Chapter 28
“Right. Thanks, Reese, got it.” Wilson disconnected and tossed his phone onto the table. “I’m tired of running this operation out of a goddamn hotel room.”
My eyes went from my laptop where I’d been running a background check on Marsha Peters to my boss—soon to be former boss—and guilt set in. Takeback was still in Idaho and not back in Scottsdale in the cushy office because they were helping me.
“I can—”
Wilson’s fiery look shut me up.
“Was gonna wait until this shitshow was over but damn if the shit doesn’t just keep piling on. I don’t accept your resignation.”
“What?”
“The team’s not losing you. We can’t lose you.
We also get you need to be here in Idaho for your boy.
I’m not willing to break up the team or your family so we talked about it and everyone’s on board moving the office here.
The new space won’t be ready for a few weeks.
And I’ve got feelers out. I’ll hire someone to rotate in, but there will be a time when I’ll need you in the field.
Won’t be every operation. But, Rhode, there are times when we need your skills and you know it. ”
By skills Wilson meant: up-close-and-personal.
As I’d told Remy, a nickname is earned and I’d earned mine—repeatedly.
“Wilson.” That was all I could get past the lump that had formed in my throat.
“We save lives,” he told me. “You save lives. You do important work and we need you and you know we do.”
He was correct, we did save lives. We did important work and I didn’t want to turn my back on it but I’d told Brooklyn I’d quit.
“You need to talk to your woman?” Wilson surmised.
“I told her I quit. We haven’t discussed what I planned on doing for work but I’m thinkin’ she thinks I’ll be home for dinner.
And with this job, that won’t always be the case.
So, yes, I love my work and it’s important and I appreciate the sacrifice y’all are willing to make but, brother, my son has to come first.”
Wilson blew out a frustrated sigh but immediately relented. “Loud and clear.”
“What’d Reese give you?” Davis asked.
“Letty gave him access to her security feed. She only has one camera near the register and she doesn’t remember if Marsha and the guy walked that far into the store.”
This was good news. Letty didn’t know who the man was who came in with Marsha. And I hadn’t found a spouse or even a roommate on Marsha’s lease agreement but I did find a rap sheet. Various narcotics violations and petty thefts that are typical of addicts.
“Deeper we go down this rabbit hole the less anything makes sense,” I bitched.
There was a knock at the hotel door and Wilson moved to answer it while muttering his agreement. “No shit. Welcome to the clusterfuck.”
After checking the peephole Wilson opened the door and stepped to the side.
“Brasco, appreciate you joining us.”
I put my laptop on the coffee table and stood.
“Should be thanking you for inviting me,” the man returned. “Anytime I get to deliver bad news to the Horsemen is a good day.”
“Rhode Daley.” I offered my hand to the detective.
He took it in a firm shake and introduced himself. “Jethro Brasco. My friends call me Jet.”
“Jet it is.” I dropped his hand and Davis took a step closer.
“Davis Wright. Good to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“Hate to throw you straight into the fire but we got some new intel from Letty Welsh,” Wilson started. “A few hours before her bookstore and Brooklyn Saunders’ house were hit she got a visit from Marsha Peters. Marsha was accompanied by an unknown male—”
“That’d be Tug Anderson. And yes, his mamma named him Tug,” Brasco interjected.
“What makes you sure Tug was with Marsha?”
That was Davis and he was moving to the table to pick up a notepad. The guy loved to draw mind maps of suspects; he said the diagrams helped him find connections faster and I couldn’t say he wasn’t right. If there was a connection to be found Davis could find it.
“Marsha is Tug’s newest moneymaker.”
“Moneymaker? He pimps her?” I asked the detective.
“He’s got a small stable that we know is his but we can’t directly tie him to it. We pick up one of his girls on solicitation, offer her a deal to flip, and she closes up tight. Not a single one will give him up.”
“The cash,” I muttered. “Desi was turning tricks.”
“That I can’t confirm. Desi Cunns was never picked up and I’ve never seen her on the street.”
“Expanding operations,” Wilson theorized. “Desi had more money in her account than a garden variety hooker. She wasn’t making that kind of cash walking the streets. She was also clean. Could be Tug Anderson’s fishing in bigger ponds that pay more. High class.”
There was nothing high class about Desi but she wasn’t a junkie and she wasn’t hard to look at.
“What about Thomas Brady and Chet Brown? Are they tied to Tug?”
The detective’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, his right eye twitched.
“Rumor on the street, nothing concrete or proven,” he started.
“But word is, Brady supplies the girls with drugs and Brown’s the enforcer.
One of the girls steps out of line, either not performing or skims, they get a visit from Brown.
Again, not proven because not a single one of the women will flip. ”
“What stops a junkie from snatching up a get out of jail free card?” Davis asked.
“He’s got something over them or they’re more scared of him than they are of doing time.”
“My guess is they’re more scared of Tug,” Brasco answered. “They come in tweaked they’ve been arrested but the second Tug’s name is mentioned they start quaking. The guy’s a crazy motherfucker. Crazy but slippery.”
“Now Desi’s running scared,” I added. “What’s the draw to Canada?”
“Don’t know why she’d go there,” Brasco started but stopped and shook his head. “Tug Anderson’s Canadian. Or I should say, he’s got dual citizenship.”
“Farther down the fuckin’ rabbit hole,” I muttered.
“Shep’s got a lock on the money,” Wilson announced and my gaze sliced to him.
“What the fuck?”
“The account was opened the day before the transfers happened,” he continued like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Mark Twain.”
“For the love of God, please tell me you aren’t serious,” Davis asked incredulously. “That’s the stupidest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Dead serious. Shep’s got eyes on the local branches in Abbotsford and Jack and Asher are in place. I don’t want that money moved until someone makes a grab for it.”
I clenched my molars and prayed for patience.
“The money’s gone if that withdraw happens,” I ground out.
“Jack and Asher are in place,” Wilson repeated. “If it’s transferred, Shep’s on that. We’ll get the money back but for now, we need it where it is.”
Goddamn, logically and tactically Wilson was right. But right then I wasn’t thinking tactics and apprehension. I didn’t want my woman’s money being used as bait.
“We’ll pick this back up after our meet with Lawrence,” Wilson carried on. “At least this is one loose end we can wrap up quickly.”
I hoped like fuck Lawrence got our message. If he didn’t, Kiki would be missing for real this time.
“Confirm you get me, motherfucker.”
“Said I did,” Lawrence sneered. “Bitch ain’t worth it.”
“Glad you think that.”
Lawrence and his pissant MC buddy who was more of a pissant than Lawrence stood in identical poses—arms crossed, boots planted shoulder-width apart, ugly scowls that I was sure were meant to intimidate but missed the mark by a mile.
Their Harleys were behind them and if it wasn’t sacrilege I would’ve loved to have seen the looks on their ugly mugs when I backed over them.
But seeing as they were Harleys I’d have to be happy with what I came for and that was their assurance Brooklyn and Remington were off-limits, and even though Kiki Welsh was a lying, grasping bitch she was untouchable, too.
Lawrence agreed.
Time to move on.
“You want the bitch now, feel free to go in and get her.”
I glanced at the clubhouse behind them, and while there were only a few bikes in the forecourt, I wasn’t dumb enough to waltz into a biker hangout with an unconfirmed number of tangos. And I certainly wouldn’t do that with a police detective watching.
“I’ll pass.”
“That an open invitation, Lawrence?” Brasco smiled.
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, didn’t think so.” Brasco chuckled. “Just to be safe, I think I’ll do a wellness check on Kiki Welsh tomorrow morning.”
“The bitch won’t be here. Good luck finding her.”
“As I mentioned, I don’t find her untouched and healthy you’ll find yourself in an uncomfortable position,” Brasco unnecessarily reminded Lawrence.
“Told you, the bitch ain’t worth it.”
“Great, then we’re done,” I announced.
“Though, that bitch Desi comes around again,” Lawrence whistled low. “Now she’s worth keeping for her mouth alone. World-class head and she likes spreading the love so don’t think you get that bitch on the cheap.”
Motherfucker.
He played us.
I glanced at Wilson and waited for his volley.
“Noted.” Wilson jerked his chin and we started to move out.
“You don’t wanna know the last time the bitch had her mouth on my dick?” Lawrence called out.
“Not especially,” Wilson returned.
Not fucking at all.
Doors were opened, we piled into the SUV, doors were slammed, and I backed out of the lot. Wilson had his phone to his ear before I had the Tahoe out of reverse.
“Cole?” Wilson barked. “Need you at the Horsemen’s clubhouse. Desi’s in Idaho. Reese will relieve you later.” There was a pause then, “Yeah. Thanks.”
“The Horsemen have beef with Tug Anderson?” Davis asked.
“Everyone’s got beef with the Horsemen,” Brasco confirmed.
“Fuckin’ great,” I muttered.
“Desi’s bank account was cleaned out. She’s got no means. She went to Lawrence for protection,” Wilson declared.
“Fuckin’ great,” I repeated.
“Those two in a war means bad shit,” Brasco griped. “I gotta call this in.”
“We get the reward money back and we’re officially done,” Wilson told Brasco. “Brooklyn and Remington Saunders are clear of the Horsemen, Kiki Welsh has the opportunity to walk out of the mess she created breathing. Those were our goals. They’re accomplished. We’re done.”
Once we had the money we were indeed finally fucking done.
Life would be life.
Except Wilson calling Brooklyn and Remington—Saunders. That shit wasn’t done. That needed to be rectified and fast.