But I had no desire to do that. Pushing through the crowd, I saw that the old man was younger than I’d thought, sixty maybe, or maybe a hard-won fifty. He was bigger than I’d thought, too, with hands like a mechanic’s. When I was five feet out, he said, “You don’t want to be here, kid.”

“I just want to ask a few questions.”

“Last chance, son.”

After that, three things happened simultaneously. I opened my mouth, took a step, and someone hit me in the stomach so hard and fast it bent me in half. The old man said, “Outside,” and that’s where they took me, through a metal door and into the dark behind the building. They threw me down. I tried to breathe.

“Do we know him?” An unfamiliar voice.

Someone else said, “He looks like his older brother.”

“What brother?”

“Jason French.”

“No shit?” The old man gripped my hair and twisted my head for a better look. “What’s your name?”

“Gibby…” I choked on the name, tried again. “Gibby French.”

He twisted harder, got some light on my face. “Here’s the thing, Gibby French. Angels’ business is my business. Why are you asking about my business?”

“All I want to do is help my brother.”

A voice said, “Tyra Norris. Somebody cut her up.”

“Yeah, well. Tyra. I can’t worry much about her.” He let me go, and my head hit pavement. “I don’t mind the idea of your brother in prison, either. Good for the club, good for me.”

I rolled onto my back, gravel and grit grinding into my skin. “He didn’t kill her.”

“Nobody here cares.”

“I want to talk about the fight.”

“Talk? That’s it?”

“That’s it and that’s all.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you, kid.” He dragged me up, crazy strong. “This has never been a talking kind of place.”

He hit me hard; bent me in half a second time. He swung again, high to low, right in the face. I hit the ground, blood streaming.

“Get up,” he said.

I tried to do it, but took a boot in the ribs because I didn’t do it fast enough. I heard a door open, and saw the bartender looking down, skinny and pale as he said, “Hey, uh, can you maybe, uh, not do it here? This job is all I have, and the manager is already looking to fire me. I’m thinking … you kill this kid, then cops and such…”

“Oh, is that what you’re thinking?” A disgusted look crossed the old biker’s face. “Go on, then. Bring your truck around. We’ll take this party down the street.”