Page 67 of Sachie's Hero

“But how many of your guys does it take to protect one woman?” Sachie asked. “And how is infiltrating a biker bar protecting me? To me, it seems like overkill, or maybe I’m pushing too hard for too much.”

Teller raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “We’ll be all right as long as we get you out of here unscathed.” Her safety was his number one priority. If that meant losing Travis, so be it.

Five tricked-out motorcycles roared into the parking lot. Three of the five had long ape-hanger handlebars. The other two had black and red flames painted across their fuel tanks. Their riders lined up in front of the building and dismounted. Two of the five men had goatee beards. They all had tattoos from the tips of their fingers up their arms and across theirnecks. None wore helmets, and they all looked as if they chewed nails for fun.

As far as Teller could see, they weren’t packing handguns but were probably armed with some lethal knives. The backs of their leather vests had BANDIDOS written in bold letters.

Sachie stared at the group through the mini binoculars Ingram had brought along with the communications equipment and an assortment of weapons, including sheathed knives, switchblades, stun guns and mace.

Sachie lowered the binoculars. “None of them are Travis.”

Teller tapped the mic on his headset. “Five Bandidos entering. No bogey.”

“Roger,” Ingram responded softly.

“Any problems yet?” Teller asked.

“Not so far,” Ingram said. “The place was pretty empty when we arrived.”

Rex Johnson and Logan Atkins arrived in a truck and parked at the opposite end of the building from Teller’s position.

“Rogue 3 in position,” Johnson said into their headsets.

“Roger,” Johnson replied.

Twenty minutes passed before two bikers arrivedon Harleys with DEVILS BREED embroidered across the backs of their vests.

“They like announcing their affiliation, don’t they?” Sachie murmured. “Not Travis.”

The bikers entered the bar.

As the hour grew later, bikers came and went, more coming than leaving. So far, according to Sachie, not one of them was Travis Finkel.

“I feel like we’re wasting time here,” Sachie said. “The man is a parole violator. Surely, even he isn’t dumb enough to show up somewhere public.”

“Given his criminal record, I wouldn’t consider him one of the brightest,” Teller said. “It won’t hurt us to stay until the place closes. He might choose to come later to avoid the main crowd of bikers.”

Sachie nodded and lifted her binoculars to her eyes as a single motorcycle pulled into the parking lot. This bike was different from the others as it was shiny with no distinguishing artwork. Most of the bikers had added saddlebags, fancy handlebars, art or stickers to their rides. Not this one.

“That’s a Harley Davidson, and it has a just-driven-off-the-lot look to it,” Teller commented.

Sachie tensed beside him, her gaze fixed on the man dismounting. He was one of a handful of men wearing helmets that night. The helmet was black with a dark visor shielding his face. Dressedin faded jeans and a black leather vest with a Harley Davidson logo emblazoned across the back, the man unbuckled the helmet and pulled it off.

Sachie gasped. “That’s him.”

Teller’s eyes narrowed as he studied the biker. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “It’s those thick eyebrows. I remember thinking he looked like Javier Bardem, the guy from that movie where he had that awful haircut...”

“No Country for Old Men,” Teller studied the man. He did resemble the actor who’d won an Oscar for that part. “The Bogey has landed,” Teller said into his mic. “Big guy looks like Javier Bardem.”

“The guy with the bad hair inNo Country for Old Men?” Ingram clarified.

“You got it,” Teller confirmed.

“We’ll take it from here,” Ingram said. “Get out of here.”

“Roger,” Teller said.

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