Cassidy was surprised to find a small crowd of onlookers gathered at the corner below her. Quickly, she turned away, linking shadows to the side street where Dutch had parked his bike.
She typed in “coffee roaster bayview” into the search bar. When the results popped up, she studied the route, memorizing the cross streets that would get her there.
Turning to the bike, it took her a moment of fumbling to get her bearings. Just getting it off the kickstand took effort, and it was this that forced her to realize the sheer weight and size of the machine she was about to operate. Her hands looked so small on the handlebars. She tested the clutch and brake—both requiring much more force than she remembered—Quinn’s bike only needed a two-finger touch. She started the engine, its thumping vibrating her entire body.
Leaving the alley, she released the clutch too quickly and the huge machine shuttered to a halt. Cursing herself, she put her foot down and it took all her strength to hold it from falling. Slowly, she thought, telling herself to squeeze the throttle while releasing the clutch this time the way Quinn had taught her. She clicked the gear back up to neutral and restarted the engine. She practiced revving it a few times, then rolled the throttle on as she released the clutch. The bike lurched forward again, but this time, she managed to keep the momentum with enough throttle, then carefully turned down the street. She pulled up at the intersection with Market and gingerly rolled the throttle as she held in the clutch and clicked down to first. The light changed and Cassidy released the clutch in a smooth movement. A tingle of exhilaration shivered over her skin as she went through the gears. It’s working! she thought.
After passing under the highway, she coasted through several yellow lights and crossed a bridge. Now the road opened up in a long straightaway heading south that paralleled the Bay and she accelerated, feeling the heavy bike respond. At a curve in the road turn she leaned a little too much, moving to the wrong side of the road. She quickly righted it, returning to her lane, then leaned more gently to pull out of the curve nicely. While not exactly fun, the process of applying knowledge to solve a problem tapped a satisfying chord in her brain. Her heart racing, she relaxed and tried let the bike lead. If only Dutch could see her now, she thought.
Finally, the wide avenue opened up in a straightaway that according to her map program, would deliver her to Bayview. Her feet and hands became more comfortable working together, but Dutch’s bike had so much power that she had to restrain herself not the roll the throttle too much as she decelerated into a turn. The bike felt like a dragon who had no interest in slowing down.
The streets flashed by in a hazy blur, the buzz of the motorcycle’s engine vibrating through her core. She caught a few glimpses of the Bay’s shiny black surface but the wide roadway was lined with apartments and big buildings that gave the route a tunnel-like feel.
Focusing so much on driving the bike made the time pass quickly, and soon she had left the fancy waterfront apartment buildings behind and industrial buildings popped up in their place: loading docks and corrugated siding and a smokestack emitting a white ribbon of steam. She marked the passing streets for the one leading to the coffee roaster, and when she spotted it, her stomach jumped with nerves. Paying careful attention to her shifting and braking, Cassidy cruised smoothly, moving deeper into the warehouse district, the streets quiet.
She parked at the end of the block from the coffee roasters, the smell of burning coffee beans filtering into the air. Cassidy could hear the dull roar of the roasting machine inside as she pulled off Dutch’s helmet. Moving quickly now, she opened the lockbox and was about to dump the helmet inside when she saw the shiny black shape of the gun.
Cassidy didn’t own a gun but growing up in Boise, most everybody did. Her father hunted each fall, and had taught her and Quinn how to hold the gun, then set up a BB gun target practice for them in the backyard. Quinn still had her father’s guns somewhere—a rifle and some kind of ancient pistol. Plus she had received a lengthy training in gun safety years ago for a research trip into bear country. But picking up this gun—Dutch’s—felt different.
I’m not going to use it on anyone, she told herself as her fingers wrapped around the heavy, cold base. But it might come in handy.
She closed the box and pivoted, tucking the gun into the back of her waistband where it poked into her vertebrae. Cassidy set off, searching for a gray building with a band of windows along the second floor, her thoughts getting swallowed by the sudden grinding from a truck’s engine passing several streets away. All of her senses were keenly alert for sounds or other clues that might lead her to the right place.
After completing a full circle around the coffee roaster, she designed a grid search in her mind, using the roaster as the base, and set off south, her feet crunching on broken glass, detritus gathered by the wind, and fine-grained dust. Her ears strained for any sound that seemed out of place, but the area felt still and quiet and the busy roadway only a few blocks from her location provided plenty of noise. Passing warehouses, a storage facility, a fenced yard full of cars, two broken-down motorhomes parked end-to-end, and concrete buildings protected by high chain-link fences, she began to lose hope. Following the two-block perimeter she’d imagined, she turned a corner and swept her gaze left to right,
