Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
SAMMIE
I’ve sat in my bedroom with the black plastic bag shoved under my bed for most of the night. I can’t think of anything else since I lugged it up here this afternoon, and I’m irrationally afraid to leave my bedroom for fear it will disappear.
Fist installing the garbage disposal proved to be way more eventful than just getting a new kitchen appliance. When I entered the kitchen earlier, he was wrestling with a board hammered into the space under the sink.
He finally pulled the board free, then pulled out a black garbage bag. “Who the hell would shove garbage behind a board under the sink?”
His question baffled me for exactly half a minute, then it hit me. My father.
“This place has all kinds of weird glitches.” I took the bag from him. “Let me get rid of it.”
Fist stared at the bag. “The disposal should fit fine now.”
“Great.”
I heaved up the bag, and when Fist ducked back under the sink, I headed upstairs. When I reached the landing, my heart was beating double-time from anticipation and a touch of fear.
I unlocked my door with a shaky hand, then slammed it and locked it. Heading for the couch, I sat placing the bag between my feet. I drew in a deep breath, then pulled at the plastic ties and slowly opened the top.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled to myself.
Cash.
Stacks of it.
Enough to buy my freedom and then some.
Making the opening wider, I dig through hundred-dollar bills banded together like so many bricks. I piled them on the couch, then counted them. Each bundle is marked ten thousand dollars, and there were fifty bundles.
I dumped the bag upside down to make sure I didn’t miss any, and an envelope fell to the floor. I picked it up, stared at it for a few seconds, then broke the seal and peeked inside. A folded piece of paper and a flash drive.
I opened the note and saw my father’s familiar scrolling script.
Cinzia,
I know I haven’t been much of a father, but this flash drive should explain some of your questions. Keep it safe and tell no one. It will ensure your safety.
You should’ve never been involved in my mess, but it was the only way I knew to keep you safe after your mother died.
The money is just my way of giving you what I’ve failed to give you over the years.
P.S. Don’t worry, it’s clean.
I reread the note three times, then smiled at his postscript. Especially since I was thinking the exact same thing about the money.
I turned the flash drive over in my hand. The famous flash drive Viper wanted to get his filthy hands on.
I don’t have a laptop, and the only computer I have access to is in the office where the Kings now hold their church meetings. Do I dare use it and take the chance of one of them walking in on me? Especially since I don’t know what I’ll find?
I dumped all the money back in the bag, then searched the room. Not one good hiding place in the whole tiny apartment, so I headed for my bedroom. I whipped open my closet, but the few clothes I have aren’t enough to hide a big black garbage bag filled with five hundred thousand dollars.
I spun around searching, and with no other choice, I shoved the bag under the bed. My bed is low enough to the ground that you’d have to get down on your hands and knees to see it, and right now, it’s the best and only available option.
I make sure it’s in the dead middle, then I sat on the bed, like that would ensure its safety, and think about what my next move should be, or if there is a next move.
Now, my eyes travel to the monitor humming against my ankle. How I hate that thing rubbing and irritating my skin, watching my every move like the sneakiest panther in the jungle.
I’ve got three more weeks until it comes off, and then . . . with five hundred thousand dollars, I can move anywhere. I realize I’m smiling, then laughing out loud like a crazy person, but, shit, it’s not every day a person finds a sack full of money under the sink.
Deuce skitters through my brain, but there’s really no reason he needs to know about it. Money has a weird way of changing people, and that much money could make someone downright dangerous.
Decision made. This money would be my secret along with the flash drive.
Once I find out what’s on it, it could prove as valuable as the money.
I yearn to tell someone. I think of Evie, but I don’t want her involved in anything potentially dangerous.
Deuce, but do I actually trust he wouldn’t pressure me to give it all to him, or just take it from me?
He said whatever I found would be mine, but . . .
Hell, no. I know firsthand what happens when I trust an outlaw’s words.
Just drive the truck, they said.
Just stay cool, they said.
No one will bother a hot bitch like you, they said.
Now I’m basically powerless with a monitor strapped to my ankle.
So much for trust. Even my own father convinced his twenty-one-year-old daughter that nothing bad would happen.
We all know how that turned out. This money is mine.
A nice little bonus for wearing an ankle monitor day and night after spending six months showering with women who could easily kill me in my sleep.
Now, I just have to find out what’s on the flash drive.
My fingers itch to slip it into the monitor of the computer in the office. And why shouldn’t I? This is still my building. The Kings pay rent to me. All logical reasons except for the biggest one. Whatever is on this drive is for my eyes only, and I have to make sure I’m alone first.
I shove the drive in my pocket, step out into the hallway and hear the silence.
I hit the stairs and then the back hallway.
More silence. I peek out the back door. Fantastic.
No Harleys in the lot, and no sign of the Kings.
After slamming the door shut and locking it, I make a beeline for the office.
The monitor takes a few agonizing minutes to boot up before I can slip the flash drive into the port.
Another few seconds and the screen is filled with DEA Form 473.
At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at until I get past the letters and numbers and see the words Cooperating Individual Agreement.
My eyes scan the document, then reread it. It clearly outlines the duties of an informant, including the use of recording devices and weekly check-ins. It’s signed by the DEA agent, the prosecutor, and the informant, Salvatore Marino, my father.
I suck in air but don’t release it as I flip through page after page of recorded conversations between my father and Viper.
My father and Bullet. The routes we took up and down the East Coast, all orchestrated by the Dogs.
What we carried and where it was distributed.
Places, dates and people all swearing the Rabid Dogs are one of the largest fentanyl suppliers on the East Coast.
The final page contains the clause swearing my father to complete secrecy, and that immunity will be promised upon completion of the contract, and only the prosecutor can make a deal for the informant.
Under all the legal jargon and the signatures on the very last page is a red stamp with the word: REJECTED.
I quickly flip to the next page, and after sorting through all the legalese, it seems because local law enforcement got involved in the Maryland stop where Bullet mouthed off to the cop, the DEA, not wanting to compromise the operation, denied involvement, thus making my father’s agreement null and void.
Apparently, the DEA still thought they could take down the Rabid Dogs at a later time. Of course, that never happened, and the only deal my father could make was doing more time in Rikers so my sentence would be shorter.
The computer screen taunts me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from my father’s testimony. “I’ll gladly take more time if it helps my little girl.”
My throat closes, my held breath releases, and my heart thuds as hot tears fall.
For my father, for me, for my mother, and for all the missteps and bad choices.
The DEA sting was his one last chance to redeem himself, and because Bullet was an asshole and had to mess with the cops, all my father’s good intentions fell to shit.
How typical. Just another story of someone trying to do good and getting punished while Viper and Bullet are still running free. Anger burns between my breastbone. My blood roars through my veins at an alarming rate.
A rumbling sound breaks through my thoughts. I listen, then yank out the flash drive, shut down the computer and bolt out of the office. Male voices grow closer, and as I’m halfway up the stairs, I hear Deuce’s unmistakable rasp.
I tiptoe-run the rest of the way up, dash into my room, then close and lock the door behind me.
DEUCE
I swing my leg over my Harley and head for the new door even I would have a hard time booting, along with new locks on both front and back doors.
I kept my mind blank for the fifteen-minute ride back to The End. I concentrated on the wind in my face and my beautiful baby between my thighs. Of course, the vibration did nothing to calm my raging dick. Not from the strippers, just from visualizing Sammie all night. Yeah, I’m fucked.
We enter the back door, and I immediately see the light on in the office. I nod to Ace, and we barrel through the office door. Empty. I walk around the plywood meeting table, then behind the desk. The monitor is blank and in sleep mode.
“You must’ve left the light on,” Ace offers.
“Yeah.” I had Shady repaint the wall earlier, but the light was off when we left. After the break-in, I’ve made a mental note of exactly what the bar looks like when we leave it.
Ace leans on the desktop. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Cause I never seen you turn down not one but two hotter-than-fuck women who were willing to do anything for you.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I mumble.
Ace cocks his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Or maybe you’re thinking of another female, and they didn’t measure up.”
“Now you’re just talking bullshit.” I shake my head. “When I got a better look at those two strippers, they were junkies, track marks and all. I fired them right then. Last thing we need is the DEA breathing down our necks again ‘cause we got employees who like the needle.”
“Fuckin’ truth. The whole place needs an overhaul from the employees down to the stained, stinking carpet.”
I nod, shut off the light and head for the back stairs. Ace heads for the door, we tap fists, and I lock it behind him.
So much for fooling my VP. Fucker always knew what I was thinking before I was thinking it.