CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It would be another two hours before the team returned to the cafeteria, hungry, cold, tired, and more hungry. Alvin was rewarded with five uncooked chickens, although he did have the audacity to complain that they weren’t fresh.
“That was fun boys,” laughed Zulu. “Alvin was a huge help down there. We might need to ask the animals to help more often. Call me on shit like that more often.”
“You did it,” Olive smiled at Finley.
“We did it. You were amazing. And the guys were on fire with the deflective humor,” she said nodding to the other woman. “I think you need to work with me more often than the boys at the shop. No offense but your talent is wasted with them.”
“You might be right,” smiled Olive. “I love working with the guys but I have to be honest that I did it because I felt safe up there. I enjoyed the work today, not the storm but the work. I’ve loved working with you on the improvements.
My only question now is, what do we do about the other storm coming behind it? ”
“We wait,” said Ham walking toward them.
His wet suit was unzipped and hung at his waist, his chiseled chest and arms dripping in swamp water.
“If this storm decides to go back out into the gulf, we’ll have about a week before it merges with the other storm.
If that happens, we’re going to have a bitch of a storm. ”
Rush laughed, shaking his head.
“Is that funny?” asked Olive.
“Yep. The next hurricane will be named Hurricane Irene.” The rest of the room was almost afraid to laugh but they did let a grin slip from their lips.
“For now, we’re all safe,” said Ham. “Let’s keep an eye on the weather. But we’re not out of danger yet.”
“We’ll watch the storm and the gates,” said Olive.
“Olive, it wasn’t the weather I was talking about,” said Ham. He stared at the younger woman and she nodded, realizing that she’d nearly forgotten about the Graveyard Saints.
“Right. My wonderful mother,” she said sarcastically. She saw the pain on Luca’s face and turned, blushing. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as a remark to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said softly. “I’m just realizing that I should have done something sooner. I should have killed your mother when I had the chance.”
“You had chances to kill her?” asked Rush.
“Several,” he nodded. “I was told by the feds several times to not touch a hair on her head. They needed more information before they could end her life. They might be a one-percenter club but Neela isn’t the brightest bulb on the shelf in most respects.
She’s predictable but also sneaky if that makes sense. ”
Ham looked at the other men in the room and nodded.
“It makes perfect sense. We noticed that her men weren’t exactly following her to the grave. But if what you say is true about the feds always holding back, it sounds like we need a conversation with our lovely friends at the bureau.”
It would be the following morning before Ham, Rush, Christian, Iggy, Rowe, and a few of the others were able to sit at a table, staring at a screen with an FBI director and agent.
“I was wondering when you might call,” smirked the older man.
“I was wondering why you didn’t call,” frowned Ham. “You knew about Olive and you didn’t think to give us a clue?”
“It was classified,” said the agent.
“Bullshit,” said Rush. “Our clearance is well above yours junior. You did what you always do. You think no one needs to know and that’s how lives are lost.”
The young agent leaned forward to give a smart-ass retort but his director pulled his arm back.
“Why didn’t you let someone get rid of Neela when they had the chance?” asked Ham.
“Someone?” smirked the director. “I’m sure we both know who that someone might be. This is complicated, Ham. The Graveyard Saints are involved in a lot more than just drugs, trafficking, and the other assorted illegal money-making fun.”
“Please. Enlighten me,” frowned Ham.
“Neela is not educated in the traditional sense. She didn’t finish high school but like a lot of people involved in these clubs, they’re street smart. She also was an avid reader.”
“Forgive me,” said Rush, “but I don’t picture that woman reading anything except the comic strips.”
“You’d be right, normally. The Graveyard Saints were one of the wealthiest clubs in the U.S. Neela’s father, as road captain, was a pretty smart cookie.”
“Explain,” frowned Ham.
“He invested. Heavily. Before Neela, the prez split all profits with the men. That’s why they stayed. That’s why they were loyal. He advised them on how to invest in the stock market, building wealth beyond their imagination.”
“You’re kidding,” frowned Iggy.
“Nope. At one time that clubhouse looked like a resort when you walked in. The bar was beautiful, fully stocked, nice tables and chairs, the food was decent, all of it.”
“You said at one time,” said Iggy. “It’s not like that any longer?”
“Not even close. When Neela suddenly took over due to the untimely death of the president, her husband decades older than her, she refused to ‘waste’ money on upkeep. Many of the older guys decided to leave with the money they’d earned.
“New members were brought in but they weren’t educated in investing like the others had been. They also weren’t paid the way the others had been. The men earned shit. Literally. They were given room and board and charged for it. The food cooked for them was shit food.”
“So, where is all this money going?” asked Ham.
“In Neela’s pocket. She continues to invest the way her father and husband taught her. The members continue to be broke and now we think she’s working with the Swamp Rats on something big,” said the agent.
“Like what?” asked Iggy. “And how does that connect to her trying to get Olive?”
“Neela has guaranteed the Swamp Rats a payout of over twenty-million on a sketchy investment. She’s using Olive as collateral. They hold onto her. If the investment is good, she’s set free. If it’s bad. They sell her.” Iggy looked at the screen, then at the men around the table.
“Over my dead body.”