Page 19 of Mad Max

Travis nods and rises, showing to the guard he’s done, no matter if we had any other questions or not. Before he walks out, he pauses at my table, not long enough to piss off the guard but enough to pass on his own request.

“Keep Boo out of it.”

I feel Casper’s and Law’s eyes on me but stay focused on a man who, locked in prison or not, can get his own form of revenge if he wants it. And I’m not sure if he wants me to protect her from being involved or if he knows what we did and the threat is against me and the club. Travis might be cordial with us now, but he ain’t a team player. No CIA spook is. They prefer solo missions for a reason. No one can stab you in the back if you’re working alone. Or at least the number is lower if you don’t have to worry about betrayal. Probably doesn’t help that one of the few times Travis teamed up, he was fucked over.

Unlike the bastards at his back, I know the club is solid behind me. I’d rather have a hundred brothers at my back any day of the week than walk this shit alone. I went it alone, and it got me locked up. Travis and I have the exact opposite circumstances.

It’s not till we’re outside and checking the cage for bugs, clearing it and then driving back that we speak about what happened. We chose the cage over the bikes ’cause we can’t wear our colors while visiting an inmate, and this is neutral territory. And no fucking way would I leave my ride unattended for any asshole to fuck with just ’cause they know who it belongs to. The club learned that the hard way a few years back when a rival club came up to visit their own brothers in this place.

“So, what do we think?” Casper is the one to broach the question as he navigates through the traffic.

I look out the passenger window as I give my two cents. “If Duke is involved in trafficking, he’s just starting out. And if there’s a play to take over the south quadrant and be one of the top four in the nation, he’d go for it. Especially if the position is now vacant.”

“You think he’s the one who killed the last guy in charge?”

Casper’s question pulls my gaze away from the passing trees, and I shrug.

“Not sure. Doesn’t really matter even if he did. As Travis said, they don’t take on outsiders, and Duke would be starting from scratch, since his own president isn’t willing to get involved. If he is making a play for it, then he’s bringing in his own to sell.”

Casper chances a glance in the review mirror to look at Law, who’s just listening to us spitball ideas. “Flint’s girl said the files she found were bookkeeping, right? You think he’s already selling or just keeping tabs on what he plans to sell?”

“Don’t know, but I will soon.”

I look back and see Law sending a text off, presumably to the man in question. We might want Flint’s woman to look at things, but not even the prez asks an old lady for something without clearing it with her old man first. It’s a respect thing that each brother follows.

Whatever happens next, one thing is clear.

The fairy and I aren’t done.

Chapter 9 – Cheyanne

F

inding Lou was harder than I thought. Not that I didn’t know where he was, just that the little sucker kept avoiding me. Not sure if Jimmy alerted him or what, but he knew I was coming. And he knew who sent me.

He also didn’t like it one bit. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t care. Not sure Jimmy meant for his tip to push me more than it did, but I’ve become addicted to this case. Each interview I conduct for my paying client is another lead I can use in my own investigation. I ask the questions the client wants me to, but then I add a few of my own. Since no one ever monitors what I ask, only the transcript of the questions and answers they want, I have free rein to add more questions. It was something I had written into the contract from the start. My clients might think they know what to ask, but not everyone answers something when questioned directly. Sometimes you have to go around it.

Sure, some would say that’s leading a witness or whatever jargon the lawyers want to call it. But there’s a reason I’m a contractor—I can get away with things the client can’t. Again, another reason why I’m on their retainer. I get the results they want, and they don’t really give a damn how I do it. Once a person admits something, and they realize it, they tend to just keep admitting it to others, thinking we’re all the same team. Only the client and I know I’m the third party in the interview.

Lou didn’t give me much, just a name, a direction, and a promise to keep his mouth shut about who asked for it. Not sure if the fear of my uncle is the reason he quickly agreed or the knife I held at his neck when I cornered him in the back room of the bar he owns.

No one expects someone like me to know how to handle knives, but I do. My parents didn’t allow me to watch TV as a kid, only wanted me to study. So of course, when they fell asleep, I would sneak into the living room and watch what was on. They didn’t have cable, only local channels, and every Tuesday they had Bruce Lee kung fu movies that played all night. I don’t know why, but the throwing stars fascinated me. I used to make mine out of paper, but they never stuck to anything. It wasn’t until after my parents’ funeral that Jimmy found me making them. I would lose myself making hundreds of them, intricate origami paper stars, and I would just ignore everything else in life. The day after he saw me, I woke to two gifts: one set of stars and a set of knives. All for throwing.

He never asked me why I liked them, and I didn’t ask why he bought them for me. But he showed me how to throw both. I got good. Really good. To this day, I can always expect a new set of throwing knives from my uncle on the anniversary of my parents’ death. I guess it sort of goes along with the “no emotion, only action” game plan. A knife is a reminder that death is just an object if you let it be and not an omen for bad things. Well, that’s how I see it, at least. Not that anyone ever asks for my opinion. Then again, no one but Lou has ever seen me hold a knife besides Jimmy.

Lou’s help led me to where I am today—after a week of digging, of course. But I didn’t show up blind to this. I came expecting things. The worst of things. Jimmy might have tried to keep me out of certain areas of his life, but I saw things. Like where he kept his gear and how the feds never confiscated what he kept hidden under the third floorboard in the house he owned. Before we sold it, I took what was in it and moved it to a storage unit, just in case. He’ll probably never get out for good behavior, but who knows? I’d rather have it than not if a miracle happens and he’s released one day.

I also keep my extra knives in that same unit. I don’t think I realized how many I have till I had to pick only a few to bring with me each time I come here. I know I’m playing a game. I’m just learning the basics, and it might not be something I should be doing at all. But I’m here, and I’m not quitting till Candy comes home. Till they all get home, however many that is. I haven’t figured that part out yet. And while I’m not emotionally involved in a person being stolen from their home, I’m invested in a person not being forced into something they don’t want. Like I was.

I shake off the thought. Not that I think it will bring me emotions, but I just need my head in the game.

I’ve watched this building for four nights now in this same seat, looking out the same window. This coffee shop is down the street from where I think I need to watch. It gives the perfect view of the back door to the building I think is involved with trafficking people. I know what’s going on in the front, a secondhand shop. I don’t care who comes in—I’m interested in what’s taken out.

Lou gave me a street name, not a person. Ford Street has many businesses on it, and most are clean. At first, I thought the place I needed to watch over was the laundromat, but after a few hours of seeing nothing other than kids sneaking in to smoke and shake the machines down for coins, I realized it was too cliché. The restaurants at the end of the street gave me nothing to work with, so that left the six retail stores.

Two are high-end. So high that no one ever goes in. It won't be surprising if they go out of business soon. Three others have pretty high traffic, but they seem to cater to family units, and I have yet to see someone enter who doesn’t have another person or two with them.

The only one left is the secondhand shop. I didn’t notice it at first, but after a week of counting every person who went into a building on Ford, it’s the only one that doesn’t have people exiting in the same number. I don’t know why I started counting heads at first. Probably just boredom since not one store has a neon sign saying “shady deal going on inside.”

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