Diesel cursed under his breath. “Getting my arms around this is another story. What is all this shit?”

“I don’t know what’s in all the boxes, but my family and several club members have stuff down here. All the club minutes and records dating back to when my grandfather founded it are down here collecting dust. The records are in the white boxes.”

“That’s your system? White boxes?” Diesel looked at the various brown cardboard boxes—from beer and alcohol cases to television boxes, and Lord knew what else. Long wooden shelves lined the back wall, and more sets of metal shelves sat off to the side littered with tools and other miscellaneous items, as if someone had once thought about organizing. But he didn’t see white boxes anywhere, which meant they were probably buried in the middle of the stacks.

“You know how it goes. You think you’ve got a system. You have your boys carry a box or two down here and there, and before you know it, twenty years’ve gone by and you’ve got this. Hell, Tiny’s got stuff down here from before he moved out West. You know that story?”

“I might have heard it.” Diesel adjusted his baseball cap, and began looking for markings on the boxes as Biggs told him the story he’d heard a handful of times.

“Tiny and I were riding cross-country. It was summertime, hot as hell, when we stumbled upon the Roadhouse. Wynnie had just graduated college, and she was there celebrating with her sister and friends. Tiny took one look at her, and I kid you not, he said, I’m gonna marry that chick.” Biggs chuckled. “I rode back alone that summer. Wynnie was going to grad school in the fall, and Tiny got a job at the ranch, which was originally owned by her grandfather. It was just a horse rescue at the time, and he put a ring on her finger a few months later. That winter Axel and I packed up Tiny’s stuff and drove it out to him in a U-Haul. Whatever didn’t fit has been down here ever since.”

Great. “Biggs, none of these boxes are marked. How’re we going to find the pictures Chicki wants?”

“Guess it’s a bigger job than I anticipated. I can take care of it, son.”

“No way, old man. But rather than carry all this upstairs, why don’t you do it down here and organize as we go? Kill two birds with one stone. We’ve got packing tape and labels in the bar. Give me a few minutes to grab them and I’ll be right back.” He narrowed his eyes at Biggs. “Don’t try to lift any boxes.”

Biggs held one hand up. “A’right, a’right. Grab me a bottle of water while you’re up there?”

“Already planning on it.”