The investigator looked up from her notebook. "And then you said that two motorcycles came down the alley, and that's when he dove in the car and took off? Silver Honda Accord, no idea about the license plate?"
Aoife took another sip of the hot coffee from the styrofoam cup she held in both hands before she spoke. It was her third time through the story of what she'd seen in the moments before the flames began to lick at the back wall of the building. She was tired. She was hungry. She was pissed off. Chief Unser put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and nodded for her to answer the question. Biting down her frustration and exhaustion, Aoife answered. "Aye. Two bikes."
The woman scribbled something else in the notebook before flipping it shut. "Well, Ms. McIntyre, I have some good news and some bad news. Your arsonist has a lousy arm. He sprayed accelerant over a huge section of the back wall, and then he completely missed it when he tossed the firestarter. The damage to the building is relatively minor."
"That sounds like the good news," Aoife ventured, holding in the relieved sigh until the bad news dropped.
The investigator nodded grimly. "It is. The bad news is that we can't let you back into the shop or your apartment until that accelerant has been cleaned up. It's just too dangerous."
Aoife swore under her breath. She was bone tired with all of the drama of the past few days. She "How long will that take?"
"We've already got people on the way. You'll have to stay closed tomorrow, but probably not the day after. It's a fire hazard, so we want to take care of it immediately." The blond investigator pinned Aoife with a long look. "You're sure you didn't see more of the man who did this?"
Aoife shook her head. "No. It was too dark. I was just really lucky I was down here working the garage. If I had been upstairs..." Her voice trailed off and she shuddered at the thought of what would likely have happened. She felt the Chief's arm wrap around her, pulling the scratchy fire department-issue blanket closer against her body in an awkward but strangely comforting hug.
The investigator's expression softened. "We'll do our best to catch whoever did this. You need to get some rest. You have somewhere to stay?" Aoife hesitated. She needed sleep, but she couldn't leave. Not while someone was threatening her home and business.
"I'm taking her to a friend's house," Unser told the officer. "Don't worry, honey," Unser said as he spoke to Aoife again. "Someone will be here until everything is cleaned. I got this under control," he assured Aoife. He called one of the officers over and instructed her to keep a car on the shop until he personally instructed otherwise.
Aoife slid into the passenger seat of the Chief's car. "Where are we going?" she asked, taking one last look in the sideview mirror at her shop, surrounded by emergency vehicles.
"T-M," the Chief answered without looking away from the road. "Gemma's waiting to get you settled in. I called her when we found out what happened. She told me to bring you there. Knowing her, you've probably got a full meal and a freshly-made bed waiting."
"Chibs?" Aoife asked.
"He's out with the guys looking for your arsonist."
"What if I don't want to go to the garage?" Aoife challenged. She knew she was being contrary, but everything seemed to be out of her control today, and she didn't like it.
"A choice between pissing off Gemma or you? Sorry, honey, but I've known Gemma a lot longer, and I'm more scared of her than I could ever be of you." Unser snorted a laugh, and Aoife felt her lips turn up into a smile.
Chibs and Jax arrived at the abandoned warehouse. The V.P. pulled out his burner and dialed. "We're here," he said into the phone. A minute later, the rusty side door creaked open and Tig motioned the two of them inside.
The silver Honda Accord was inside with it trunk popped. One of the guys lay bound and gagged inside the open trunk, unconscious or dead, Chibs wasn't sure. The other was tied to a rusted metal chair with a ripped cushion, and the blood running from his eyebrow indicated Happy or Tig had already taken a few swings.
Jax paused as his burner beeped. "Hey," he answered, and then he stopped next to the door. "Yeah. Ok. Ok." He flipped the phone closed and put his hand on Chibs' shoulder. "That was Clay. He says he needs me and Tig back at the clubhouse ASAP."
"Ok," Chibs nodded. "Go. I got this."
"I hate to leave you. They need to pay for threatening your old lady."
"Go. I got this," Chibs reiterated to Jax. "Yo, Tiggy – you're with Jax. Hap and I will take care of these scumbags."
Once Tig and Jax departed, Chibs made a show of taking off his cut and button down shirt and hanging them with Hap's over an old forklift. That left his torso covered in only the white tank top. He cracked his leather-clad knuckles while staring at the Irishman sitting defiantly in the chair. Chibs and Hap shared a look, and then the Scot glanced at the Accord's open trunk. Hap answered the unspoken question. "Driver didn't know shit about who was pulling the strings. He was just hired to drive. Now the mick over here, he's the brains, if you can call it that. I saved him for you."
Chibs stepped directly in front of the man tied to the chair. The Scot yanked the gag down. "You the bastard who tried to light my lass' place up?" The Irishman glared at Chibs and said nothing. "I asked you a question, boy," Chibs said coldly.
"Fuck you," the Irishman sneered, and then his head jerked violently to the right as Chibs backhanded him.
"I'll take that as a yes. You the one who ran her off the road and hit my bike, too?"
"You deaf, Scotty? I said fuck you." Chibs' open hand crashed into the side of the Irishman's face.
"Who sent you? Finnbar?"
"I ain't no fucking nark. Fuck you." The prisoner spit, just missing the Scots' shoes, and Chibs rewarded him with another backhand before glancing over at Happy and giving the Tacoma Killer a nasty grin. "I'm not getting anything out of him. See what you can do while I check out the stuff in his pockets and the car."
Happy's face broke into a demented smile. "My pleasure, brother."
"Oh, by the way," Chibs informed the Irish thug as he collected the man's wallet. "Bad move not talking to me. You're going to regret me handing you over to the Killer here for what little is left of your miserable life."
The Scot shuffled through the wallet and overnight bag in the car, spreading the contents out on the rusted metal table while Happy went to work. Chibs was so engrossed in the items in front of him that he didn't even realize that the moans of pain had stopped until Happy cleared his throat. "Passed out," the Tacoma Killer said, inclining his head towards the bloodied thug. "Is what he said true? Did your old lady kill his friends?"
"Probably." Chibs shrugged. "The guy he works for had Aoife's brother beaten to death, and then she killed the guys who did that and the bastard who came at her in the coffee shop."
"You need anything else from him?"
Chibs stroked his goatee. "Just a way back to his boss. Until we take care of him, this shit doesn't stop. We gotta put an end to this." The two Sons both zeroed in on the cell phone on the table at the same time.
"I know what we need to do. I think I've gotta plan that will work," Happy said as his rough fingers closed around the phone. "Follow my lead." When the thug groaned himself awake a few minutes later, Happy was towering over him, examining the phone. "Morning, sunshine. I'm guessing that if I hit send on this call, I'm going to reach the guy who's really calling the shots." He raised an eyebrow, and the thug looked away. "That would be a yes." Happy waved Chibs over. "He so much as breathes when I tell him not to, you put a bullet in his head. Capisce?"
Chibs put the barrel of his gun against the Irishman's temple and grinned maliciously. "Oh, aye," he growled.
With Happy just inches away, Chibs could hear the phone ringing on the other end. Finally, a voice answered. "Aye? Why you calling this fucking late? Is it done?"
"Oh, it's done alright." Happy grunted.
"Who is this?" The Irish-accented voice demanded.
"My name is Hap. Are you the bastard who sent this lowlife into my town to fuck shit up?" Happy glared at the thug. "Am I talking to your boss?"
"Answer him," Chibs instructed, pressing the barrel of his gun into the man's skull.
"Aye," the Irishman confirmed, a little deflated. "That's Finnbar."
"Shane? That you?" Finnbar asked.
"Yes, that's Shane. Shane has made things very difficult for my crew." Happy paced while he talked, so Chibs could only hear snatches of Finnbar's answers. "Running people off the road? That shit he pulled tonight with the fire? Fucking cops all over my fucking turf. What the hell was that stunt?" Finnbar said something, and Happy's voice got louder. "Well, it becomes my business when it shits on my business."
Happy listened for a minute before he spoke again. "So what you really want is that Irish bitch dead? I think we can come to an agreement. How much were you going to pay Shane here?" Chibs raised his eyebrows at Hap, and the Tacoma Killer mouthed "Trust me."
Hap walked all the way to the end of the warehouse, his voice echoing and distorting, and Chibs couldn't make out the words no matter how hard he tried. When Hap finally turned back, he closed the call with, "Deal. When shit dies down, I will hand deliver her to you. I get the shop as payment for services rendered. I'll keep this phone. We'll talk soon. Pleasure doing business with you." He shoved the phone in his pocket. "Go ahead, Chibs. Sorry, Shane, but your safe return wasn't part of our deal."