Deputy Mercer began by speaking to Ethan away from the other riders. He asked whether Ethan was free to leave, where he slept, and whether Jack controlled his money or documents. Ethan answered each question without needing Jack to speak for him. He showed the apprentice's pay records on his phone, his bank card, and the employment arrangement Jack had helped him put in writing. When Mercer asked whether anyone had threatened him, Ethan said yes, but not anybody associated with the garage.
“Who did?” the deputy asked.
“Marcus Vane first. Then Gabe Rusk and three other men this afternoon. They all said they worked for Harold Caldwell.”
“Can you show me?”
Ethan opened the surveillance clip on his phone. He held it so the deputy could see the men enter the bay, the tools fall, and the shove that sent him down. The video captured Jack moving forward, Ethan stopping him, and Rusk telling the others to take the evidence. Mercer watched it twice. On the second viewing, his face became noticeably more serious.
“Did you alter this?”
“No. The original's on the shop recorder, and the system records the date and time. I can show you how to obtain a copy without touching the master file.”
Mercer nodded. “Let's do that.”
Jack stood twenty feet away with Padre, both men watching while forcing themselves not to interfere. That restraint mattered. Mercer had arrived expecting an argument, perhaps even a confrontation with two hundred angry bikers. Instead he found a young man presenting evidence, an owner allowing an investigation, and dozens of witnesses willing to give names. Even the enormous crowd had kept a respectful distance from his cruiser.
A few minutes later Mercer approached Jack. “I need statements from you and anyone who directly saw the assault. Not two hundred identical stories. Actual eyewitnesses.”
“You'll get them,” Jack replied.
“And I'd like everybody to leave the entrance clear in case another vehicle needs to get through.”
Padre raised a hand. Within moments riders shifted their motorcycles to open a lane. Mercer seemed almost relieved by the simple cooperation. He didn't apologize for coming, because responding to a report was his responsibility. But when he looked at Ethan again, he said something the young man would remember.
“The caller said you were seventeen,” Mercer told him. “He also said you had no documents and couldn't speak for yourself. Either he was very poorly informed, or he wanted us to believe you had less choice than you actually do.”
“I think he knew exactly how old I am,” Ethan said. “He wants you looking at Jack instead of the men who came here.”
Mercer wrote that down too. As he did, a black sedan with government plates came off the highway and turned into the open lane. It stopped near the cruiser. A woman in her early fifties got out, wearing a dark suit and sturdy shoes, carrying a leather folder that looked as though it had endured years of travel.