Read Online Troubleshooter by Gregg Hurwitz - Free Book Online Page A

gig."
    "No," Tim said. "But he's got 'em."
    Finally the sheriff's deputy held up his hands in concession, and he and his partner climbed back into their car and took off. The Sinners continued down the hill and slant-parked, one after another. Within seconds both sides of the road below were filled.
    "Okay," Tim said. "This is our best shot to capture their faces. Get as many close-ups as you can. Focus on mother chapter members and deeds. With the women make sure you get their property jackets, too."
    As several Sinners hoisted the coffin and marched it into the grassy flats, the van filled with the click of high-tech cameras and the hum of autoadjusting lenses. No cemetery workers were on hand; no one threw dirt on a Sinner but a Sinner.
    Toe-Tag, Whelp, and Diamond Dog stayed together, keeping close proximity to Uncle Pete, who seemed to be relishing his master-of-ceremonies role. A skinny biker with an eye patch hung at Pete's side, his posture indicating more-than-usual obeisance. Rather than originals, he wore an armband, Third Reich style, exhibiting the Sinners logo. A stone glinted on his pinkie ring. A woman with a masculine build stayed on his arm, seeming to negotiate his brief introductions to satellite-chapter members.
    Tim clicked on again: "What's with Himmler at your nine o'clock?"
    "The armband shows he's a striker," Guerrera said. "Means he's graduated from being a prospect, but he's not an official Sinner yet."
    Bear's voice: "How'd he graduate?"
    "He rolled bones."
    "You gotta kill someone?"
    "From their preselected list of club enemies. Proves you're not a cop."
    "Yeah," Bear said. "That'd pretty much do it."
    Tim caught a glimpse of an attractive brunette swaggering through the crowd. A few of the Sinners cleared out of her way, their deference drawing Tim's attention. Trying to keep her in sight, he came up off the stool until his head pressed against the roof of the van. Her bottom rocker--PROPERTY OF DEN--flashed into view before she disappeared behind a stand of trees.
    He keyed the radio. "Bear. You spot Den's deed? Far side of the trees?"
    "We have a worse angle than you. How 'bout you, Guerrera?"
    "We lost our view to a moving van."
    Tim grabbed a camera and slid out of the vehicle, easing the door closed. He jogged in a crouch a few feet along the wrought-iron fence and fell to a flat-bellied sniper's position. The brunette stepped back into the scope of his lens and he fired off a series of shots. The whir of his advancing film seemed to echo back at him. He pivoted with the camera, tracking the sound.
    A short biker sat on an Indian about twenty yards upslope, a camera raised to his helmet. For a frozen instant, he and Tim regarded each other through their lenses. The biker flipped down his wind visor and took off up a cross street. Tim was on his feet, sprinting for the van, the information coalescing--Chief, the Sinners' intel officer, taking pictures of Tim taking pictures.
    Tim leapt into the driver's seat and peeled away from the curb, the ESU guys going ass-up in the back. Barking for backup into the radio, he careened around the turn in time to see the bike cut down another street ahead. By the time the cul-de-sac flew into view, Chief was heading back directly at them, a game of chicken he was sure to lose. About twenty yards from a collision, he turned sharply, motoring up a walkway toward a house. He hopped the three steps onto the wide porch, a fusion of man and machine, and screeched left, leaving a wake of fire. The bike took flight off the porch and landed in a flower bed, throwing off a shower of dirt and petals. Chief reared up, his front wheel smashing down a rickety gate, and disappeared into the backyard.
    Tim skidded to a halt, Frisk rolling to strike the cushioned front seats, and reversed hard. He raced around the block in time to see the bike drop down a sloped median--a ten-foot fall ending in concrete--and race off, heading the wrong way, cars and trucks honking and