Troubleshooter Read Online Free PDF

Tim said. "We'll take lead."
    "I'm not worried about it, I'm just saying I hate these guys."
    They climbed out. Immediately floodlights clicked on, and two junkyard mutts with pit bull-square heads hurled themselves against the chain-link, snarling. A security camera pivoted atop a post, facing them like the head of a robot. Tim pulled out his badge and creds and held them up to the lens.
    A moment later a hulking guy with an ace of diamonds tattooed on his shaved skull stepped onto the porch and whistled off the dogs. Tim matched him with a description from the Sheriff's incipient database--Diamond Dog Phillips.
    "You got a warrant?"
    "We're not here to bust your balls," Tim said. "Just want to introduce ourselves to Uncle Pete."
    "We could go get one...." Bear offered helpfully, angling his wide frame back toward his truck.
    Diamond Dog scowled and retreated back into the house. They waited patiently. He reappeared five minutes later, strode down the walk, and opened the myriad locks on the gate. They followed him inside, stepping into a dark, cavernous living room.
    A few members milled around with slags tarted up in holiday-red-and-green spandex midriffs and microminis. A bank of closed-circuit telemonitors showed off exterior views of the clubhouse. In the background over the pinball machine's annoying leitmotif, Bearcat scanners chirped, monitoring police frequencies. Steel armor and cinder blocks rimmed the walls from the floor to the bottoms of the windows. A few gunports had been cut on either side of the front door, which had been transplanted from a Mosler walk-in safe. A hint of rot informed the humid air, maybe the smell of soiled leather. Still, the house was in its way another example of high-end L.A. real estate. The decorating budget had just been dispensed according to biker taste and priorities.
    "Sit on the couch," Diamond Dog said.
    A slag paraded past, swaying her hips, flame tattoos coming up from the waistband of her jeans as if announcing vigorous VD. The front of her shirt proclaimed I'M THE BITCH WHO FELL OFF THE BIKE. Slung in one arm was a baby with a chain tattooed around its neck. Bear and Guerrera sat, but Tim got caught staring.
    "Relax, Heat. It's henna."
    "That's Federal Heat to you."
    Diamond Dog stood over them, arms crossed, two other club members behind him in a V formation as if posing for a Tarantino one-sheet. One wore shades despite the dim light, the other an unbuttoned biker vest with no undershirt, a toe tag dangling from his pierced nipple. The guy in shades turned around to catch an airborne can of beer. The back of his T-shirt declared, IF YOU CAN READ THIS, THE BITCH FELL OFF MY BIKE.
    "Oh," Bear said. "I get it now."
    A coffin in front of the couch served as a coffee table. To the left, a bike painted with distinctive skull patterns dripped oil onto the worn carpet. A lollipop dental mirror poked out from the handlebars as the rearview--letter-of-the-law compliance.
    Guerrera gestured at the bike. "Beautiful spray job."
    Diamond Dog scratched his crotch, disrupting the tough-guy aesthetics. "That's Danny the Wand's work, hijo. Twelve coats of paint on the gas tank alone. You don't even deserve to look at it."
    "Danny the Wand?" Bear said. "The guy's a John Holmes or something?"
    Diamond Dog laughed with his cohorts, showing off a missing front tooth. "Yeah, that's it. Danny's big dick."
    A few Sinners gathered in the doorway to the accompanying room. Prosthetic limbs, do-rags, missing earlobes--they looked like a gathering of well-fed carnies. "Hey, Annie." An older biker curled his finger at her. The end of a bare mattress was barely in view beyond the door-jamb.
    As Annie handed off the baby, Tim noticed shiny scars running down her legs like seams. Den's sartorial experiment?
    She headed into the other room. Noting Bear's expression of disgust, Diamond Dog smirked and tilted his head at Annie. "You want a piece?"
    "I wouldn't fuck her with your dick and him pushing."
    "I