” William agreed gravely.
