“Well, hell. What good am I if you’re going to deliver your own lectures?”
“A few things come to mind.” Bo reached down and grabbed Lucky’s groin. His hand retreated way too soon. “Anyway,
don’t think me ungrateful, but working without you staring over my shoulders, ready to catch me when I fall, is making me more cautious. Yes, I
like Jerry. In other circumstances, I might call him friend. But I’m well aware of the lines I can’t cross. It’s a dance. One
misstep, and the whole assignment comes crashing down.”
That’s one way to put it. “Crashing down in this case could be a body found in a dumpster.”
“I know that too.” Bo ran his fingers over the scar from Lucky’s near miss in an alley. “How’s your
foot?”
“I’m not ready to enter marathons, but I’m getting there.” So like Bo to change an uncomfortable subject.
“And yes, I went to physical therapy.”
Twice.
They lay in silence, Lucky soaking up the feeling of his arms around Bo, and of Bo’s breath gusting across his chest. “I’ll
make a deal with you,” he finally said. “I won’t turn up dead in a dumpster if you won’t.”
“Now, Lucky.” Bo tightened his grip around Lucky’s waist. “I said before that you’d never lied to me when
it mattered. Don’t start now.”
Chapter 15
“Here, Jerry, make these go away.” Bo slid his bowl of fries over in front of the kid, whose eyes had followed each crispy strip from
bowl to ketchup to lips.
“Uh, okay.” In all the time he’d been coming to the bar, Lucky had never once noticed the guy ordering anything, though he
accepted any handouts from the bikers. And now he munched Bo’s castoffs like they were his first food today.
Trust Bo to see the guy was hungry. Trust Bo to do something about it without calling attention to the guy’s plight. Trust Cy to accomplish
Bo’s goal by stepping on the guy’s foot to make his mouth open like a trashcan. But did either Bo or Cyrus see how Jerry’s
eyes begged for a lot more than food?
***
After two months of waiting and several more trips in pickup trucks, Reyes finally called Lucky in for a meeting. Lucky wanted behind the wheel of the big
rig in the worst possible way.
“Mr. Getsinger, do I know you?” Cold, blue crystals stared out of a battle-hardened face.
Lucky forced his breathing to remain steady, feigning nonchalance in the face of one of the most dangerous men he’d ever met. One wrong move and
Lucky’s parents would be right in thinking their son dead. “I don’t reckon.” He kept his eyes on Reyes, though
instinct commanded him to seek out Bo, lounging in a chair by the door. True to Bo’s word, Mateo Reyes lived in a tiny walk-up apartment, belying
the vast amounts of cash passing through his fingers. Lucky sat on a ratty couch with threadbare fabric, patches of stuffing visible in spots. A coffee
table adorned with water rings and scratch marks separated him from his host, who reclined against a heavily padded loveseat.
“You served time for trafficking? Where?” Reyes might have put the department’s best interrogators to shame. His unwavering
gaze demanded the truth, his casual attitude merely a deception. Hawks didn’t study their prey with such brutal intent.
“Conspiracy to distribute,” Lucky clarified. “Earned myself a ten year stay in the Durham Correctional Center.”
Reyes studied his fingernails, or appeared to. Lucky had little doubt that the man took in his every breath, every blink. “Did you meet someone
there named Paco?”
“At least two, maybe three. Can you be more specific?”
Reyes scrutinized Lucky a moment. “It’s of no matter. Who did you work for before?”
Stick as close to the truth as you dare.
If this guy had been close to Victor, Lucky would have known. “I worked for Victor Mangiardi’s outfit.” Damn, even saying the
name aloud hurt.
Wherever you are, Victor, I’m sorry.
A muscle twitched in Reyes’ jaw. “I’ve heard of Victor Mangiardi. He had a home near the village where I grew up.”
According to Reyes’ profile, he grew up in Abilene. Interesting, and a tidbit of intel he might not have intended to give. Lucky needed to let
Walter know of the slip.
“Were you working for him at the time of his arrest?” the felon persisted.
“Nah. I’d struck out on my own by then, and got busted a few weeks after I’d heard about Victor’s death.”
“How… unfortunate for you, and for him.” The muscle in Reyes’ jaw jumped again. “And he trusted
you?”
“You didn’t work for Victor long if he didn’t.” True enough.
“You’ve not let me down yet. But demand is increasing. I need someone I can trust, not only with small quantities, but with large
ones.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Two tractor trailer loads per week.”
Holy shit. The man wasn’t playing.
“We’ll also be expanding more up the East Coast. Chapters of the Cruisers are forming in North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, and
Tennessee. Are you familiar with those areas?”
“I’ve driven from Texas to Virginia and never even got pulled over.”
Reyes watched with mistrust in his eyes. “How long did you drive a big rig?”
“Five years, give or take a few months.” Not to mention the classes Lucky’d taken in the meantime to keep his skills sharp
and his license valid.
For the longest time Reyes simply stared, giving Lucky the creepy feeling that the man read his mind as Victor had once been famed to do. It dawned on him
then—Victor and Reyes instinctively practiced the techniques Lucky’d been taught in a classroom. They didn’t read minds, they
merely allowed their quarry time enough to give themselves away. No way in hell would Lucky let the man see him squirm.
Tension grew, sending uncertainty through Lucky. He kept his breathing even. At last, Reyes barked out a laugh. “You’re one cool
son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?” To Bo he said, “He’ll do.”
Lucky yawned to keep from letting out a relieved sigh.
“Do you ride?” Reyes asked, dropping the businessman act to portray genuine interest.
“Ride?”
“A Harley.”
Deliberately keeping his eyes from darting toward Bo, Lucky replied, “I can, but I don’t have a bike right now.”
“If you’re with us, one day I expect you to wear our colors.”
Bo escorted Lucky from the building, still in Cy mode. “I believe Mateo likes you. He doesn’t usually invite guys to join the club
until he knows them well.”
Lucky waited until they were out of sight of Reyes’ apartment to answer. “Did you ever have a doubt?” Because Lucky sure had.
The man loosed a grin. Not Bo’s lopsided number, but Cyrus’. How odd for two men sharing the same body to have different smiles.
“A bit. He’s pretty suspicious of everyone. Liking you doesn’t change that.”
“Yeah? Well, I want you to make me a promise.”
“What?”
“If he gets too suspicious, and it comes down to me or you, I want you to throw me under the bus to save yourself.”
“What? I couldn’t—”
“You’re the one he trusts, and you’re the one who can get what we need. If giving me up will get you closer to Mexico, I want
you to do it.”
Every trace of Cy fled, leaving behind a torn-looking Bo. “I won’t. There’d have to be another way.”
“You can and you will.” Lucky faked a smile. “You know me. I’ll be okay.”
Lucky got in the Malibu and drove away. About halfway home, he realized Bo hadn’t promised.
***
The phone on the nightstand rang. Lucky pulled himself out of the first good sleep he’d gotten all week, his fuzzy brain clearing at a strange
number on his phone. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
Lucky shot upright in bed, knowing better than to mention names on an unsecure line. “Is everything okay?” Bo certainly
didn’t sound okay. He sounded shaky.
Silence, then. “Yeah. I… I needed to hear your voice. Look, I’m sorry, but I haven’t told you everything I know.
There’s things I’ve seen that I can’t talk about yet. I hope you understand.”
No, Lucky didn’t understand, but biting Bo’s head off wouldn’t bring him back if he’d strayed off the straight and
narrow. “Have you compromised the case?”
“No.”
“Have you broken the law?”
Silence.
“Okay, have you broken any
major
laws?”
Bo hesitated before answering. “Not personally.”
“You believe telling me specifics might put you in danger?”
“Not just me, but you.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
And do you need a quick trip back to Atlanta?
“Those nightmares I’m having? They’re not only about my dad and my time in the service. I just…I don’t
like keeping things from you.”
Lucky didn’t like it either, but he trusted his partner’s judgment. “Are you keeping records? Can you justify your actions in
a court of law?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I ask. That and for you to keep yourself safe.”
***
Another night, another drug deal, and no time alone with Bo to find out specifics on their phone call. Lucky followed the route he’d been given,
hauling another load to the apartment singled out as their biggest customer. Over the past few weeks, the boxes had gotten bigger and bigger for the crowd
in the garage, too, and Lucky made two weekly runs to Texas. Soon, he’d deliver his first full tractor trailer load.
While Lucky fed the supply, Landry, Johnson, and other newbies took down the end users under the watchful eye of O’Donoghue. Meanwhile, Cyrus
Cooper received word of Art’s undercover persona dying, though the real Art now rested at home. Reyes didn’t flinch at the news. What
did he care if a former neighbor’s heart gave out?
With a few hours to kill, Lucky drove out toward I-85. He pulled into the Tanger Outlet Park, weaving his way through maze-like parking, and pulled up to a
Cracker Barrel restaurant. Always in a public place. This close to closing on a weeknight, most tables stood open. Lucky headed straight for the back,
waving off a hovering hostess.
His chair legs scraped across the hardwood floor as he sat down at a table.
“I ordered chicken and dumplings for you. Does that meet with your approval?” Walter folded and placed aside the newspaper
he’d been reading.
Walter, not O’Donoghue. Thank God.
“Works for me.” Not that Lucky would eat much tonight. Too much adrenaline flowing through his veins. He’d planned to order
bacon, but perhaps Walter’s choice worked better with a queasy stomach. The thrill of the chase, oh how he’d missed it, even if he
worked for the good guys now and didn’t get to keep the nice pile of hundreds currently bulging out his wallet.
“Reyes claims he comes from a village near Valle Hermosa.”
“Oh really?” Walter blinked thoughtfully behind the lenses of his glasses. “Two major cartels operate in the Valle Hermosa
area, and bath salts aren’t a part of their normal product line. But there’s no guarantee that we don’t have a new player in
the game. Since the introduction of the substance in Europe, it was only a matter of time before Mexico got in on the act. Are you familiar with the
area?”
“Victor Mangiardi had a home there.”
“Have you been there? Do you know the lay of the land?”
“No. He always went without me.” Hell, Victor’d never even gotten Lucky a passport until too late. For a minute the niggling
doubt resurfaced. Maybe there was something or someone in Mexico that Victor hadn’t wanted him to know about.
“It’s probably better that way,” Walter replied. “His enemies wouldn’t have hesitated to use you against
him.”
That’s something Lucky hadn’t considered. Some countries Victor visited weren’t kind to gay men, and Victor even traveled
with hired women on occasion, a smokescreen when dealing with homophobic dealers. Besides, some of the women doubled as spies. Secrets some men vowed to
take to their graves were easily offered up to a pretty face and a willing body.
“You would have made a useful hostage. One with too much information about Victor’s dealings.”
Yeah. Victor could’ve admitted weakness for a male lover, paid ransom, and probably have gotten pieces of Lucky back for weeks. Suddenly Lucky
didn’t mind so much having been left behind.
Not wanting to linger on old ghosts tucked in the back of his closet, Lucky shook the irrelevant thoughts from his head and fixed Walter with a steady
gaze. “You get anything?”
“Only a handful of trackers found in a truck stop trashcan in Harlingen, Texas. Whoever we’re dealing with has access to state of the
art equipment. Few in the States would have been able to detect the devices.” Walter took a bite of what appeared to be fried catfish.
Lucky’s dumplings arrived, and he picked at his meal, waiting for Walter to speak again.
Walter swallowed a mouthful and resumed the conversation. “How’s Bo?”
“Deep into his assignment. I’m worried about how in character he gets. He’s gotten close to Reyes, though not
close enough to find the supplier.”
“Give him time,” Walter replied, patting his mouth with a napkin. A buzzing sounded from his side of the table. “Excuse
me,” he said, pulling out a cell phone and bringing it to his ear. “Smith,” he answered. If Walter wanted to, he could shield
every emotion from his face. That he chose to show his wide-eyed shock to Lucky spoke volumes. “When? Are you sure?” Walter swore,
“Damn it! What a clusterfuck!”
Lucky jumped in his chair. Walter? Swearing?
Walter ended the call, closed his eyes, and blew out a cheek-bulging breath. “I’m sorry, Lucky, but I’m afraid you need to
get back. The shit, as you say, is about to hit the fan.”
“What happened?”
“Local law enforcement was warned to keep a distance, but a fight broke out at a club tonight. A member of the 441 Cruisers, a local man by the
name of Joe Clinkscales, has been arrested, and his motorcycle searched.”
“I don’t need to ask what was found, do I?”
“No, you don’t. Do you have any idea how Reyes may react?”
“No.”
“Get back to Athens, make up a cover story of where you’ve been, and keep a watch out for Bo. If things get messy, I want you both out
of there.”