Chapter One #2
“The back wall is for scheduled clinic runs. Dialysis stuff, diabetic supplies, the usual,” Freddie said. “You’ll load up over here. Zone 3. That’ll be your area for now. There are a few nursing homes, assisted living places, and a couple clinics.”
Vendetta followed him, listening, not talking, taking it all in.
To his new boss, this was just inventory.
Boxes with barcodes, delivery routes, and time windows.
To Vendetta, it was intel. Each stop would be a new opportunity.
Each facility was a chance for him to ask the right question or overhear the wrong name.
If the criminal network was funneling victims through Oak Grove, someone would have to be patching them up.
And he was about to be the guy who delivered straight to their doors.
Freddie pointed to a clipboard with route sheets, still yammering about mileage logs and signoffs. Vendetta wasn’t really paying attention. He wasn’t here for the paycheck. He was here to look for the cracks. And the second they started turning up? He’d wedge it wide fucking open.
“Oh, I should mention that since you’re the new guy, you also get stuck with the restaurant and bar deliveries,” Freddie continued, gesturing toward a separate rack of clearly labeled boxes.
They were smaller, but still under the INeeda logo.
“There’s not a lot of those, fortunately.
It’s mostly first aid kits, gloves, and hand sanitizer.
A couple places just like to keep up appearances, I guess. ”
Vendetta’s attention snapped to that rack. Bars and restaurants, not medical centers or clinics. Regular public places. Why the hell would some dive bar need hospital-grade medical supplies?
“What kind of places are we talking about?” Vendetta asked, keeping his tone casual.
Freddie shrugged. “Just a handful. That Irish pub off Highway 8, the pizza place in town, and some bar over on Main. Uh, what’s it called now… Ned’s Sundown Lounge? Something like that. Just got bought out recently.”
That had Vendetta’s full attention. He didn’t say anything, just nodded like it was nothing. But his thoughts were coming together.
Bars weren’t supposed to be on this route.
But if the Cottonmouths were using any of them as a front, keeping injured victims somewhere, laundering money through food service, even staging meetings, it made sense to stock them with basic supplies to avoid raising suspicion.
And now he had an excuse to walk through the front door of every one of them.
Perfect.
Vendetta half-listened to the rest of what Freddie had to say.
But his mind was already spinning with plans.
There were routes and schedules to study.
There were building layouts, security habits -- all of it a mental blueprint taking shape while his new boss rambled on about clipboard protocol and break room etiquette.
He caught the end of it, just as Freddie clapped a hand on another man’s shoulder.
“Jason, meet Alan Perkins. He’s one of our best. You’ll ride along with him for a couple days.”
Alan was mid-forties, wiry, friendly in that small-town way.
He had a smoker’s voice and a habit of talking too much when the cab went quiet.
But he was efficient, knew every stop by heart, and didn’t ask too many questions.
Vendetta kept his answers short, stuck to the basics, and watched everything closely.
By the time they wrapped up the route and rolled back into the warehouse, he already knew which clinics ran tight on inventory. He knew which ones had loose security, and which doors were always left cracked open in the back.
That night, back in his motel room, Vendetta ate lukewarm takeout straight from the container.
The TV played the local news in the background.
They reported something about a school board dispute and a car fire near the interstate.
But his mind was consumed with everything he’d learned that day.
Every face he’d seen, every note Alan made on the log sheet all looped through his head like puzzle pieces waiting for a match.
Oak Grove had no idea he was back. And soon enough, it wouldn’t matter.
* * *
Dylan
Ned’s Sundown Lounge looked rougher in the light of day than it ever did at night.
Dylan Crizer waited across the street with her keys clenched in her hand, taking it all in.
The building looked old, dressed in faded black brick.
The same flickering neon sign that barely spelled the word “Open” was still there.
She remembered it from passing by that building as a child.
The tinted windows smeared with fingerprints and smoke stains were new.
While the building wasn’t falling apart just yet, it had clearly seen better days. Maybe better decades.
Yeah, it was as bad as her Uncle Eli had said it was.
It blew her mind that he was now co-owner of the bar that had been there most of her life.
Eli Crizer was a big bad biker, president of the Cottonmouths and all that, but he’d never been well-off before.
How did a biker get that kind of money? Did he dip into his retirement account? Did he even have one of those?
Not long after she returned to Oak Grove, she found out her uncle had bought the place with a “business associate.” How did he get a business associate?
The place had always fascinated her, so when she saw the “help wanted” sign in the window, she marched herself in and applied right away.
Not surprisingly, her uncle, who hadn’t made time to reach out to her so far, called her the same day about her application.
“It’s not the place for you, Dylan,” he said right off the bat. When she asked why, he countered with, “It’s gonna be full of drunks, ex-cons, and worse.”
She thought the fact that she’d been a waitress for years would guarantee her the job. Although she wasn’t the best at making drinks consistently good in a rough environment, she had bartender experience, too.
Her uncle didn’t agree. “You’re a Crizer. You’re better than serving drinks to scummy people.”
But here she was anyway. Not just because she had something to prove. She now had something to rebuild. Her entire life basically. Maybe she wouldn’t be starting a new job today; Eli as a co-owner could cut her off. But she had to try.
Dylan had spent five years with a man who wanted to control her every move.
Five years pretending she was happy in a dead-end relationship in Richmond.
When she left, she made up her mind that she’d come back to Oak Grove and figure it out from the ground up.
She’d start over. Hell, she was only twenty-five. She had time.
She was starting over right here at Ned’s Sundown Lounge.
Pushing through the front door, Dylan blinked as her eyes adjusted to the low light inside the bar.
The entire place smelled of old leather, cheap whiskey, and stale beer.
It appeared to be well stocked and mostly clean despite all the scuff marks and the sticky spots along the floor.
The tables were roomy and spaced out well around its central dance floor.
A narrow hallway led off in the direction of the restrooms and the back offices.
Ned’s Sundown Lounge had its own unique charm. If you squinted.
“Good afternoon,” came a voice from behind the bar. A tall, older woman with a sharp jaw and leopard-print eyeglasses worked at polishing glasses, watching Dylan with a smile. “You must be Eli’s niece.”
“Dylan,” she said, stepping up to the bar. “Here for my first day.”
At least she hoped she was. If Eli told them she couldn’t work there, what would she do? She really needed the job and had already told him that.
“I’m Peggy,” the woman said in the way of introduction as she gave her a once-over and nodded like she approved of what she saw. “You got the job. Just stay aware and don’t take shit from anyone. Even the regulars. You’ll be fine.”
Dylan didn’t hesitate. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Come on.” Peggy put the last glass she polished on the bar and motioned for Dylan to follow her.
Down that narrow hallway and to the left was a line of really old lockers outside the business offices.
All of them had huge padlocks, protecting the personal items the employees wanted to tuck away.
Just one, at the far end, had a small key stuck in the bottom of its padlock. Peggy pointed to that one.
“There’s only one key,” Peggy warned. “If you lose it, you’re responsible for getting a new lock, okay?”
Dylan nodded, tucking her purse into the locker and securing it with the padlock before sliding its tiny silver key into the front pocket of her jeans.
Peggy jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. “The kitchen is that way. There’s not a lot of menu options to memorize. Burgers, fries, nachos. I think they have chili a couple of times a week. None of it is that great.”
Good to know. Pulling the hair tie from her wrist, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail as she followed the woman back through the bar, taking in every corner as she went. Dylan was many things but naive wasn’t one of them.
Her Uncle Eli had influence here and he led a shady biker club.
And now he was a co-owner of this place.
People didn’t just “run bars” these days.
Bars were often covers for other things.
More shady shit. She’d left a couple of bars after learning they were running drugs out of them.
The second one had a full police raid one night and it took hours for it to be cleared up so everyone could go home.
She never returned because drugs were dangerous and brought dangerous people.
No job was worth putting herself in the line of fire.
But until she had proof that something wasn’t right here at her uncle’s bar, she was going to do the damn job. Unfortunately, she needed the money to get back on her feet.