San Bernardino…
It had only taken him twenty minutes to get to the warehouse where he housed his automotive collection. He had three motorbikes, but he decided to take the Harley. Real bikers always rode a Harley, and he wanted to fit in as best he could. They stood outside the Tap House. A scummy little dive bar on the outskirts of San Bernardino. He counted forty bikes in the parking lot.
He took a steady breath there was no predicting the welcome he would get here. Maybe they were expecting him. He hadn’t called first, but then Gorge didn’t exactly give him a phone number just a name and the address of the bar where his “friend” could be found. He had to believe Gorge had called in advance and told this Jack Kindler to expect him. Then again, he could be walking into an unfriendly si
