Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
M usic poured out of the open door of The Golden Harp below a neon yellow harp hung in the window. Wilder didn’t go in the front door though. They came in from the back. The back wasn’t as nice as the front. It had to be a metaphor for Kelly and his drug business hiding behind the music and happy people drinking and dancing.
Similar to WET, there was a chain link fence with a gate dividing the back of the Golden Harp to the business backing up to it, which was a Shamrock Dry Cleaning. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Fergus owned both of them.
“He has people watching. We won’t be a surprise,” Minotaur told Wilder as they strode by the dry cleaners in the alleyway. Minotaur put his big black boot through the handle on the chain link gate, sending it flying back and causing the two guards protecting the back door of The Golden Harp to leap up from where they were playing cards.
The fight was quick, but then the back door wouldn’t open. It was steel and Minotaur’s boot wouldn’t work this time. “They have to have a key,” one of the men grumbled as they went through the unconscious men’s pockets.
Wilder stepped forward and looked at the lock. “I know this system. Most clubs use one security company that specializes in club security. This needs a thumbprint.” Wilder turned to the closest man, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to the door. He placed the man’s thumb on the pad above the lock and the bolt slid free.
“I guess you’re not totally useless.” Minotaur yanked the door open as one of his members zip-tied the unconscious men to the chain link fence.
The music grew louder as they took the back stairs up to the second floor where most of the offices probably were. Men rushed forward from rooms where they’d obviously been alerted to Wilder’s presence. The motorcycle club took great pleasure in beating them up, destroying their drugs, and breaking some bones. By the time Wilder reached Fergus, the man was sitting behind his desk with a sawed-off shotgun pointed in their direction and two heavily armed men standing on each side of the desk.
“Well,” Fergus said in his Irish accent, “it looks like the lad from down the street wants a chat. You could have paid your cover charge and come see me. But now, I think we’ll just kill you.”
“I don’t think you will,” Wilder said, walking forward and taking a seat across from Fergus. Fergus’s red hair had faded to a dull blond with age. Wilder didn’t need to look back to know Minotaur and his men were also armed. It was a standoff. “We need to talk. Minotaur, pick one man to stay with you in here. The rest of you go enjoy what the nightclub offers.”
“Aye, have a pint of beer on me.” Fergus obviously thought his men from downstairs would take care of the Minos but he had no clue most of them were tied up and stuffed in a storage closet by now.
Minotaur nodded to someone and they both came to stand on each side of the room with their guns aimed at Fergus and his two men. Wilder leaned back in the chair and waited until the door closed. He looked relaxed for someone with two guns pointed toward him. Instead of nerves, he felt anger.
“What can I do for you, neighbor?”
Wilder held up his hand and reached slowly into his pocket making the men across from him very nervous. He pulled out one of the smaller bags of drugs he’d gotten from Kale and tossed it onto Fergus’s desk. The baggie slid across the desk and stopped right in front of Fergus’s hands. “You can tell me why you planted your drugs in my club.”
Fergus didn’t look down at them. “Not mine.”
Wilder’s lips turned into a menacing smirk. “They say wisdom comes with age, but obviously it skipped over you if you think I didn’t do my homework before showing up here.” Fergus’s pale skin flushed red at the insult. “Interestingly, we found your drugs at another club of mine. Chemical tests were done and they’re an exact match for your product. Also, these drugs were found right after a break-in when police were on the way to take a report.”
“You should look at your team then,” Fergus said with a shrug. “I guess someone has a drug problem.”
“Do they also have a weapons problem?” Wilder asked.
“I don’t deal in weapons. That’s the Russians,” Fergus said, leaning back in his chair and trying to appear relaxed. Only Wilder saw the tight lines around his lips.
“Do you believe in coincidences, Fergus?” Fergus didn’t answer Wilder’s question. “I do to a point. But when all the drugs match yours and then the guns that were also planted all match rivals of yours who are either dead or put in jail . . . I sit up. And when those rivals were all put in jail by Guy Seabrook himself, I pay attention.”
Wilder saw the reaction across the guard’s faces more so than Fergus who clearly thought his silence wasn’t telling. “Like you said, coincidence,” Fergus finally said.
“How about we cut the bullshit, Fergus. I’m not without my own contacts.”
Fergus grinned now. “Yes, your little detective. Smart of you to hide her away. I heard there’s a warrant out for her arrest. I bet by now there’s one for you too. Maybe I should call my contact in the police and have you arrested.”
Wilder worked hard to hide the immediate anger he felt when Fergus mentioned Bex. “You don’t want to get in a dick-measuring contest with me, Fergus. I guarantee I’ll win. This is what I want. You tell Seabrook to rescind the warrant against Detective Moretti, and if one more thing happens to one of my clubs, not only will I take it out on you and your organization, I’ll take him down along with it.”
Fergus snorted. “You don’t have that kind of power.”
Wilder leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Don’t mistake my lack of participation in illegal activity for not having power. Knowledge is power and I’m a very knowledgeable man. Push me and that investment account you have in Singapore disappears. Same with the cash you deposit three times a year in Belize and the bank accounts in Grand Cayman and Switzerland.” Fergus couldn’t hide his eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, and your Chinese source of Fentanyl? That no longer exists just in case you thought I was bluffing.”
Wilder had been working hard with Kale, Peter, and with his own contacts. Fergus didn’t know the FBI, DEA, and IRS were now aware of him as all the information that had been gathered had been sent to them via Peter or by an anonymous source.
“Like I said, these drugs aren’t mine and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fergus was digging in, but he was nervous.
“The sweat on your brow tells me differently. You’ve been warned. Go ahead and push me. It’ll be fun to show you why no one from any of the crime families mess with me.” The sound of sirens in the distance had Wilder smiling as he stood up. “Your friends are coming, but is every cop your friend? Payback’s a bitch. You should have known better than to store your drugs on your property.”
Wilder turned his back to them and walked out, leaving Minotaur and his man behind. There was a commotion and Wilder turned around. Minotaur and his man were fighting with the two guards. Punches were thrown. Guns were used as clubs. No one wanted gunshots to be heard and have the police charge in. Suddenly, Fergus charged straight at Wilder. Wilder laughed. It clearly caught Fergus off guard. Then again, it could have been the stomping kick to Fergus’s knee that did it. Fergus screamed and fell to the ground. Wilder reached forward, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed his fist into Fergus’s face. “That’s for messing with me.” Wilder hit him again. “That’s for hurting Bex.” The uppercut that sent Fergus flying back ended things. “And that’s for selling drugs to kids.”
Minotaur and his man looked impressed. “I didn’t know you could fight like that,” Minotaur said as they strode from the room.
“I told you I’m more than just a pretty face.” Wilder winked at him as they met the rest of the motorcycle club at the foot of the stairs.
“How did it go?” one of the men asked as they hurried outside as the sirens closed in on the nightclub.
“Pretty boy has moves,” he told his club. “Respect. Call us if you need any more help. Now, you go your way and we’ll go ours.”
Wilder rode Damon’s bike back to his garage. It was late, but Ryker’s plane was waiting and ready to take him back to Charleston. According to the flight logs, it was taking Ryker’s shipping manager back. The man resembled Wilder if they didn’t look too closely at the height, weight, or eye color, which, when flying private, the pilots rarely looked at all.
It was four in the morning when Wilder stopped by Ryker’s shipping company to drop off the manager’s ID. “Can you give this to Ryker Faulkner for me?” Wilder asked the security guard.
“Mr. Faulkner is expecting you, Mr. Townsend. He’s in his office.”
“It’s four in the morning.” Wilder felt stupid stating that, but it had been a long day.
“He’ll see you in his office, sir.”
Wilder pulled his arm back into his car and drove through the massive shipping yard. Ryker ran most of his business from a fancy office on Main Street, but he also had a strong presence at the yard.
Wilder parked and made his way to the elevator that took him to the office in the tall steel building that overlooked the docks and the yard. Exhaustion was setting in as Wilder leaned against the wall of the elevator.
The doors opened and Wilder pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the office. “Good morning, Mr. Townsend. Mr. Faulkner is expecting you.” Wilder almost jumped in shock when Wilder’s personal assistant, who happened to be a dominatrix, greeted him.
The door to Ryker’s office opened and Ryker stood there tapping his foot. “Any day now, Wilder. Some of us have a business to run.”
Wilder was used to these late hours, but he never looked so fresh and irritable as Ryker did at four in the morning. “How long have you been here?”
“Since three. I had a lunch meeting with India. Now, sit. How did New York go?”
Wilder told him how it went as coffee was brought in. Ryker was nodding as Wilder finished the update. “Nico, Kale, and I have been working on Seabrook. We know he’s been getting campaign donations from Fergus and several other criminals. We assumed it was all for favors. We did find out something though. Does the name Sean Kilpatrick mean anything?”
Wilder nodded. “He’s Bex’s captain. Why?”
“His mother is a Kelly.”
That woke Wilder up more than the coffee. “He’s related to Fergus?”
“He’s Fergus’s nephew. The mother went through a lot to hide her connection to the Kellys after an apparent attempt to force her to marry someone in Nico’s family forty years ago to consolidate power between the families. But blood is blood,” Ryker told him.
“That must be how Fergus knows about Bex. Sean told him. Son of a bitch. I’ll kill them both.”
Ryker sat down with him and together they went over all the facts that they knew and the evidence they had tying Sean to Fergus and Fergus to Seabrook. By seven thirty in the morning, Wilder felt he had enough to help put the final nails in their coffins—legally speaking.
“Go home. Get some sleep. We’ll meet with Peter later today and see if that’s enough for a warrant. Maybe we can get this wrapped up so you and Bex can stop hiding out,” Ryker told him, standing up when he was paged that he was due for a call with London.
“Thanks, Ryker.” Wilder shook his hand. “I’ll Venmo you for the plane.”
Ryker rolled his eyes and Wilder laughed as he left the office. The drive to Shadows Landing felt as if it took forever. He needed to feel Bex in his arms. Hold her and know she was safe.
He turned down his driveway and his body froze. Three SUVs lined the drive. SUVs he didn’t recognize. Worse, Olivia’s car was also there. Wilder threw his car in park and was flying up the stairs when the front door opened. A tall man with dark hair and wide shoulders stood there with anger on his face.
“If you hurt Bex or my sister, I’ll kill you,” Wilder threatened.
The man’s lips turned up into a sarcastic smile. “Wilder Townsend. I think you better worry more about your own life right now.”