7. Chapter 7 - Legion #3
Nobody argues. But nobody looks happy either.
I don't care if they're happy. I'm tryin' to pull the fuckin' world back together here.
I look at Dusty. "You said you can keep books."
"Yes, sir. Ledger used to let me help with things," Dusty says.
"Run the receivables. Track what came in off the runs.
Cross-check the supply logs." He pauses, and I can tell he's choosin' his words carefully, aware of exactly how many sets of eyes are on him right now.
"I know where the accounts are. The ones Ledger didn't think anybody else knew about. "
That lands.
The room goes quiet in a different way than before.
I look at Diesel. Diesel looks at his hands, then back at me, and gives me the smallest nod I've ever seen a man give.
"You got any experience with the cartel contacts? Ledger ever bring you in on any of that?"
Dusty's face does something honest here. A slight wince, a flicker of I wish I could say yes. But then he shakes his head. "No. He kept that completely separate. He never—" He stops. "No."
I expected that. Doesn't make it land easier.
Before I can move on, Crow stands up. "I know some cartel people," he says. "Don't want no officer job. Just—I know some people."
The room shifts.
I look at him straight. "How well."
"Well enough."
"Crow, that's not an answer and you know it. I don't have the fuckin' patience for games here. Tell me what you know."
His eyes narrow like he wants to say somthin' back. But he holds the anger in and gets to the point instead. Correctly deducing that I do not, in fact, have any patience for bullshit right now.
"I grew up in the cartel," he says finally. "Down in El Paso. From about five years old to nineteen."
What is he saying here? "Five?" I ask him.
"Five."
This number sits as the room lets out a breath.
"I only got out of the cartel because I went to prison. Normally, they keep track of you in there—like real fuckin' good, too—but I got transferred out of La Tuna down in Texas and sent to Yankton."
"Yankton?" I actually scoff. It barely qualifies as prison. It's a minimum security federal camp and runs a horticulture program, of all things. Inmates come out learning how to propagate roses. "How the hell did you end up there?"
Crow shrugs. "Honestly, I don't know. God, I think.
But that place was crawlin' with Yankton Sioux and they took me in.
I got out on the same day as this old man called Red Thunder.
His club, the Medicine Line MC, they showed up for his out day.
Three fuckin' dozen of them roarin' in the parkin' lot. "
I picture this. That's what my out day should've looked like. And instead, I got Cash fuckin' Ashby in a pickup.
"Anyway," Crow continues. "They're Yanktonai. Up north here." He nods his chin, vaguely indicating which cardinal direction that is. "I stayed there a while, but then they sent me down here."
"They sent you here?" Diesel asks.
Crow nods.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because… you know." He shrugs. "They run the Canadian border. Same way Badlands was running the Yellowstone River corridor."
"The Yanktonai sent you to spy?" Ratchet asks. He's Northern Cheyenne, so this tribal shit interests him.
"Listen," Crow says. "Medicine Line runs their own shit. They are not co-opted by the Feds. They didn't know Brick was. And once I found out, I sent word back to stay clear and they just… said I couldn't come back."
I can tell it hurts Crow to admit this last part. He finally found a place where he belonged, finds some good intel, relays it, and… they cut him loose.
It hits with me too. "So you joined up with Badlands," I say. Words all flat and unemotional.
Crow nods.
"So where does the cartel come in?" I ask. Since that's the whole point of this fuckin' oversharing time.
"We were on a run one day—me, Brick, and Roach. We met up with a bunch of cartel members and some guy called Aaron pulled me aside later and started askin' questions."
"What kind of questions?" I ask.
"About where I grew up. And… I recognized him at that point. We came in to the cartel the same way as young boys. He never got out."
"Did he tell them who you were?" Ratchet asks.
Crow shakes his head. "He never did. We still talk a little. Every few months, he texts, or I text, and we have a beer or whatever."
Well that was a loaded fuckin' story I don't ever wanna know more about.
But it's good enough for me. "I want Dusty and Crow as joint secretary/treasurer.
" Crow tries to object, but I put up a hand.
"You don't have to interact with them, Crow.
You're never goin' back, if that's what you're worried about.
And if they ever come for you, they gotta go through us.
But you're gonna help Dusty navigate this because they're gonna eat that kid up and we need him. Got me?"
Crow lets out a long breath, but nods. "Yeah, Demon, I got ya."
I look at Diesel. He calls the vote.
Every hand goes up.
Then I pound my fist on the table to end it. "Now… let's have ourselves a fuckin' patch party."