Chapter Eight #2
He looks around as if expecting a woman to come out of one of the bedrooms. I hadn’t noticed but now that he mentions it, there is a faint scent of sex, mixed in with vanilla. His brow lifts but I don’t elaborate. It’s none of his fucking business.
Talon gets the message and heads to the kitchen to get himself a coffee. His sister’s house is a convenient stop-gap to the port. She’s rarely here, traveling a lot with her job.
I finish the coffee and go to clean up the mug. Val might not mind us using this place now and then, but she draws the line at us leaving shit messy. I even cleaned off the stain of Cassie’s cum, all the while thinking about how sweet and tight her pussy was.
“How’d King take it?” Talon asks as we head out and lock up the house. “We any closer to getting him out of our asses?”
My mind goes back to my stupid comment last night. Up until that point, it felt like King was finally coming around. I have no way of knowing if my offhand remark has set us back.
“If we get this deal, I think so.”
“Well, we better go schmooze the shit out of him,” he grins like a shark, showing a lot of teeth.
Despite the attitude, Talon is a charmer and not only with women. He’s level-headed and understands business better than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m feeling positive about this and with the sex releasing a lot of tension and endorphins last night, I don’t see how anything can go wrong.
The ride over to Newark doesn’t take that long but I’m getting antsy. I hate not knowing what is going on with my bike. Again. Scrolling through my phone I find Handlebar’s number and fire off a text. Surprisingly he replies straight away.
Handlebar:
You can pick it up tomorrow. Had to replace the pedal so it’ll cost more
I don’t give a shit how much it costs, I just want the damn thing back.
Mace:
I’ll be by in the afternoon
He doesn’t reply.
“That the woman you were banging last night?”
I glare at Talon, and he grins back at me. Nosey prick. He doesn’t push it though, just whistles along to the Motley Crue song on the radio.
I stare out of the window ignoring him as he starts to sing instead and try to get into the mindset of dealing with this guy. All the while trying to keep thoughts of Cassie goddamn Beillo out of my head.
Bernard Singer is the kind of shrewd you don’t come across very often.
He’s wary but hides it well. His offices are on the busier, more congested side of the Port.
You would think that made his operation open to more scrutiny but from what I’ve seen, Singer blends in better than he would in one of the quieter docks.
Makes it easier to keep a low profile. He deals a lot with containers on the green lane which has fewer inspections when ships arrive.
He’s got a good set up here.
“I’ve kept a low profile for the last fifteen years,” he says, sitting across from us in his plush office.
It’s not what I expected, given the noise, smells and shabby appearance of the building from the outside. It’s all modern and sleek and although he’s dressed down in jeans and a buttoned up shirt, they’re all designer labels.
He even has the hot receptionist who greeted us and eyed me up and down like a tasty treat before being charmed by Talon’s smile.
“And you don’t think we can do that?”
“A motorcycle club isn’t exactly discrete,” he replies. “I already have an agreement with the people you’re working with.”
He did his homework too after we asked for this meeting. That’s a good thing. It means he’s careful.
“There was a situation last year,” Singer leans back and puts his elbows on the arms of the ergonomic leather chair. “It got messy.”
“It got dealt with, quietly.”
“I have a unit at that warehouse.”
Shit. I don’t let him see my thoughts racing. The Devil’s Chaos had blown up one of the Kingsmen’s warehouses. Singer has kept this close to his chest.
I don’t believe anything is insurmountable. Singer likes money and we have a lot to give.
“That was an unfortunate situation, but it’s over and it was dealt with quickly and with minimal law enforcement involvement.”
Singer switches his attention to Talon. We’re both wearing our cuts and Singer had clocked who we are. He hasn’t deferred to me over Talon though.
“What about the O’Connell’s? We stay out of each other’s way, but we have similar interests on our respective sides of the port.”
Talon moves in his seat. Our chapter doesn’t deal with the O’Connell’s, one of the big mafia families in New York. Hustle is working with them out of the Sussex chapter.
“That won’t interfere with this. We’re willing to cut out the middleman, the profits will be greater and when we can trust one another, it will be a lucrative partnership.”
Singer’s eyes spark at that. Appealing to his need for wealth is the way to go with this.
“And the shipment our mutual friend has arranged.”
“That is happening as planned. We’re not here to mess with current arrangements. This will be separate.”
“As in don’t let on what we’re doing,” he says.
“Do you share information about your other clients with anyone else?”
“No. But if we start something up here, you’re aware of my client. Will you still be working with him?”
“Like I said, we’re cutting out the middleman.”
“You don’t think they’ll get pissed about that?” he frowns.
I hold in the exasperated sigh. “We can go around in circles as much as you want, but the fact of the matter is, we’re bringing something big to you here.
The contact we already have at the port can’t handle the amounts we’re bringing in through Europe and Asia.
You’re not the only person we’re talking to. ”
His lips purse as he thinks that through. It’s not true, but that doesn’t matter when you’re negotiating.
“This is a onetime offer, Singer. You’ve seen the figures and what we’re bringing to the table.”
“When is the next shipment due?” he asks after a few moments of tense silence.
Talon knows not to speak if I don’t or unless I give him the go ahead, which I do now. Talon explains everything and as he talks, Singer leans forward, his body language changing from guarded to intrigued.
He checks his calendar and nods. “I can get it through the green lane on this slot,” he says pointing out a date.
This is what we wanted. A few too many times we’ve come close to having our products found out because of inspections. It’s only that we’ve paid people off we’ve got things through. The main reason I want to work with Singer is his power over the green lane.
After talking through some more logistics with Talon, he agrees to the offer.
By the time we leave, Singer is trying to hide his excitement. And I’m feeling pretty damn good about what I’ve managed to set up here.
“We need to celebrate this shit,” Talon says.
“Later,” I reply. “This is need to know for now. I have to deal with something else. I’ll drop you off then take the cage.”
“You don’t want to use one of the bikes?”
“Nah, might as well stick with this until tomorrow.”
He nods and we spend the rest of the long journey back to Stroudsburg lost in our own thoughts.