Chapter Fourteen #2
Jade ran her fingers along the titles, reacquainting herself with a forgotten language. “I used to come here a lot,” she whispered. “Before Jason got in deep. Before Roth. I hid in the corner and read until closing. Stories made more sense than real people.”
I leaned against the shelf. “They still do.”
“Probably.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.
Her hand paused on a book with a worn spine. “I read this one three times.” She pulled it halfway out. “Girl runs away from an arranged marriage and falls for a bodyguard who swears he doesn’t deserve her.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How did that work out?”
“She teaches him he’s worthy of love,” Jade said. “He teaches her she gets to choose her own life. Everyone cries and then has sex.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said.
She elbowed me lightly. “You’re not my bodyguard. Now, help me pick something.”
We spent half an hour wandering the aisles.
She grabbed three romances. One with a grumpy fisherman. One with a witch. One with a single dad who ran a bakery.
“You’re building a type,” I said.
“My type is ‘fictional men who talk about their feelings,’” she said. “Real life set a low bar.”
I grabbed something off the thriller shelf near the end. FBI agent versus corrupt small-town sheriff. Might hit too close to home. Might feel good watching someone win.
As we moved toward the checkout, I caught movement through the window.
A car rolled past the lot entrance. Dark. Shiny. Not familiar.
My shoulders went tight.
Jade noticed.
“Diaz?” she whispered.
I shook my head. “Probably not. Plenty of people drive cars with shiny paint.”
“You sure?” Jade’s fingers tightened around her books.
“No.” I glanced toward the window. “Jimmy stands on the fence with binoculars for a reason, and General watches this parking lot on two different screens back at the clubhouse.”
Irene appeared at the desk, sliding her glasses up her nose.
“You okay, dear?” she asked Jade, eyes sharp. “You look like you might bolt again.”
“Old habits,” Jade said. “Nice car went by.”
Irene snorted. “I grew up in a city.” She tapped her glasses back up her nose. “Nice cars meant rich assholes. You see one stop here and isn’t the mailman? Hit the little button under this desk and I’ll call your boys.” She waved a hand. “Until then, breathe and let me do my job.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You have a panic button?”
“Of course.” Irene’s mouth curved into a knowing smile while she straightened a stack of return slips.
“Library board installed it for emergencies -- broken arms on the steps, medical incidents.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice.
“But I know better. Did you imagine I allowed your club to plant cameras without demanding protection in return?”
I smiled. “You’re scary, Miss Irene.”
“Good.” She checked Jade’s books out under her old card, scolding her when she tried to argue about the fines again. She rang mine up under the generic club card, same as always.
“Bring her back,” Irene said as she slid the stack across. “Don’t make this a one-and-done.”
“I plan to,” I said.
We stepped back into the evening light.
The car I’d seen earlier was gone.
My shoulders stayed tight until we reached the fence and Jimmy waved us through.
“You see anything?” I asked him.
“Nope,” he said. “Just a Lexus with a soccer mom behind the wheel. She stopped long enough to check her GPS, then kept going. Spade already ran the plate. Belongs to a dentist in the next town. You’re clear.”
“Thanks,” I said.
He locked the gate behind us.
Jade hugged the books to her chest like they were a personal victory.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I didn’t die,” she said. “No Diaz. No Roth. Good stories in my arms. I might float away.”
“You float, I’m tying a rope around your ankle,” I said.
“Promise?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
* * *
Later that night, after the kids crashed and the bar closed, Atilla called a quick meeting in the office. No full Church. Just core. Me. General. Spade. A couple of the older guys.
Jade came too at his nod. Sat in the corner with her shoulders square, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.
Spade projected a map onto the wall. “Diaz’s books bled today,” he said, voice flat. “Rusty Nail. Two laundromats. One construction site. Hanley’s pushing on the city side. Feds sniffing around an import company Roth tied to Diaz’s port runs.”
“Diaz react?” General asked.
Spade tapped a key. A traffic cam feed popped up. Convoy. SUVs. A truck.
“He shifted a shipment last minute.” His eyes narrowed at the screen.
“Moved a load meant for the city to a secondary route skirting our county.” He glanced up at me, jaw tight.
“The bastard believes whoever tipped off the cops watches his usual roads.” A cold smile crossed his face. “We know better.”
“He going to push closer to us?” I asked.
“Maybe’” Spade shrugged. “He’s paranoid. He wants to keep product moving while he figures out who’s poking his nest. That means he uses every road he thinks we’re too scared to claim. Including the ones near town.”
“We’re not scared,” I said.
“No,” Atilla agreed. “We’re smart. We pick our battles.”
He studied the map. “You think he’ll test us?” he asked Spade.
“Soon. He doesn’t like unknown variables. We’re a big one. Roth disappeared. His bar friends go dark. His laundromats hit snags. Feds near his warehouses.”
“Good,” I said.
Jade’s gaze flicked to me.
“At some point, yeah,” Spade explained. “We just… prefer to be ready when he does. Which is why we’re here.”
He pointed at a section of road near the edge of the city. “This is where the latest convoy rerouted. Two SUVs, one box truck. Small load compared to what he usually moves. Probably a test run. He wants to see who watches. Who bites.”
“You want us to bite?” General asked.
“Not yet,” Spade said. “We shadow. We track. We log everything. License plates. Faces. Times. We make sure he knows someone saw him without telling him who.”
“How?” I asked.
Spade looked at me. “I don’t know yet.” He jabbed his finger at the map.
“Bridge is a good spot to set something up. The stretch near the north turnoff where the highway dips over the river. Narrow. No cameras. No pull-offs. Last night, the convoy crossed at two in the morning. If he repeats the route, we park on the access road above and watch.”
Atilla leaned back in his chair. “No guns. No motorcycles on the bridge. One car. Two men. The rest watching from a distance.” He turned his head. “General?”
He nodded. “I’ll take it. Falcon comes.”
“Obviously,” Atilla said. “Spade feeds you the route and times. We watch Diaz’s men do their test run. We watch them come back. And somehow, we make sure they know they’re being watched, then we go home.”
* * *
The bridge looked different at two in the morning.
I leaned against the hood of the car we’d borrowed from an aunt in town. Beige. Boring. Nobody would look twice at it.
The river rushed below, dark and wide. Trees pressed in on either side. No streetlights on the stretch above the water. The only glow came from the dash and the sliver of moon.
General stood beside me, gnawing strips of jerky with the same mechanical rhythm he once reserved for cigars before his doctor scared him straight.
I leaned against our borrowed sedan, scanning the scene below.
We occupied a narrow access road running parallel to the highway, elevated enough for the winter-stripped branches to frame a perfect view of the target lane.
Spade’s voice crackled in my ear from the small radio. “Convoy turned at exit twenty. Two SUVs, one truck. Same as last night. You see them yet?”
“Negative,” General said. “We’re in position.”
Jade sat back at the clubhouse, headset on in the office. I knew because Spade had yelled when she walked in, then sighed and handed her an extra pair of headphones.
“If you’re going to hover,” he’d said, “you’re doing clip checks and note-taking.”
I pictured her there now. Pen in hand. Foot tapping.
“You good?” General asked.
“I want this over,” I said. “Whatever ‘this’ is.”
“You and everyone else. We’ll get there.”
Headlights appeared at the far end of the bridge. Three sets. Tight. Disciplined.
“Visual,” General said quietly.
“Copy,” Spade replied. “Cameras picked them up a mile back. Same plates as last night. No extra tails.”
I watched the vehicles roll onto the bridge. Box truck in the middle. SUVs fore and aft. Dark paint. Blacked-out windows.
Even from up here, I could feel the tension. Men in those vehicles knew something had shifted in their world. Feds in their bar. Audits in their laundromats. Boss on edge. Most of them probably didn’t know about Roth yet.
We let them pass. Engines hummed. Tires whispered.
“Let them clear the curve,” Spade instructed. “Nothing behind them right now. Road’s empty for three miles.”
“Copy,” General replied. The taillights disappeared around the bend. We watched and waited. “Sometimes I forget this life wasn’t your first choice.”
“Sometimes I forget I had other choices,” I said.
“You still do.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I choose this.”
Headlights appeared again, far in the distance. “Convoy returning,” Spade reported. “Same pattern. No extra vehicles. You’re good where you are.”
“Copy,” General replied.
I held my breath as the lead SUV hit the bridge.
The convoy slowed.
The second SUV edged closer to the truck, boxy shadow hulking in the middle. They didn’t stop completely, but they rolled slow enough I could see doors crack open as men leaned out and shouted.
The lead SUV’s driver-side door opened. A man stepped out. Stocky. Jacket. I couldn’t see his face from here. He walked around the front. He called back toward the truck.
The rear SUV’s driver stuck his head out, neck craning as he scanned the darkness surrounding the bridge. His gaze swept across our position, searching for watchers.
No chance he’d spot us.
The lead man climbed back inside. If he’d sensed something, he’d clearly written it off as paranoia.