He accepted the envelope with hands still shaky from exhaustion. The cash felt heavier than money ought to feel, not because of the notes themselves but because it represented the first real relief he had experienced since Aaron died. He set it in the locked office drawer rather than counting it again. The action was almost ceremonial, like placing a fragile object somewhere it could finally rest.
'You're not running the bike flat out tonight,' Jonah told Grip.
'I heard you the first time,' Grip replied.
'I'm repeating it because you look like a man who enjoys forgetting things when the engine starts sounding good.'
A surprised laugh passed between them. It broke some of the remaining tension, enough that Caleb could step back and feel how badly his legs ached. He had been standing for most of the day, and the adrenaline that had sustained him was fading. With the crisis no longer pressing against every breath, ordinary exhaustion returned all at once.
Iron Jack asked what the club could do to get the motorcycle properly evaluated. Jonah explained that he could complete preliminary checks that night and arrange a more thorough inspection at a specialist facility before the Nevada highway leg. A controlled transfer to a secure staging area was different from unrestricted operation across the desert. Grip disliked the distinction but accepted it, especially after Caleb pointed to the photographs and reminded him of the consequences of making the wrong choice once.
The club had brought trailers with the convoy to carry support equipment, and one would be available to transport the Knucklehead after it left the industrial park. Grip could ride it slowly for the ceremonial departure from Oildale, then load it before the extended highway miles. It was a compromise between the dramatic departure everyone outside expected and the safety concerns Caleb would not abandon. The president approved it without ceremony.
While Jonah continued his inspection, Dutch returned with a folded receipt he had obtained from a rider who had contacts at the Fresno paint shop. The receipt did not prove guilt, but it gave the investigation a clearer direction. A special job had been booked under an unfamiliar name during the week before Grip's frame was repainted, and payment had been made in cash. The shop owner had reportedly remembered a younger biker waiting beside the stripped motorcycle late one evening.
Skinner looked at the receipt and said it was all nonsense. Then his tone changed, and he asked for his phone. Iron Jack let him use it while standing where everyone could see him, refusing the more impatient suggestions that the phone simply be taken. Skinner made no call and eventually returned it to his pocket, as though the act of holding the device had been the only reason he had asked for it.
The president turned to Caleb. 'Will you give us copies of everything?'
'Yes,' Caleb answered. 'And I want the original damaged piece preserved. I'm going to call the sheriff's office tonight and ask how they want it documented.'