Chapter Eighteen #2
The real question is what to do with this information.
All Lane had wanted was to find James. They found James, so technically we are done.
I could talk him into going somewhere away from all of this.
Where we’d be safe and neither of us would be threatened because honestly, what the hell can a blind man and a guy that only knows how to steal do?
It was really stupid of us to even go this far.
Now that it’s over with, I wonder where I could talk him into going.
We could try to be near his family. I’d love to meet them. Love to have a family to belong to.
I get out of the SUV and head back for the hospital. I take the elevator up and get lost twice before finding my way back to the waiting room where Lane is sitting.
“Hey, Lane,” I say.
“Where’d you go?” he asks.
“So, I totally think they’re hauling the drugs down to their factory in Nevada and somehow it’s connected to a brothel there.
James must have thought the same thing, or he was planning a trip to a brothel.
” Alright, maybe I am not ready to drop this yet.
Maybe I am getting too invested in this.
Or maybe I need to stop being nosy. Yeah, it’s probably that one.
“What?” Lane asks as he straightens in his seat. “What are you talking about?”
So, I fill him in on my trip to Janice’s car and what I had found. He listens closely as I tell him my speculations.
“So…let me get this straight. You’re like ‘man I have a headache’ and Janice is like ‘please, go get some headache pills from my car’ and you’re like ‘while I’m in here, I might as well invade her privacy’?”
“Correct,” I say.
He shakes his head in disbelief. I’m not sure why because, by this point, I would think he’d know me quite well. “Alright…what do you want to do? James is here, so we could drop all of this, pass the information over to García, and go into the safehouse Walsh had in mind for me.”
“ Or we could solve this case and show them that you are better than all of them,” I say.
“That’s what you want to do?” he asks.
“Yeah. It may be my sleep deprivation talking for me, but I think we should fuck some shit up,” I say eagerly.
“You do realize we’re not going to go in guns blazing? I mean, you refuse to even pick up a gun. Once we have concrete proof, we will go to the DEA or the police and get this legally solved,” he says.
“That definitely doesn’t sound as cool,” I realize.
“Alright, as soon as the banks open, we’ll head to my bank and withdraw some money. Then off to Nevada we go.”
***
We didn’t manage to get onto a flight to Nevada until noon.
It seemed like everything was a hassle and God was trying to tell us to go anywhere other than Nevada.
The first issue we had was getting money from the bank.
That, of course, took a while because Lane didn’t remember his account number and had no form of ID on him since we’d originally left our wallets back at the hotel near home when we’d made our untimely escape.
So, we had to sort that out first by hunting down our wallets.
Once reunited, we then had to go to the bank and get money.
By then, I was absolutely dragging and excited to nap for a few hours on the plane.
I thought that I could have taken a nap while waiting for the plane, but I guess it’s a little harder to just tell everyone your dog is a service dog when you’re trying to get it onto a plane.
They stupidly needed to see “proof” that he is a service dog. And something about having to call in advance.
So, with some finagling I had the dog changed from a “service” dog to a police dog. But eventually, Lane talked me into letting García watch Copper, which I had not been pleased about. Lane had assured me that not only was Copper not actually my dog but that García would take fantastic care of him.
Even the kisses García gave Copper hadn’t convinced me that he was better with García than on the flight with me.
But now that we are finally on the plane, I am ready for my nap.
“Are you still mad?” Lane asks as he bumps his shoulder against mine.
“I should sue them for discrimination against service dogs,” I say.
“Again, Copper isn’t a service dog,” Lane says as he leans against the window.
“Wait a minute…why did you get the window seat?”
“I like the view,” he says.
“Funny,” I say. “I’m going to take a nap, so turn into a pillow for me.”
I awkwardly lean against Lane as I close my eyes. He definitely doesn’t feel like a pillow, but I suppose he’ll have to do.
“Your arms are too hard,” I complain.
“I thought you liked my muscles?”
“Not when I’m trying to sleep,” I say, and he laughs.
“Sorry, babe.”
I look over at him and raise an eyebrow at the uncharacteristically sweet nickname. I’m sure it had been said with heavy amounts of sarcasm included, and I just missed it.
I snort, which has to be a very attractive thing to do after someone calls you “babe,” and close my eyes.
I doze on and off for the rest of the flight until Lane nudges me awake. “We’re here.”
Slowly, I give in to his prompting, and open my eyes. “We are? No! I wanted to join the mile-high club!” I whine as Lane urges me to get up.
“Well, you should have mentioned that earlier,” he says, and I laugh as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I stand up and stretch as I get out of the seat and step into the aisle. Lane rams his hip into a seat, so I reach out and grab his hand.
“First thing we need is a car,” he says.
“Do you think we need to check out the factory down here?”
“Hmm…let’s try the brothel first. I doubt we are going to learn any more than we had in the first place. They may also be on the lookout for us.”
“Do we know which brothel?”
“Yeah, that Paradise one.”
“Why?”
“Well, as you were talking about them, it seemed that the Paradise one had an increase in ratings and popularity within the last three years. Which could mean a shift in management. That is also around the time that Red’s business began to prosper.”
“Good thinking,” I say as we walk off the ramp and into the airport. There are signs pointing toward the exit as well as car rentals, so I take a right. “What’s our plan when we get there? What are we looking for?”
“Well, it could be where they’re laundering the money, or it could be where they’re selling the drugs.
It’s probably both though. With prostitution legal in some areas of Nevada, it could pull a lot of people in.
They could be using the prostitution as a front and be selling the drugs through the girls.
So, we try to get them to sell something to us. ”
“Okay,” I say. “Drugs…I’ve learned exactly how to get drugs from my momma. It’s one thing she did teach me.”
“Um…good?” he says with a cringe. “I’m not sure that’s the word I want to use but…that skill may help us out here.”
I snort and bump my shoulder into his. “My momma would be so proud of me,” I say.
“Eh, fuck that bitch. You don’t need her approval,” he says. “You have mine.”
“Yay! I have your approval on my skill for acquiring drugs! I’m so loved,” I say as I squeeze his hand tighter.
Lane laughs and squeezes my hand back. “As long as it’s better than your cooking skills, I’ll be pleased.”
“Alright, we’re going upstairs here,” I say as I pull him to a stop.
“Right here?” Lane asks.
“Yeah,” I say even though there are no stairs in sight. To make it look more legit, I start raising my hand up. I watch in amusement as he steps up, finds no stairs, and stumbles forward. “That’s what you get, dickhead. You said you wouldn’t make fun of my cooking anymore.”
The look of surprise on his face is worth it. “Oh! That was mean!” he says as he yanks me toward him. “That was really mean, Felix.”
“Was it? Was it mean? Because my cooking skills have their feelings hurt,” I say.
“Good, hopefully that means they’ll give up on ever trying to cook again.”
“I just want approval,” I say with a pout.
Lane wraps his arms around me and hugs me, not caring in the slightest that we are blocking traffic. I guess when you can’t see the traffic, you automatically don’t care. I sink into his strong arms and wrap my own arms around him and squeeze.
“Alright, I’m sorry. I won’t ever make fun of your cooking again,” he says as he kisses the top of my head. “Can I make fun of your height instead? I mean, I literally have to crouch to kiss the top of your head.”
“No, you don’t!” I say.
“You’re like travel size. A wittle snack pack,” he croons in a babyish tone.
I drop my arms, no longer caring to engage in this heinous hug. “Don’t you dare say that mean shit to me while trying to sweetly hug me and give me kisses,” I say.
He squeezes me harder. “You love it and you know it.”
“Do I?” I ask.
“Of course you do!” he says.
“Hm…sure, sure,” I say as we continue over to the car rental.