Chapter 11 : Federal Interest
[Teller-Morrow Automotive — April 3, 2008, 10:15 AM]
The black SUVs pulled into the lot like sharks entering a swimming pool.
Two vehicles, federal plates, windows tinted dark. They parked in the customer section, engines idling for a long moment before the doors opened.
I was underneath a Chevy Tahoe, changing oil. Through the gap between tires, I watched four sets of polished shoes hit the pavement.
Three men in suits. One woman.
Blonde hair. Sharp features. A smile that looked practiced in front of mirrors.
June Stahl.
My hands froze on the drain plug. The world contracted to a single point of focus.
She's here. It's starting.
I knew what she was. What she would do. The evidence she'd manufacture against Opie, the lives she'd destroy trying to flip members, the cold calculation behind every friendly word.
In eighteen months, she'd be dead—shot by Opie in revenge for everything she'd cost him. But between now and then, she'd leave a trail of bodies.
Starting with Donna.
I forced my hands to move. Finished the oil change. Slid out from under the truck, wiped my hands, watched the federal agents walk toward the office like they owned the place.
Gemma intercepted them at the door. Words exchanged—too far to hear, but her body language screamed hostility. Stahl's smile never flickered.
They went inside.
---
The meeting lasted twenty-three minutes.
I timed it, pretending to work on a carburetor that didn't need fixing. Through the office windows, I could see shapes moving, gestures sharp, voices raised but muffled.
Clay sat behind the desk, stone-faced. Gemma stood beside him, arms crossed. Stahl did most of the talking, her agents flanking her like backup dancers.
When they emerged, Stahl was still smiling. Clay looked like he wanted to kill something. Gemma looked like she'd already decided what to kill.
The agents walked past the garage without glancing at the mechanics. Stahl's heels clicked on the concrete, precise and unhurried.
She paused near her SUV, scanning the lot. Her gaze swept across me—brief, dismissive, moving on.
Don't see me. Don't remember me. I'm just another grease monkey.
The SUVs pulled out. The lot exhaled.
Jax appeared from the clubhouse, face tight. He gathered the non-members—me, Half-Sack, Lowell, the other mechanics—near the garage entrance.
"That was ATF." His voice was low, controlled. "They're sniffing around, looking for ways in. Everyone tighten up. Nothing stupid, nothing sloppy, nothing that gives them leverage."
He looked at each of us in turn. His eyes lingered on me.
"Especially new faces. You'll be watched. By them, by us, by everyone. If you've got anything in your past that could be a problem, now's the time to mention it."
"I'm clean," I said.
"You better be." He walked away.
Half-Sack let out a breath. "Jesus. The feds. That's serious."
"Yeah."
"You okay? You look pale."
I just saw the woman who's going to try to destroy everyone I'm trying to save.
"Fine. Just don't like feds."
"Who does?"
We went back to work. But my hands shook for an hour afterward.
---
[TM Back Lot — 4:30 PM]
The cigarette tasted like ash.
I stood behind the dumpster—my usual spot when I needed to think—and smoked down to the filter. The sun hung low, painting the lot in orange.
Stahl.
In the show, she'd been a master manipulator. Created evidence when she couldn't find it. Played members against each other. Got Otto to kill a nurse. Got Opie's wife killed through a cascade of lies and misunderstandings.
And I couldn't warn anyone.
Hey, Jax, that blonde ATF agent? She's going to frame Opie as a rat, convince Clay to order a hit, and Tig's going to shoot Donna instead of Opie. Just thought you should know.
They'd think I was insane. Or worse—that I was the rat, trying to create paranoia.
The only way to stop Stahl was to outmaneuver her. Be in the right place at the right time. Change the small things that would cascade into bigger things.
Control what you can.
I crushed the cigarette under my boot.
The black SUVs were gone, but their presence lingered. The lot felt different now—watched, surveilled, dangerous.
She'll be back. She'll keep digging until she finds something. Or makes something up.
I walked back to the garage.
The work was waiting. The clock was ticking.
And somewhere in a federal office, June Stahl was planning her next move.
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