Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
WRATH
“What do you think about that?” I ask.
Dare is, of course, only in this meeting to observe, but Two-Pump, Blast, and Hippie are all in on this one and have to be part of it to ensure that it all goes off without a hitch. The plan has to be strategic and can only involve us. If anyone else knows beforehand, it could fuck everything up.
The other members of the club have their own duties and jobs. This is ours. We can’t have a working club without some kind of front. Arson-for-hire isn’t the only way we make money, though it’s how we make the most. It’s extremely lucrative.
The rest of the guys run our irrigation repair and maintenance company, which helps us out when we need eyes on a place that we’ve been hired to burn down. And who the fuck would think that an irrigation company is going to be involved in arson?
In this case, when it came to the event center, it didn’t work because everything was brand new, and there would have been questions on why work orders were submitted when they had all been done and signed off by inspectors just months before.
“I think this job is going to be really fucking hard to make it look like an accident,” Hippie states. “We’re used to working with brand new, so that’s not the issue. It’s the entanglement with the city inspectors, the cameras that we can’t hack into or get rid of.”
I know he’s not wrong, which is the exact reason I had Elodie and Alex go in there and do some recon for me, knowing if I were to be caught on that shit, it would be a gigantic fucking red flag during the investigation.
“So what’s the plan, then, because I know we want this money. It’s fucking life-changing cash, but it’s no fucking good to anyone if we’re all stuck sitting in jail,” Two-Pump states.
He’s damn fucking right on that shit. The last place I want to be is in jail, especially when all I can think about is being back inside Elodie. So that would really fucking blow, to be sitting in a jail cell with just Rosie Palm and her five sisters to keep me company.
“Wait,” Blast calls out.
All of our attention shifts to him. I’m usually the logistics guy, and Blast is the one who loves fire and explosives, which is how he got his name.
So his having an epiphany is really fucking amazing, and I already know this is going to be big.
Well, either good big or epically bad big—one or the other, maybe even both.
“When is the next event?” he demands.
“He has one in a week, why?” I ask.
“Perfect. Those places, they have equipment plugged in, and it’s all set up the way it should be, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be extra shit in there that causes a problem.
I’m talking photo booths, DJ shit, lighting, pyrotechnics, the whole fucking thing.
Plug all that shit into power strips, have fabric everywhere.
It’s bound to go down in fucking flames.
People will be there to witness it, and the investigation will show that it overloaded the system. ”
Leaning back, I think about his idea. It’s not bad. “The only issue I see with that is that insurance may have some neglect questions. We need no questions.”
“Fuck, you’re right,” Blast grunts. “Thought I had that one.”
“It was good,” I admit.
We’re somewhat back to the drawing board, but then I pause because I read an article not long ago about a wedding venue going up in flames, and it was because of the catering company.
“The catering company,” I state. “A grease fire that goes up into the ventilation. That shit spreads into the ductwork, and it’s goodbye building.”
“There is your smoking gun,” Dare calls out.
“Now we need the list of vendors, and someone needs to get a little part-time job working for a catering company in about a week,” I state. “I’ll get working on that today.”
“Count me fucking in,” Blast announces.
“Same,” Two-Pump calls out. “Wedding guests are my favorite. I love a good bridesmaid.”
And that’s that. A preliminary plan has been hatched. One that gets the job done with little to no liability on our part or the owner of the event center. And the payout is going to be fucking epic.