4. Char
CHAR
A chill descended into the air and swept through the bar as Special Agent Monica DeFleur exited the bar.
I held my breath, waiting to see if she’d double back.
Waiting to see if she had more unanswered questions that needed to be expounded upon.
I listened as her footsteps faded away. I listened as an engine struck up, quiet as a mouse.
I had to strain to hear it. I had to move to the window just so I could watch her unmarked black vehicle drive away.
She looked like the government, all right. The car, too.
And yet, I still yanked my cell phone out of my back pocket and Googled ‘ATF’ just to be certain.
My heart flopped into my gut as the first internet history page graced my gaze. Yeah, the woman was right. The ATF dealt in all of the things she talked about, including explosives, but I couldn’t get past the F.
As in, ‘firearms.’
Good God, these guys are selling guns from the bar.
I hadn’t seen one, though. Not like I paid much attention to that, anyway.
Between the smoldering looks those men shot me and the way they tossed my body around like a little plaything, it wasn’t as if I was looking for shit like that.
It didn’t make sense, though. None of it did.
Illegal tobacco or alcohol sales fit more with a bar, especially if they were peddling the stuff from it.
So was the bar their cover story so they could look like legitimate business owners while selling guns on the side?
If so, why the hell did they have multiple businesses?
I wanted to Google all of it. I wanted to plug in every single question racing through my mind just to see what popped up.
However, I knew better than that. I knew that internet histories could be used against someone, especially in a court of law.
Those officers scoured my father’s phone and laptop when I was younger, using his search history against him as evidence.
They tore our house apart looking for things.
Bashed hammers into walls and pried back plaster while tossing cushions and tearing sheets off beds.
I forced myself to tuck my phone into my bra for safekeeping.
Even while my mind still raced with a thousand questions.
“You good?”
“Oh fuck!” I exclaimed as I jumped and whirled around.
DeShawn put up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey, it’s just me.”
I slid my hand down my face. “Jesus, DeShawn, don’t you make any noise when you walk?”
He slowly put his hands back down to his sides. “I did that time around. Did you not hear me?”
“Obviously not,” I said as I turned and looked back out the window.
“Who was the woman in the suit?”
I paused at his question. Would it get him into trouble if I told him?
If I was honest? I knew how shit like this could spread.
I saw how many people got wrapped up in my father’s trial simply because he had lunch with them one too many times.
And if the ATF questioned me, it most likely meant that they were looking into me.
Which meant there was a chance they were looking into DeShawn and M.J.
“All right,” M.J. said as she strolled up to us, “who called a meeting and why wasn’t I invited?”
“Char?” DeShawn asked. “Who was that woman?”
“What woman?” M.J. asked.
I turned away from the window and cased the empty bar with my eyes before I drew in a deep breath. Of course, I had to fill them in. M.J. would smack the living shit out of me if she knew what I carried around all by myself. And DeShawn?
Well, he loved a good bit of drama.
“That was an ATF agent,” I said.
DeShawn gawked. “A what?”
“Wait a second, what the hell did I miss?” M.J. asked as she held up her hand.
I nodded toward the backrooms. “While you were taking inventory, a woman in a work suit came in and sat down at the bar. She introduced herself as Special Agent Monica DeFleur from the ATF.”
“The hell did she want?” M.J. hissed as she lowered her voice.
I grabbed DeShawn and pulled him close, closing the distance between all of us.
“She was very curious as to our new owners,” I whispered.
That’s when M.J.’s face dropped. “What do you think they’re running?”
“You think it’s guns? Because now I think it’s guns,” DeShawn said.
I pointed at him. “That’s what my gut’s telling me, but with this place being a bar it could just as easily be alcohol. Or even tobacco.”
DeShawn scoffed. “A motorcycle crew running illegal alcohol on the side? That doesn’t sound right.”
M.J. nodded. “Even I have to agree with that. I would’ve seen something by now, too. I’ve been up and down inventory lately, and I haven’t seen anything out of place.”
“No boxes you shouldn’t be touching? No crates?” I asked.
M.J. shook her head. “Nada.”
“Maybe they’re not running them from here?” DeShawn asked.
“I mean, they’ve got two other businesses, not including this one. Dallas told me once that they were business flippers. You know, like house flippers but for?—”
M.J. barked. “And you believed him?”
I shot her a look. “Not by a longshot, but he seemed convinced enough with this story, so I didn’t question it. But now? With that agent? Why would they need three fucking businesses if they’re running anything illegal? The gun business not booming or some shit?”
The door opened with such a force that the slam against the wall drowned out the tinkering of the bell.
“Char!” Deac barked.
I stuck my finger into my ear and shook it around. “Over here, Jesus.”
Deac turned to face me with red dripping over his features. “The fuck are you three doing having a pow-wow on the clock?”
“Break,” DeShawn said flatly.
“Well get back to work,” Deac growled as he walked up to us.
I nodded at both of them. “It’s okay, go. We can hang out more after our shifts are done.”
DeShawn walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll make the to-go trays!”
“I’ll grab the drinks,” M.J. said as she backed away.
The look on her face filled with worry, though. “After our shift, okay? Maybe we’ll even make it a sleepover.”
Deac’s shadow hovered over me and the look M.J. shot him was enough to stun a fucking horse. I didn’t let it bother me, though. Something obviously happened, and the longer my friends were there, the longer it would take me to get answers.
However, once DeShawn and M.J. got back to work, I turned to Deac instead of heading to the bar.
“You not working for some reason?” he asked.
I craned my neck back to look up at him. “You wanna tell me why the hell you came in so hot?”
He grabbed my arm and tugged me into the corner. “We have to take a raincheck on tonight’s ride. Something’s come up.”
I yanked out of his grasp, but I had to admit, I was disappointed. “Well, now that you mention it, something hap?—”
Deac turned and headed for the door. “I don’t care what fucking booze we’ve run out of, Char. I have a family emergency and I have to go.”
My stomach dropped to my feet. “Dallas and Gauge? Is it them?”
Deac paused with his hand on the knob of the door. “I’ll come by once we’re done. Don’t leave this bar or your apartment until I come for you. Understood.”
“Deacon, are the guys?—”
He looked over at me with fire in his eyes, and it frightened me. “Understood, Char?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, yeah. Of—of course. All right.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He yanked the door open. “No going anywhere until I come back.”
“I won’t go anywhere, I swear.”
“Good girl.”
And as he exited the bar, the damn door didn’t even thud behind him before M.J. and DeShawn both raced back toward me.
“Did he just call you a… good girl?” M.J. asked.
“I damn near flew through the kitchen fucking window when he grabbed you,” DeShawn said.
“He did what!?” M.J. exclaimed.
“Do you guys trust me?” I asked.
DeShawn furrowed his brow. “The hell kind of question is that?”
I looked over at M.J. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded. “Of course. But?—”
I looked back at DeShawn. “Do you trust me?”
He shrugged. “Always. But what does this got to do with anything?”
I placed my hands on their shoulders. “No food or drinks tonight at my place. If no one comes in by this bar for any sort of service in the next few hours, we’re closing early.”
“What’s going on?” DeShawn asked.
“You’re scaring me, Char,” M.J. said.
I slid my hands down to theirs. “If we’re even in the ballpark vicinity of accurate in terms of what’s going on around here, then something big happened. Something with the guys. Which means that everything they touch right now is dangerous.”
“Oh God,” M.J. whimpered.
“Jesus fuck,” DeShawn whispered.
“So any excess food? We take it with us. We stock our homes with it. DeShawn, make sure to take some to your mother. We can grab bottled drinks, take them to-go, whatever. But the less time we spend here, or anywhere where they are for that matter, the safer we’re going to be.”
“Char?” M.J. asked.
“Yeah?”
“This is really bad, isn’t it?”
I licked my lips as I contemplated my answer. “I’m not gonna lie, this feels very much like what happened with my father. I’m not saying it’s the same, and it might even just be them being paranoid. But?—”
“But what?” DeShawn asked.
I squeezed their hands before I released them. “You know how sometimes, you try to convince yourself that something isn’t happening when your gut tells you that this feels exactly like last time?”
M.J.’s eyes welled with tears. “What has happened to our home?”
DeShawn wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go get you a drink.”
I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it softly. “Get her some food, too. We keep an eye out, keep business as usual, and if we don’t have a crowd going by, say, nine tonight? We close, I’ll deal with the wrath of the guys, and we get our asses home. Deal?”
“Deal,” they both said.
“Now,” I said as I made my way to the bar, “who wants a drink?”
And as my two best friends bellied up to the bar, tears silently streaked M.J.
’s face while DeShawn rubbed her back. I kept my gaze trained toward the door, clocking movements and shadows around outside that made my heart volley between my throat and my knees.
I found myself worried about the guys. Worried for their safety.
Worried for whatever the hell just happened to them.
I knew, now more than ever, that those were gunshots I heard earlier. Was one of them shot?
Oh God, was one of them dead?
Why the hell do I care so much anyway?