Page 96 of Tormented
“Mm-hmm.” She nods.
“If you lived next door, and the police turned up askin’ you questions about timelines, then you’d probably remember a fuckin’ great Harley screamin’ up the neighbors’ drive at three in the mornin’, right?”
“I get it now.” She jams her hands in the pockets of her shorts and stares ahead at the house; we’re less than twenty yards away. “What’s the plan?”
“Play it by ear.” I case the place as we approach: animals, obstacles, the number of vehicles out front, and possible exits. “Just stick close enough that I know where you are, but try not to get in the way.”
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
We get as far as the dented truck parked next to the porch steps before the front door bursts open and my mark greets us with a huge grin.
“He looks happy about this,” Abbey whispers out the side of her mouth.
“He doesn’t know,” I explain simply before taking three long strides to accept the guy’s outstretched hand.
“Sawyer,” he exclaims, clinching me with a pat to the back. “Fuckin’ long time, man.”
“Sure has been.”
“What brings you over our neck of the woods?”
“Business.” I analyze his body language as the implications register.
His eyes shift down, his hands tracking over the legs of his dirty jeans. “Yeah?”
“Been talkin’ with Tuck.”
His gaze shifts to Abbey. “What’s she here for?”
“Insurance.”
“What do you want, man?” He shifts so the column of the porch is between his left shoulder and me. “Why did he send you over to see me?”
Cash Warren and I go back a long way. He’s been knocking around serving the clubs since before I even considered patching in to one. We met as two teen boys, jilted by our asshole fathers. Mine: the drug lord, his: the crooked cop who used to work with my father.
“You were supposed to deliver four units last week. Tuck said it was your third delivery date . . . and you missed it.”
“I’ve been busy,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Days kind of get away on me.”
“Pretty important date to forget,” I say. “Three times.”
Abbey shifts, taking a couple of steps back to lean her hip against the back of the truck. She’s intrigued, ankles and arms crossed as she studies Cash with a frown.
“Come on in, man,” Cash says, voice wavering. “Have a cold one. We’ll talk this through.”
“Hey.” I raise both hands, palms out. “I’m not here to negotiate. Just check in on business.”
I’m lying. Tuck knows the merchandise has expired. He’s been in the business of buying secondhand and refurbishing long enough to know when a dealer is playing him for a fool.
“What next then?” Cash’s right hand tracks a nervous path over his chest and stomach.
“Show me everything’s in order, brother, and I’m gone.”
Another lie.
You’re so good at this . . . .
Wondering when you’d turn up.