Page 10 of StoryTeller's Tale

I don’t mind the occasional visit, but this clubhouse is itself a reminder of betrayal. Even after all this time, there are too many memories here for me. I’ve more of a chance of going loco, as Legend so kindly put it, if I’m forced to stay here for a long while.

To get my mind off my uncertain future, I light another cigarette out of habit, then bring up the other thing on my mind. Legend’s the one to ask. He’s our go-to computer guy and all-around security expert. “How would you go about finding someone when you’ve only got a first name?”

Legend’s head slowly turns to face me. He barks a laugh. “Unless it’s completely unique—and with nearly eight billion people in the world the chances of that are limited—then I think you’d have a better chance of winning the lottery.”

I wince. The answer was what I expected.

“What’s on your mind, ST?” His eyes alight as if I’ve caught his interest. “Who do you want to find?”

I started the conversation, now I’m of two minds whether to finish it. Turning around, I lean my back on the fence, bend my leg and place my foot against it. “So,” I start.

“Ah.” Legend grins. “A story. I best get myself comfortable.” He shuffles his feet and rearranges himself so he’s leaning next to me. He waves his hand in an indication I should go on.

Knowing what he expects, I make sure I don’t disappoint. “It was a long, hard ride. I was answering a summons from our prez, travelling through New Mexico. My bike was running low on gas, and the dust had gotten into my throat, so I decided to stop, top off my tank, take a piss and have a drink. There was a rest stop coming up, so I pulled into it.” I pause, take a drag of my cigarette, then continue, “I was coming out of the bathroom when I saw a book lying on the ground. Fucker in front of me kicked at it, kind of bringing it to my attention. When I looked down, the title caught my eye. It mentioned the word nomad, so obviously I picked it up. There was no one around, no one who could have dropped it. I carried it out, but no one hollered it was theirs. So, when I got outside, I put it in my saddlebag and brought it along.”

Legend tilts his head and looks confused as well he might.

“Started reading it this morning. Good fuckin’ story as it happens. But as I was reading, Camilla appeared and took it out of my hand. She found there was a dedication in the front and told me it had been personally signed at an event only a few days ago.” As Legend cocks his eyebrow, still at a loss where I’m going with this, I shrug. “Seems like it would have been important to the girl it was signed to, and she must have dropped it by accident.”

He chuckles. “A bitch. Might have guessed there’d be a woman at the bottom of this.”

I shift awkwardly. “It’s the principle,” I try to explain. “Would have been the same if it had been owned by a man.” But would it? Somehow, I doubt my reasoning.

And I haven’t fooled him. “Principle?” He snorts. “Since when have you had principles, ST?”

Throwing up my hands, I start to walk away.

He comes running after me. “You saying you want to find her to give the book back?” His mirth has gone and for that reason, I reply truthfully.

“I don’t know what the fuck I want, or whether I should even bother.” My shoulders rise then lower. “But yeah, I suppose I do. If Camilla is right, she might want it back.”

CHAPTERTHREE

STORYTELLER

My own words sounded ridiculous to me, so I’m prepared for Legend to resume laughing, slap my back and walk off. The crazy task I’ve suggested to him is pointless, as is my non-reason behind it. But a sideways glance suggests I’ve caught his interest.

“The book was dedicated to a woman called Sheri,” I say hesitantly.

His palm meets my leather, but not as a farewell. Instead, his face lights up. “Well now you’ve given me something, Brother. Her name, and presumably you’ve got info for the signing if you knew when it took place and the name of the author who scribbled her moniker?”

“The author’s name is on the book. Camilla gave me some other details.” To me, that all adds up to a whole heap of nothing, but seeing the flare in the eyes of our computer guru, it’s obviously a start. I tap ash from the cigarette. “So, what do you suggest?”

Legend’s brow develops crease lines. After a moment, he suggests, “You could try and contact the author. They’ve probably got a Facebook page.”

My mouth drops open. For a start, Facebook is like an alien complex to me. I avoid social media like the plague. “Aren’t authors like rock stars or something? Why would they respond? And the only name I’ve got is Sheri. Though that’s not as common as some, with thousands of books they’ve probably signed, why would they remember this one?”

He snorts. “Rock stars? Authors are ten-a-penny nowadays. Anyone can write and publish a book. Remember Cowherd from LA? He got something published a year or so back. Only sold a handful of copies, but it’s as easy as shit.” He looks at me then barks a laugh. “What, you starstruck, Brother?”

Indignant, I shake my head. I’ll go toe to toe with anyone be they pauper or prince. I don’t give a damn. “Even if they know who I’m talking about, why would they share info with me? And even if I get her full name, how’s that going to move this along?”

“Okay, okay.” Legend bites his lip, and his face creases again. “What was the signing?”

“MMM apparently.” I think back to what Camille had said. “Motorcycles, Mobsters and Mayhem. It was in Houston last weekend.”

He squints into the sun. “There’s bound to be a Facebook group or something. Maybe you could join that, look at the members list, and then check out all women called Sheri.”

“You’re speaking a foreign fuckin’ language,” I warn him.

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