After Tommy.
Nobody had told the full story.
Graham sat down.
“He heard about Cassie’s project.”
Maria frowned.
“How?”
“Club page.”
Derek emerged from the back room.
“What about Tommy?”
Graham looked at him.
“He called.”
Derek stopped.
“After fifteen years?”
“Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk.”
Derek’s jaw hardened.
“He made his choice.”
Graham rubbed his forehead.
“We all did.”
“No.”
Derek stepped closer.
“He walked.”
“Your father made damn sure he had a reason.”
Derek’s face changed.
Cassie looked between them.
Bull.
Derek’s father.
The dead center of whatever this was.
Maria said:
“Not tonight.”
Derek laughed once.
“Of course not.”
He grabbed his jacket and left.
The motorcycle outside started violently.
Then disappeared down the road.
Cassie remained silent.
Graham looked toward her.
“Don’t.”
She raised both hands.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Your face did.”
Hank smiled.
“She has your face.”
Graham ignored him.
Later, after everyone left, Graham found Cassie packing her recorder.
“You holding up?”
“Sore.”
“Still?”
“Less.”
He nodded.
Cassie waited.
Finally Graham said:
“Tommy Reeves was my best friend.”
“Was?”
Graham looked toward the floor.
“Complicated.”
“That seems to be the club’s favorite word.”
He smiled slightly.
“Tommy helped start the Wolves.”
Cassie stopped packing.
“With you?”
“Me.”
“Hank.”
“Bull Cole.”
“Two others.”
“Bull was Derek’s dad.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Graham looked at the empty room.
“Not tonight.”
Cassie’s disappointment must have shown.
He added:
“You want the whole story, you’ll get it.”
“But not from me alone.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s one of the things you need to learn.”
He looked at her notebook.
“Memory isn’t the same thing as truth.”
The following Thursday, Cassie arrived early.
Graham was supposed to meet her at four.
He was late.
She sat at a table with headphones on, transcribing Maria’s interview.
At 3:42, an unfamiliar motorcycle entered the lot.
Cassie looked through the window.
The man who climbed off was in his mid-fifties.
Plain black leather jacket.
No club colors.
Gray beginning at the temples.
He removed his helmet slowly.
Then stood looking at the clubhouse.
Not like someone returning to a bar.
Like someone approaching a grave.
Cassie immediately knew.
Tommy Reeves.
He entered.
His eyes found her.
“You must be Cassie.”
She stood.
“You must be Tommy.”
He smiled.
“Graham talks about you.”
“That would be new.”
Tommy laughed.
He looked around.
Nothing in the clubhouse had changed dramatically.
Yet he examined everything.
Pool table.
Old photographs.
Wolf emblem painted on one wall.
A memorial board.
“Fifteen years.”