Road Rash Read online

  Road Rash

  A Shea Stevens Crime Thriller

  Dharma Kelleher

  ROAD RASH: A SHEA STEVENS CRIME THRILLER

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  Copyright © 2022 by Dharma Kelleher.

  Published by Dark Pariah Press, Phoenix, Arizona.

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  Cover design: Dharma Kelleher

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  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-952128-18-9

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-952128-19-6

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-952128-20-2

  Contents

  1. Inagua's Hands

  2. Under Pressure

  3. A Friend in Need

  4. Road Rage Justice

  5. Dots on the Ceiling

  6. Going Home

  7. V is for Vodka

  8. Frightened Rabbit

  9. Victims and Perps

  10. Unrecognizable

  11. Bold Women of Tomorrow

  12. North to Sedona

  13. Arriving at Luminos

  14. A Circle of Change

  15. Down at the Creek

  16. No More Pills

  17. Lunch Escape

  18. Meeting Megan

  19. Dizzy and Homesick

  20. Discovered

  21. Abducted

  22. Dinner Conversation

  23. Looking for Indigo

  24. Pushback

  25. The Brand

  26. Secrets Revealed

  27. Swept Up

  28. Building Character

  29. Meeting the Guru

  30. Overheard

  31. Revelations

  32. Growing Concerns

  33. Getting Answers

  34. The Notorious NCB

  35. Complications

  36. Misogyny

  37. Found and Lost

  38. Incommunicado

  39. Doomsday

  40. Missing

  41. Busted

  42. Missing Link

  43. Released

  44. Site B

  45. Alliances

  46. Rescue

  47. Revelations

  48. Home

  49. Justice

  Bonus Scene

  Enjoy A Free Book

  Also by Dharma Kelleher

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  To my wife, Eileen

  who makes me laugh and fills my heart with joy.

  Chapter 1

  Inagua's Hands

  “Quit crying and grab her legs.”

  Megan Thornton wiped her wet face and did as her mentor instructed. “Bethany was my friend, Linda.”

  “And now she’s just heavy.”

  Together, they pulled the body out of the back of the van.

  The night was alive with the ratcheting drone of katydids, punctuated by the hooting of a pair of owls perched on opposite sides of the truck.

  The gibbous moon’s argent light washed out the red rock landscape silhouetted by Capitol Butte, Coffee Pot Rock, and Sedona’s other oft-photographed sandstone towers against a mandala of stars.

  Under any other circumstances, Megan would have savored the breathtaking splendor of Sedona after hours. But this evening, her heart felt as heavy as the remains of her friend wrapped in a threadbare bedsheet.

  Megan sobbed, straining to carry her end of the body up the narrow, dimly lit trail. Thorny palo verde branches scratched her face and arms, but she paid them little mind. She was being punished, though she didn’t know why.

  When they reached a small clearing, Linda set her end on the rocky ground. “This will do.”

  “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have called 911.”

  “Because NCB said so. That’s why.”

  The words triggered a childhood memory in Megan’s mind. Her mother, Nita, used the same nonreason for many of the crazy things she did prior to getting clean. “Because I said so.”

  Megan sat on a rock and cried heaving sobs, no longer caring what Linda told her. She wanted to understand, to know that she was a good person, changing the world for the better.

  Linda’s hands gently wrapped around hers, the older woman’s breath a whisper next to Megan’s ear.

  “Sweetie, I understand you’re grieving. It’s understandable. No one wanted Bethany to die. I did everything I could to save her. But now she’s gone. Leaving her here at this beautiful vortex is the most loving thing we can do to honor her memory, to pay tribute to all that she contributed to Luminos and the world.”

  “But shouldn’t we bring her back to her family?”

  “NCB has confirmed that laying her here is for the greater good. Taking her back to her family will only bring trouble. We don’t need the government interfering with our work. They are part of the system we are trying to change. You’ve accomplished so much in your time with Luminos, rising faster than many of your peers. I know you understand that.”

  Megan didn’t understand. But after reflecting on the lessons she’d learned over the past six months in Luminos, she figured that if NCB said it was true, then it must be so.

  “Yeah,” she mumbled.

  “That’s my girl. Doing this should earn you your orange slider. Now let’s go.”

  “Shouldn’t we… shouldn’t we bury her or something?”

  The thought of coyotes and other animals tearing apart her friend’s body horrified Megan. She shivered and wiped the tears from her face.

  “She’s in Inagua’s hands now,” Linda replied. “She’ll be okay.”

  Chapter 2

  Under Pressure

  Shea Stevens’s custom 1300cc sport bike blazed up the switchbacks on Sycamore Mountain’s south face. The wind roared in her ears. Yucca, cactus, and brittlebush blurred past her. Each hairpin turn was an exhilarating ballet as she whipped the bike around, leaning so hard in the corners that her foot pegs nearly scraped the pavement.

  The August morning heat from the lower desert faded the higher she rode. By the time she reached the summit and cruised into town, the air was cool, with the promise of autumn just around the corner.

  Olde Towne Sycamore Springs was a mile-long strip of businesses that included an antique shop, a pharmacy, a café popular with locals and tourists alike, and Iron Goddess Custom Cycles, Shea’s destination.

  She wheeled around back to the employee lot and cut the engine. When she stepped inside the service bay, the familiar scents of metal and oil enveloped her like a lover. This shop was as much her home as the house down at the bottom of the hill. The whine of a pneumatic torque wrench and the sizzle of a welder were a symphony to her ears.

  Lakota, the woman welding an oil pan, stopped and lifted her mask. “Morning, boss. Running late today, are we?”

  Shea blushed. She and her girlfriend, Toni, had ignored the alarm and enjoyed a little morning lovemaking, taking advantage of the opportunity since Annie, Shea’s niece, was on a sleepover at a friend’s house.

  “Slept through the alarm.”

  Lakota smirked and pulled a loose strand of her salt-and-pepper hair behind her ears. “Yeah, right. Can’t fool me. You got some this morning.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Ancient Oglala secret.”

  “Uh-huh. Where are we with the Cabello bike?” Shea asked, eager to
change the subject.

  “Fuel tank, frame, and fenders have been sanded and ready for paint. Fabricating the oil pan now. Gonna be a helluva bike. I think Ms. Cabello will love it when we’re done.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’m hoping to have the design for the Jenkins bike by tomorrow. We can go over it then and see if we need to make any structural changes before getting started on the frame.”

  Lakota was a mechanical engineer by trade, but a substance abuse problem had sidelined her career many years back.

  As ex-cons who had put their criminal pasts behind them, Shea and her business partner, Terrance Douglas, routinely hired second-chancers, including ex-cons, recovering addicts, and people rebuilding their lives after various traumas.

  After Lakota joined the crew back in 2013, she and Shea developed a symbiotic relationship. Lakota’s education and training made a perfect match for Shea’s experience and creativity.

  Shea waved at Digger and Kyle, the other mechanics working in the service bay, and continued through to the shop’s office. Terrance sat behind his desk, talking on the phone.

  He was a big man with dark skin and a beard. Some people found his appearance intimidating, but Shea knew he was a total softie with a sharp mind for business and marketing.

  Terrance made a show of looking at his watch then up at Shea with a shrug of his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am. Keep me posted if you get any likely candidates. Thanks.”

  “Morning.”

  “Oh? Is it still morning?”

  “Hey, I’m on lesbian time. It’s different from transgender time.”

  “Funny. Come up with a design for the Jenkins bike yet? We don’t want to be incurring any late penalties by not meeting deadlines.”

  “Absolutely. Just gotta tweak a few things, and I’ll go over it with Lakota. We still need to hire at least one, maybe two more builders. Preferably someone with electrical skills. Ever since Switch moved on…”

  “I know. I’m trying. I was just talking with Ms. Jackson at Cortes County Probation and Parole. No likely candidates. Also been checking with the county labor department, the halfway houses, and the women’s shelters in Ironwood and Bradshaw City. And of course, put help wanted ads online, as well as in the Cortes Chronicle, the Arizona Republic, and the Daily Star. There’s a shortage of workers with mechanical experience now.”

  “What about that guy down at Goblin’s shop in Ajo? Supposed to be a whiz with all things electrical. Even has experience with bikes.”

  “Arturo Fuentes? I’ve seen his resume. The man’s got skills. Believe me, I’d love to hire him. But he’s undocumented. If he can get a green card, I’ll put him on the payroll in a heartbeat. Until then, I can’t risk INS shutting us down.”

  “Shit.”

  “Also, we should discuss what kind of bike to enter into the competition at Tucson Bike Week.”

  “Why? We’ve already got more work than we can handle. And we’ll be getting more business when temperatures cool down in the valley and the seasonal riders start hitting the roads.”

  “Our win last year in Bradshaw City gave us a nice boost in sales, but people soon forget. We could use another.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with.” Shea started her computer and stared at the MotoCAD design window.

  Despite what she’d told Terrance and Lakota, Shea had no idea what to build for the Jenkins job. The client was a relatively new rider with more cash than experience. She hadn’t given them much direction, just asked for something unique.

  She flipped through previous designs she’d created, but every approach or style had been done to death, either by her or their competition. Her muse had ghosted her with no forwarding address.

  The Flying Tree bike she and Lakota had built the previous year, a powerful electric bike with a reclaimed wood fairing, was a bold move. It would be hard to top or even match.

  Even radical designs needed to be practical with the horsepower and clearance of any mass production bike. A motorcycle without much torque or that couldn’t take tight corners at speed might as well be a metal sculpture in a museum. Or a Harley.

  She flipped through magazines and surfed the web for inspiration, ignoring the gnawing emptiness inside her. Her mind kept drifting to her niece, Annie.

  Five years earlier, Annie’s parents had been killed, and she’d moved in with Shea. Now the girl was a teenager and blossoming from a preadolescent tomboy into a feminine young woman. Shea felt completely out of her depth. Maybe that was a part of being a parent.

  In a few days, Annie would spend a month at Bold Women of Tomorrow, a sleepaway camp for girls who dreamed of becoming entrepreneurs and business executives. It seemed an odd theme for a summer camp, but Annie had begged to go.

  Shea had approved only after some initial research to make sure the organization running the camp was legit. And yet, something about the camp nagged her. Nothing she could put her finger on. Maybe it was the idea of going a whole month without seeing her niece.

  Shea found herself doomscrolling social media and feeling increasingly depressed. Nothing was coming. No grand ideas. Not so much as a spark of inspiration. Her brain felt like a cotton boll baking in the desert sun. Thoughts kept getting lost.

  She drifted off to sleep at her desk. Then her phone rang, making her jump. Caller ID showed Toni was calling. “Hey, babe.”

  “You busy, chica?”

  “Busy? No. What’s going on?” She shot a glance at Terrance, hoping he wasn’t listening in. But his focus was on his screen. Probably doing accounting or going through resumes.

  “I may require your assistance with a case.”

  Until last year, Toni Rios had been a homicide detective with the Cortes County Sheriff’s Department. After retiring, she began working as a private investigator, freelancing for a local law firm to locate evidence to exonerate their clients.

  “You need my help? That’s a first.”

  “You know where LezBeans Coffee and Books is, right?”

  Memories flashed through her mind. She wasn’t a frequent visitor to the coffee shop in Ironwood’s University District, but she was friends with the woman that owned it.

  “Sure. I can be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Great. We’ll see you then.”

  Shea shook the cobwebs from her mind and pulled on her leather jacket.

  Terrance glanced up as she walked to the door. “Heading out somewhere? Not even lunchtime.”

  “Gee, Dad, didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

  Terrance stared at her blankly but said nothing.

  “Sorry, T,” she said. “Just frustrated with trying to brainstorm this Jenkins bike.”

  “I thought you were almost done with the design.”

  “Still trying to work out a few details. I’ll get it.”

  “And no, you don’t need my permission. I was only curious.”

  “Toni needs my help with something.”

  “Everything all right?” The concern in Terrance’s voice was genuine.

  “I’m sure. Be back after a bit. A little wind therapy might do my creativity some good.”

  “You all right?” His expression conveyed more than casual concern. It was the look he gave her when she was getting herself into a dangerous situation. He’d given her that same look when she went after the gangbanger she suspected of robbing their shop. The same look he’d given her when she joined the Athena Sisterhood Motorcycle Club.

  “I’m fine. Just meeting my girlfriend for coffee.”

  “Okay, then. Give Toni my love.”

  “Will do.”

  Chapter 3

  A Friend in Need

  Shea arrived at the coffee shop as a summer monsoon storm blew in from the east, unleashing its furious winds. Lightning slashed among the dark clouds. The air was heavy with the smells of ozone and approaching rain.

  LezBeans Coffee and Books had once been a small house in Ironwood’s University District. Despite the name, the coffee shop
attracted a clientele of all sexualities and genders, mostly of the politically progressive variety. Many were students or faculty at the nearby Central Arizona University.

  The shop had an open, airy feel to it. Many of the outer walls had been replaced with plate -glass windows. Among the labyrinth of tables stood shelves crammed with used books and tchotchkes for sale. Original artwork hung from columns and walls.

  Toni waved her over from the front room overlooking the street. Nita Thornton, the owner of the shop, sat next to her. She was a Black woman in her fifties with a 1970s-style afro haircut and always a kind word on the rare occasion that Shea stopped in.

  Nita’s wife, Cat Hamilton, a white woman with a chestnut ponytail, sat beside her. Cat’s sleeveless shirt revealed muscular arms that had been honed from years as a metal sculptor.

  “I think you know Nita and Cat,” Toni said when Shea sat down at the table.

  “Good to see y’all again,” Shea said.

  Nita smiled warmly. “Likewise. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “No thanks, I can’t stay long. What’s this about needing my help?”