8. Chapter 8
Striker
By the time I get back to the clubhouse, Grim has enough men around the table to tell me somebody found something.
Torch stands at his right. Ash has the Red Den deliveries spread across the table. Lock has his laptop open, Riot sits back watching everyone, and Razor walks in behind me with coffee.
Hound is missing.
Probably somewhere useful.
I take the chair beside Grim.
“Tell me we’ve got something.”
Lock turns the laptop toward me.
“We went back through every Red Den route.”
Three deliveries came up short.
Two cases on the first. One on the second. Three on the third.
Six cases that left our warehouse and never reached Pete.
That part we already know.
What’s on Lock’s screen is new.
“The trucks carrying the short orders all stopped at the same place outside town.”
I lean closer.
“Supposed to?”
“No. Nine minutes. Eleven. Twelve.”
“What about the other Red Den deliveries?”
“Straight through.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“What’s there?”
“Closed service station. Wide pull-off.”
Riot looks over.
“Two drivers remember why they stopped. Debris in the road. Somebody flagging them down. Third doesn’t remember stopping at all.”
“And the trucks?”
Lock taps the screen with the logs.
“Cargo doors opened during every stop.”
There it is.
We knew the liquor disappeared on the road.
Now we know where.
Ash taps the manifests.
“There’s more. Pete gets several of our labels on those deliveries, but every missing case was Reserve.”
Damned Sinners Reserve.
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“Same lot?”
“Forty-Seven.”
That changes things.
Whoever is doing this knows exactly what they want.
The clubhouse door opens.
Hound walks in carrying a folder.
“Found your pull-off.”
He drops a handful of photographs on the table.
I barely need the first one.
“Fuck.”
Grim looks at me. “You know him?”
“Jamie.”
Nothing.
“Eliana’s boyfriend. June’s foster sister.”
Recognition hits.
“The abusive one.”
“Yeah. Same asshole from the Red Den parking lot.”
Hound spreads out the rest.
Jamie and the two men I put down that night.
The gray pickup.
Our delivery trucks.
Same pull-off.
Different nights.
“Simple setup.”
“Worked.”
Knowing when Pete gets deliveries isn’t hard.
Choosing Reserve from the same lot three separate times is different.
Somebody told them what to take.
Grim looks at Hound.
“Where does the pickup go?”
Hound adds another photograph.
“Storage units east of town. Same unit after two of the thefts.”
“Jamie’s?”
“No.”
“One of the friends?”
“No.”
Lock gets the unit number from him and starts typing.
“Bedford Holdings.”
Torch looks over. “Who?”
“Shell company.”
That tells me enough.
Jamie can steal whiskey.
Jamie isn’t building companies to hide it.
“So somebody’s paying them.”
“Looks that way,” Grim says. “You want him?”
Yeah.
I fucking do.
But Jamie isn’t the man I want anymore.
“No. We grab him now, whoever hired him knows we’re looking.”
“Then he stays loose,” Grim says.
Hound slides one more photo across the table.
A man I don’t recognize stands outside the storage unit.
“What do we know?”
“Not much. Drove a rental.”
Lock takes the plate.
A minute later, his expression changes.
“Rental was booked through a Northline Logistics account.”
Ash looks up.
“I know that name.”
Lock pulls up the company.
“Transport, temporary warehousing, event logistics.”
Ash goes still.
“What?” I ask.
He looks down at the allocation report.
“Lot Forty-Seven.”
Grim’s attention shifts to him.
“We’ve got another order from it.”
“How much?”
“Six cases of Reserve.”
Exactly what disappeared.
“Where?”
Ash turns the paperwork around.
“Defense Foundation Annual Leadership Dinner.”
The room quiets.
“When was the order placed?” Grim asks.
“Before the first theft.”
So the event came first.
The stolen whiskey came after.
Lock starts typing again.
Then stops.
“Northline is handling beverage staging for the dinner.”
That lands harder.
The rental used by the man at the storage unit is tied to the same company handling an event receiving matching stock.
Torch looks at the order.
“Somebody planning to swap them?”
“Maybe,” Grim says.
I look at Razor.
“For what?”
He shakes his head.
“No way to know yet.”
Not yet.
Grim starts issuing orders.
“Hound, stay on the storage unit.”
“Done.”
“Riot, keep eyes on Jamie and the other two. No contact.”
Riot nods.
“Lock, dig into Bedford and Northline.”
“On it.”
Grim looks at Torch and Ash.
“Nothing happens with that event order without us knowing.”
Then his eyes come to me.
“Go get June.”
I check the time.
Her shift is almost over.
I stand.
“Call me if anything changes.”
At the door, Grim stops me.
“Striker.”
I look back.
“This isn’t about stolen whiskey anymore.”
“No.”
Whatever it is, we’re getting closer.
By the time I pull into Red Den, only a few cars remain in the lot.
June comes out five minutes later.
One look at her and I know something happened.
I get off the bike.
“What happened?”
“Long night.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re getting until we leave.”
I don’t push her here.
I hold out the helmet.
“You taking me home?”
“My cabin.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“Was that a question?”
“No.”
The corner of her mouth moves.
“Thought so.”
She puts on the helmet and climbs on behind me.
Her arms wrap around my waist.
I start the bike.
Whatever happened tonight, she can tell me when she’s ready.
She’s still coming home with me.