Thursday, February 15
Calvin didn’t have the time now to drive all the way to Cincinnati, but it couldn’t be helped. West had recently formed an alliance with a gang there, and someone needed to make sure that everyone involved in loading the guns and ammunition onto the boats was doing what they said they were going to.
They certainly weren’t the first group of men to utilize the Ohio River to transport guns. They were probably one of the most successful, however, and that success depended upon everyone working smart, keeping their mouths closed, and not taking any unnecessary chances.
Calvin’s job during this trip was to check out the new warehouse the Kings had purchased, make sure the members running it weren’t being stupid. He knew it would be his job to remind both their members and the men in the other gang that West wouldn’t take failure lightly.
The upside was that when he got there, he was staying in his regular hotel, which meant he could speak to his contact at the DEA fairly easily. The DEA had a decent-sized office in Cincinnati, thanks to both the fact that the city was within a two-hour driving distance to Columbus, Indianapolis, Louisville, and Charleston; and that a lot of guns and drugs could now be trafficked on the water. Security wasn’t so tight in the small ports, and there were innumerable areas for a boat to pick up supplies and carry them down to Louisville without anyone being the wiser.
He stopped by his motel to tell the DEA he’d arrived. This was their code, which Calvin had at first thought was ridiculous, and more than a little over the top.
When he’d first gone undercover, he was tempted to point out that neither West nor any of the other members were going to be monitoring him so closely, but wisely kept his mouth shut. But after seeing what happened to a member who’d been viewed as disloyal, Calvin was glad for all the subterfuge. Being both alive and in command of all his limbs was a good thing. It must have worked, too—so far no one in the Kings had been the wiser.
After letting Andrew know that he would be staying at his regular motel, Calvin drove to the oldest section of the city, a previously German area called Over the Rhine. The narrow streets might have been charming once; now they only highlighted the fact that the area was in desperate straits, no matter how many people tried to say that it was in transition.
Though there were some refurbished lofts and restaurants, most of it was run-down, vacant, and filled with people willing to do almost anything to survive.
That was what the Kings were counting on.
He parked his truck in a secure lot, tipping the attendant well. Then he started walking, taking note of the area—and allowing anyone who was looking to see him. After going another block and scanning the area, the tension in his body eased. Everything looked the same. Surrounding him were the same crumbling red-brick buildings, graffiti-riddled fences, and cracked sidewalks littered with debris. On one of the stoops sat old Mrs. Johnson, who tried so hard to keep an eye on the kids in the neighborhood. Two doors down, a homeless man was sipping coffee, his alert expression at war with his ill-fitting clothes and air of despair.
And just beyond the chain-link fence was a group of five men, all of whom knew his name. He talked with them for a few minutes before moving on. The area smelled like smoky fireplaces and vending carts, all faintly tinged with the smell of yeast and hops from the brewery a few blocks over.
It was familiar and noisy. Ugly and a myriad of colors. It was like he’d never left.
Aware of the many eyes focused on him, Calvin kept his gait loose and his expression blank. His gun was secure in the small of his back and his cell phone in one of his front pockets. He was dressed like he always was now, no matter if he was in Horse Cave or in the city. Worn jeans, tight T-shirts, thick-soled boots.
The clothes didn’t matter. Instead, what did was the attitude. His way of looking around with enough force and confidence so that no one would think twice about messing with him.
Once again, they didn’t. Two men on the sidewalk, one of them Jenk, raised his chin when Cal approached. That surprised him. Usually, West traveled with Jenk or Smith. Trepidation filled him. Had he been found out?
“Fisher,” Jenk said.
“Jenk. Hey,” he replied.
Calvin made sure to keep his pace slow and look at the men directly in their eyes, all while keeping his own expression blank.
When he got to the entrance of the warehouse, the front door was being guarded by a teenager. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. “Cal Fisher,” he said.
Immediately, the kid opened the gate. His eyes stayed averted, almost as if he feared that Calvin was going to slug him if he didn’t move fast enough.
Such a thing once took him off guard. At other times, he was ashamed to admit he’d felt a certain amount of satisfaction.
Now? All he could think about was what Alice would say. He didn’t have to wonder what she would think. He knew she’d be disappointed in him.
Now he was wondering how, when Mark was healthy again and he returned here to his old routines, he was ever going to forget about her responses or opinions. She seemed to have settled herself firmly into his life.
As he passed through the gate, Calvin forced himself to stop thinking about Alice. Doing so would only make him weak. If he was thinking about her, he could almost imagine his expression softening. And if that happened, then all of his hard work to change his life would be for nothing.
And then? Well, he’d be dead.
He buzzed the front door and waited for the intercom.
“Name.”
Leaning into the speaker, he complied. “Cal Fisher.”
There was another buzz followed by the door opening. One of the Kings’ prospects was on door duty. One of his favorites, a kid by the name of Brandon, going by the name Bear.
“Hey, Cal,” he said. “West said for you to go on up to three.”
“West is here?”
Brandon said nothing, just turned away to keep watch on the street.
The third floor held three or four bedrooms, West’s warehouse office, which Calvin had never seen him use, and the conference room.
As he walked, his footsteps echoing around him, his pulse raced. Every bit of what had happened so far had been unexpected. He’d been told to check on the men here, foster the alliance with the other gang, and make sure everyone knew that West took things seriously.
No one he knew was supposed to be here, certainly not West himself.
Each step toward his boss’s office felt like a yard. By the time he got to the door, every beating that he’d seen or participated in raced through his head. When he’d first joined, Calvin had been sure many of the stories were simply talk. Stories to inspire fear in the ranks.
But he’d also seen enough evidence to know they were true.
He could be about to be reprimanded for being gone so long, told to visit some of the projects and other areas where they were selling drugs, or be shot for being an informant.
Then there was the rumor of him being promoted.
When he got to the third floor, he bypassed the four closed doors and stopped in front of the conference room. As expected, another member stood in front of this door, waiting for him. What was unexpected was that it was Smith, West’s second in command.
“Hey, man,” he said, passing on his signature half smile, the consequence of a knife fight he’d been in when he was ten or eleven. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks.”
“You carrying?”
“Yeah.” He waited, knowing better than to reach for his weapon without an invitation.
“I’ll take it, then.”
After Calvin handed over the gun, Smith looked him over. “Got anything else?”
“Knife,” he said as he leaned down and pulled it out from its sheath on the inside of his boot. He tossed it on the ground. “That’s it.”
“All right, then. Let’s get this over with.” As usual, Smith’s expression was blank as he frisked him.
Arms outstretched, Calvin stayed motionless as Smith’s hands moved over his torso. It was moments like this he was so glad that Andrew had his back about his refusal to wear a wire. Every once in a while, some new guy would bring it up, acting like it was a great idea. But Calvin, having been through this process so many times, argued that he could never let his guard down.
“All right. You’re good,” Smith said, almost sounding bored. “Go on in.”
Calvin searched Smith’s face for a hint of what was about to happen. He saw nothing but the same expression he always wore when he was around other gang members.
Then, because he knew there was nothing to gain by hesitating a second longer, he strode inside the vast room. To his surprise, West was sitting by himself in front of a conference table. The desk’s top was conspicuously bare. All that lay on top was the boss’s hands. They were folded together, looking almost relaxed.
When he heard the door click shut behind him, Calvin pretended that his pulse wasn’t racing and that every nerve ending didn’t feel frayed. Instead, he kept walking forward. Whatever was about to happen was going to happen whether he was ready or not.
All he could hope was that he’d have enough fortitude to not make a fool of himself.
“It’s almost eleven,” West said. “When did you arrive?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.” He hoped no one knew that he’d first stopped at this motel room.
“Ah.” After looking at him a minute longer, he said, “How’s your brother?”
“He’s all right. Recovering. Doctors say they can’t find any more cancer.”
“That’s good. I’m real happy for you.”
Calvin didn’t know where the conversation was going, but he allowed himself to relax slightly. He was pretty sure if West had thought he was an informant, Smith would have already shot him. “Thank you, sir.”
“Are you going back there soon?”
“I hope to.”
West stood up and walked around the desk. He was dressed much the same as Calvin was, snug T-shirt, faded jeans, thick boots. But where Calvin’s build was lanky, West was built like a linebacker. He was thick and tall and solid muscle. The man could pack a powerful punch, and Calvin had witnessed the damage he could do more than once. However, it wasn’t the threat of violence that made most men wary around him. Instead, it was the intelligence that shone in his dark-brown eyes.
“Cal, you’ve been in the Kings for several years now. Several members are alive because you’ve had their backs. Business is good and I know that you’ve been treating each transaction like it matters. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pulling out an envelope from his back pocket, he handed it to Calvin. “It’s time to reward your loyalty.” His lips curved. “We’re making it official now. I want you as a lieutenant.”
It had actually happened. He had reached the top of the organization. He would have even greater access to West and the hidden business dealings that went on.
If he took the money, there was also no turning back. No man left the organization after this point. With some dismay, he realized that Andrew couldn’t help him now if something went wrong.
He certainly wasn’t going to be clean enough or good enough for Alice now. Not now. Not ever.
But he had known that. He might have pretended otherwise, but at the end of the day, he supposed, it didn’t matter. Years ago he had made his choice. He’d decided to survive instead of wither away.
Now he could choose to make a difference—before he was killed—or to be killed now.
He might be wrong, but he didn’t see a choice. As he folded his hand around the envelope, he smiled.
“Thank you, boss. I won’t let you down.”
West’s brown eyes warmed, looking almost kind. “Don’t worry, Cal. If I thought you would, you’d have never gotten this far.”
Calvin laughed before they both sat down to get to business. The sooner he finished with West, the sooner he could report to the DEA.
And then he could head back to Horse Cave to watch over his brother and concentrate on staying away from Alice Yoder. Now that he was in the organization even deeper, everyone he was close to was at greater risk.
He knew that, too. He’d had girlfriends around in the early days with the Kings, when West was still checking him out and wasn’t certain Cal could be trusted. No way would West shy away from coming after Alice if he thought Calvin needed additional coaxing.