Griffin
Once they’d gotten Tom and his family sent off to Texas, life had returned to normal, or as normal as their fucked up genetically engineered lives could get. Except Jonesy hadn’t opened his garage in two days, which was odd for the workaholic who spent more time in his shop than at home.
He hadn’t figured out what all that meant in the grand scheme of things, but he knew what he knew, and Jonesy missing work was wrong.
“No. Other than the usual background check. Born and raised in Brooklyn, moved here nine years ago and went to work for the old owner of the garage. When the owner retired, Dwane bought the business and has been the owner-operator over the past four years. Pretty boring shit.
A few brushes with the law back in the city.
Minor issues, disturbing the peace at an ACLU rally when he was eighteen, and shit like that.
The only major red flag was an arrest a few months before he moved here, theft, but the charges were later dropped by the prosecution for lack of evidence,” Apollo said.
“It’s not uncommon for a Black man to be targeted,” Griffin argued with a low growl in defense of the man even if when didn’t know all the facts.
“Happens all too often,” Rocko agreed.
“We should run by his place,” Griffin said.
“What reason do we give?” Apollo asked. “Think clearly. I’m sure he’d fine.”
“Easy. We need a part for one of the trucks,” Rocko suggested.
“Exactly,” Griffin agreed.
Apollo gave his lover a withered look.
“I’m trying to help, Rocko asked with a grin. Do we have his address?”
“Fine, I’ll get Ace on it,” Apollo said. “If it will shut you the hell up.”
“I know where he lives,” Griffin said.
“Why am I not surprised?” Apollo chuckled.
“Fuck off,” Griffin growled, but he couldn’t erase the smirk on his face. He may have watched over the man a time or two.
He threw money on the table to cover their coffees and headed toward the door.
The quicker he laid eyes on Jonesy, the quicker Griffin could get back to the business of pounding the Noah Group and its members into the ground.
They’d been monitoring their new neighbors from across the lake and noticed an uptick in activity.
Griffin jumped into the driver’s seat, being the only person who knew where they were going.
As the head of security, he made it his business to know everything about people who came into contact with their team, and that was all Griffin was willing to think on the matter.
They didn’t have far to go. Jonesy’s apartment was only a couple blocks down the street, above the local hairdresser’s shop with the entrance set around back. He parked and opened his door.
“I’ll be right back,” he said before stepping out and ending any discussion on the matter. He didn’t need all three of them storming the guy’s door at ten in the morning.
Griffin took the exterior staircase two at a time and was soon standing outside Jonesy’s door.
After he’d marked the driver’s front tire with a small line of chalk, the man’s truck was still sitting in the same spot for days.
If Jonesy had driven somewhere, the mark would not be in the exact same spot when he re-parked.
It may seem excessive, but this was how Griffin operated in a world that wasn’t safe for people like him.
He pounded on the door harder than he’d intended, but if Jonesy was in there, he wanted to get the man’s attention. The echoing footsteps on the other side of the flimsy wood confirmed he had. He’d have to make sure a stronger door was installed cause a stray wind could knock this one over.
The doorknob turned, and whatever Griffin was going to say about needing a part flew out of his mind the moment he laid eyes on the guy.
“Who do I need to kill?” Griffin’s deep growl reverberated in the small space.