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unfamiliar with those environs.”
    â€œIt’s family, you know? A tribe—something to help keep the wolves at bay.”
    â€œSo, why do you need Henry?”
    She turned her head as if the answer were obvious. “He’s the biggest, baddest wolf I know.”
    I smiled. “Okay, then who are the leaders of the other packs?”
    â€œI’ll have to think about it.”
    â€œYou haven’t already?”
    She turned her head to look at me but then returned her attention to the road.
    â€œIf you think somebody’s responsible for your son’s accident, then it would make it a lot easier if you’d let us know of any suspicions you might have—could help us narrow the field.”
    â€œThe Hells Angels, Mongols, Pagans, Sons of Silence, Outlaws, Bandidos, Warlocks, Vagos. Take your pick.”
    â€œAre all those groups represented here in Hulett?”
    â€œYeah, it’s like an asshole convention.”
    â€œWeren’t you just standing up for all these outlaw motorcycle clubs?”
    â€œOnly ours.” She gave me a dazzling smile and passed another group of motorcyclists, barely getting back in our lane before scattering another cluster headed the other way. “The rest are pieces of shit.”
    â€œRight. Would you mind keeping it under the speed ofsound? I’d like to visit your son, but I’d rather not share a ward with him.” She let off the accelerator, but I could tell it wasn’t something she was used to doing. “Well, it has to be someone with a car or truck.”
    â€œWhy is that?”
    â€œI’m no Evel Knievel, but it seems to me it would be hard to run a motorcycle off the road with another motorcycle without ending up in the ditch yourself.”
    She nodded in agreement. “Hey, you really are a sheriff, aren’t you?”
    â€œSo, who would be here with a four-wheeled vehicle?”
    â€œTons of guys; a lot of them bring trucks and vans and tow their bikes.”
    I watched as a few more motorcyclists passed but then did notice a few vans and SUVs pulling covered trailers. “I thought the idea was to show how tough you are by riding distance.”
    â€œYou ever ride a Harley a couple thousand miles?”
    â€œNever ridden one a couple hundred feet.”
    She shook her head. “How does a guy your age ever get to now with never having learned how to ride a motorcycle?”
    I philosophized. “Common sense?” I turned to pet Dog. “So, are you a member of the Tre Tre Nomads?”
    â€œNo, they don’t patch women.” She saw the confusion on my face. “When you become a full member of a club, you get the patches to go on your leathers or your kuttes.”
    â€œWhat are kuttes?”
    â€œShort for cut-offs—you know, denim vests or jackets where the sleeves have been cut off.”
    â€œOh.” I glanced at her leather ensemble but could see no patches. “So, no female members, huh?”
    â€œNo, but you can be somebody’s old lady, and that carries a certain standing.”
    â€œAnd whose old lady are you?”
    â€œDelshay Torres, my ex.”
    â€œThe one that owns the Huffy/Schwinn shop.”
    â€œRight. We went our separate ways a few years ago, but I’ve still got status.”
    â€œBodaway, Delshay . . . Those don’t sound like Spanish names.”
    â€œYavapai Apache.”
    â€¢ • •
    Rapid City Regional Hospital is the largest and most advanced facility in the four-state area, so it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that they transferred Bodaway Torres there.
    A large man, built like a sumo wrestler, was taking up an entire bench as we entered the waiting room outside the ICU. He stood when he saw Lola. He didn’t say anything but gave me a hard look before sitting his prodigious, leather-clad rear back on the bench and folding his massive arms, which just barely reached across his