The Doberman immediately stepped back toward the girl.
The Lead Biker stood.
“Slow.”
One officer nodded.
“We heard there’s a child.”
The Lead Biker pointed.
The officers saw her.
Their expressions changed.
The older officer crouched several yards away.
“Anybody know who she is?”
The Lead Biker held up the photograph.
“I do now.”
He explained.
Not everything.
Just enough.
His daughter.
Eight years gone.
The note.
Granddaughter.
The officer listened carefully.
“Do you have any legal documentation connecting you?”
“No.”
“Any current contact with the mother?”
“No.”
“When did you last speak?”
The Lead Biker looked away.
“Eight years.”
The officer nodded.
He did not judge.
“Does the child have a backpack?”
One biker pointed toward a battered purple backpack near the wall.
The Doberman watched every movement.
The officer did not approach it.
“Can you bring the bag?”
The Lead Biker did.
Inside the front pocket was an index card.
A child’s first name.
Date of birth.
Mother’s first name.
An emergency phone number.
The Lead Biker stared at the number.
Not his.
The officer called.
Disconnected.
Another pocket contained crackers.
A small bottle of water.
A flashlight.
A twenty-dollar bill.
A folded city bus map.
And another note.
This one written more recently.
If Mom can’t come back, go to the motorcycle garage with the red door. Show them Grandpa’s picture. Stay with the dog. Do not go with anybody unless Grandpa says it’s okay or a police officer is there.
The Lead Biker read it twice.
His daughter had created an emergency plan.
A plan that ended with him.
After eight years without a phone call.
That hurt worse than if she had hated him.
Because hate would have been simple.
Somewhere beneath everything, she had still trusted him with the most precious person in her life.
The young officer looked toward the child.
“How far away does the mother live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know where she went when she left?”
The Lead Biker’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
That answer carried shame.
The officer noticed.
“Okay.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
The Lead Biker nodded.
The little girl moved.
Every man in the garage froze.
She turned onto her back.
Her eyelids fluttered.
The Doberman immediately lowered its head beside hers.
The girl opened her eyes.
For several seconds, she looked confused.
Then fear returned all at once.
She sat up quickly.
The Doberman stood between her and everyone else.
“Easy.”
The Lead Biker remained where he was.
The girl’s eyes moved across leather vests.