H
e didn’t much care for the location he was in. Anja had given him an update about what Carlson was up to before she went dark herself. Her vanishing act had irritated him for a moment before he reminded himself that she had a life as well. She needed to eat and sleep like the rest of the human race, and he didn’t need to be there for that. He was lucky that she was around as much as she was.
Carlson was, apparently, playing the part of the company man. He shook hands, gave pay raises, and generally convinced people to like him. All things considered, Jeremiah could understand why the man wanted people to have a good impression of him. He wanted control of his company back, and that wouldn’t happen if he didn’t have the support of the people in it.
From the way people seemed to react to his presence, his efforts were working. While he didn’t actually say it outright, from what the Russian was able to pick up, he had planted the seeds of doubt in the new leadership. He knew that something would go wrong soon, and he knew that someone would have to be around to pick up the pieces when the shit hit the proverbial fan. And that person, without a doubt, would be Carlson.
Jeremiah had been driving for most of the afternoon, and he
didn’t really mind it. Some people were bored after hours and hours spent in the car, but for him, sitting in a car allowed him to simply stew in his own thoughts. He had learned from a young age that it was important to learn how to enjoy your own company, and he had taken that advice. He’d hung out with himself with some tunes on the radio and a good supply of junk food that could be found at the various stops on the road between Charleston and his destination. He made sure to drop as much trash in the car as possible so that when he returned the car, they would be forced to deep-clean it thoroughly.
Although his military training went deep as far as tidiness went, he didn’t mind making a colossal mess in the vehicle. He shrugged as he tossed a half-full bag of Doritos onto the rear floor. He told himself that everyone on earth had an inner pigpen, and it wasn’t often that they were able to let it loose without consequences.
He pulled the car to a halt at a small gas station outside Raleigh, the lights of which he could see glittering in the distance. Since that was where Carlson was schmoozing with the executives of Pegasus, he wouldn’t have to drive for a couple more hours into the night to reach it. Anja would undoubtedly keep Anderson and Monroe informed about the man’s movements, which meant that they knew what he was doing and were apparently more than happy to simply allow him to keep doing it.
Of course, Jeremiah would have felt more comfortable if he had an inkling of what their master plan was, but at the moment, he didn’t really need to know. His job was to keep tabs on Carlson, discover what his plan was, and make it as difficult to accomplish as possible. He was a regular wrecking ball.
Or would be, once he got his hands on some weapons. Hopefully, Anja’s friends would be able to help him with that,
but in case they weren’t in an agreeable mood, he didn’t want to leave himself without a way out. He needed to plan ahead for essentially anything. It wasn’t like anyone else would do it for him.
He stepped out of the car and caught the fragrance of magnolia blossoms and the faint tang of gasoline in the warm evening breeze. After a cursory glance around the area, he closed the car door and locked it, leaving the duffle bag behind but bringing the cash that would be required for this. He wasn’t there for gas or snacks, so he circled to the back of the station. Anja’s directions indicated that the path would lead to what looked like a warehouse and he had to admit, that was exactly what he found.
Train tracks still existed in front of the long, low building that hadn’t been used in at least a century, and the warehouse next to them would have been where the goods were unloaded. He wasn’t sure what would have justified a shop this big. Who knew? Maybe, considering where he was, the big building had once housed bales of cotton or even tobacco.
That said, the place wasn’t quite as deserted as some might believe. A man stood outside the front doors. He was big, tall, and dark-skinned, and from the bulge that showed under his heavy leather jacket, he was also heavily armed and very likely expecting trouble.
He evidently saw that possible trouble approaching in the form of an unknown stranger by way of the gas station. The jacket fell away to reveal a semi-automatic, sawed-off shotgun. The large weapon rose smoothly and aimed at Jeremiah as he moved closer.
“You’re lost, dickwad,” the man said belligerently and gestured with the weapon before he resumed his aim. “Get back in your piece of crap car and drive away.”
“I’ll have you know that the Ford Taurus is an American icon, my friend,” he said. “It’s right up there with the Mustang,
the Camaro, and other such classics. Just because it doesn’t make the same sexy grunts doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have a strong history in American culture. Oh, and it’s not actually my piece of crap car.”
“Whatever, man,” he growled. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“I would if I could, Popeye, but unfortunately, I’m here on business,” he said with an easy smile and made no effort to back down as the man stepped closer.
“Are you a cop?” he demanded, and the thick voice grew more menacing.
“And if I was, would that be any kind of deterrent against killing me?” Savage tilted his head in silent challenge. “I’m asking for a friend—well, an acquaintance. I don’t really like him.”
“Not fucking likely,” the thug replied and shifted the shotgun closer.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a cop then.” He raised his hands. “I’ll let my friend-slash-acquaintance know. He’ll be crushed. Anyway, I actually am here on business, both for myself and your boss. You can tell him that Artemis sent me.”
The man looked rather nonplussed by his response. He kept the shotgun trained on him, but there was a hint of hesitation in the guard’s eyes as he leaned in closer and pulled a radio from his pocket.
“Yo, Max, are you expecting anyone from someone named Artemis?” he asked.
“Why are you holding them up, Dee?” a man’s voice crackled from the other side of the connection. “Send them the fuck in.”
“It’s only the one guy, though,” Dee replied.
“Then send him the fuck in,” Max ordered.
“I guess I’m going in,” Jeremiah said with a smile. “Should I bring something out for you to drink? Maybe a snack?”
“Fuck you,” Dee growled, but he shoved the shotgun under his jacket once more and turned away. Savage grinned and
moved past the huge, muscular man and into the warehouse. Most of it looked like it had been left to fall into disrepair, but one small section had been cleaned and equipped with lights and furniture. A small generator in the corner provided electricity and, from the look of the tech that was set up, also an internet connection. This place was completely off the grid, at least from what he could see, but had everything someone might need to keep a criminal enterprise running without garnering the attention of the local law enforcement.
One of the men working there drew away from the group and walked toward him. He was tall, wore a Bulls jersey, and looked like he had actually played basketball in his day. Well, not that Savage would really know. He wasn’t a fan of that sport, but still.
“Artemis sent you?” the man asked and extended a hand, which he took and shook firmly.
“That would be me,” he replied with a smile. “You must be Max.”
“That’s right. And who are you?”
“I was told that names and IDs wouldn’t be necessary for this transaction,” he responded and folded his arms.
“I like to know who I’m dealing with,” the other man replied. “I mean, a word from Artemis does go a long way, but I don’t like strangers walking around with my weapons, you understand?”
“Jack,” he said with a forced smile. “Jack T. Ripper. Do you need a social with that?”
“You know I can simply have my boys kill you and find out from the license in your wallet, right?” Max asked.
“Yep, I’m well aware of that. Are you aware of the fact that should your boys make that move, you won’t survive long enough to be privy to the details that they find out about me? So, if you’re done with the dick-measuring, can we maybe get back to business?”
“Sure,” he said after a couple of seconds. “If you’ll follow me?”
They moved to the back of the operation and a table that held a collection of revolvers and hunting rifles.
“Consider these classic beauties,” the man said with a smile.
“No.” Savage shook his head firmly. “If I wanted cheap and legal, I’d go to Walmart, not you. Stop trying to unload your old stock and show me the good stuff. Come on, I have five grand in small, untraceable bills burning holes in my pocket.”
“Five grand, huh?” Max moved farther back. A blanket hung over the wall, and when he pulled it back, Savage saw a wide selection of pistols, rifles, and shotguns. “Five grand gets you enough to arm a small army. Nothing automatic, though. The ATF cracks down on dealers that push that military shit a lot harder than the small timers like me.”
“If it was shit, the military wouldn’t use it,” Savage said with a small grin. “But I don’t need to arm a small army. I do need enough to kill a small army, though. Something to keep in mind.”
He removed a shotgun—semi-automatic and sawed off like the one Dee had outside—and a Glock 17 from the wall, as well as a small yet sturdy rifle with a scope.
“I don’t suppose you guys have any knives in stock, do you?” he asked once he had finished inspecting the merchandise. It was used, likely stolen from police stock or something like that, but it would more than do in a pinch. He wasn’t sure why it was that Max didn’t mind selling his best stock to a friend of Anja’s, but he wasn’t afraid to press the issue if needed. Versatility was everything in this business, and he needed as much of it as he could get.
“Our stock is limited,” the man admitted, but he withdrew a small case from under the table and opened it to reveal a selection of military knives of varying lengths and origins. “But
I think you’ll be satisfied with what we have.”
He wasn’t wrong. Most were some variation of the Ka-bar, which Savage quickly passed on as his eyes found what looked like an eight-inch variation of the KM2000. He picked it up immediately, ignored the rest, and took a moment to inspect the steel and the edge before he added it to the pile he’d already selected.
“All that, plus as much ammo as I can afford with what’s left of my money.” He took the cash from his pocket and placed it on the table. Max picked it up, smiled, and handed it to one of his men who quickly put it through a counter. A few seconds later, the man nodded.
“For five thousand, three hundred, and twenty-five dollars,” Max said and turned to face him. “I think we can add enough ammo for you to kill an army and a bag for you to carry it in, free of charge.”
“Can you make it a duffel bag?” he asked. “I love duffel bags.”
“Duffel bag, coming right up,” the man said and chuckled darkly. “You know, not many people I know are as trusting as you are.”
“I’m not trusting, not really.” He tilted his head as he watched the men load the weapons in a large bag. “You know that this weaponry here isn’t for me, it’s for Artemis, and whatever she’s holding over your head is enough for you to do business with someone whom you don’t know. That kind of trust needs to be reciprocated.”
Max glanced quickly at him with a smirk. “That’s some solid thinking. I wouldn’t expect it from someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” Savage asked.
“Military. You can cover it up all you want, but truth be told, I could tell you were fresh out of the service from a mile away. Nothing smells quite like the military bullshit. Were you Army?”
“Rangers,” he said.
“Which makes me wonder how a man newly out the service like you finds himself working for someone like Artemis.” The men had all but completed the load up and the duffle bag bulged almost to bursting. “How does a man like you get tangled up with someone like that?”
“I could ask you the same question, Max,” Jeremiah responded and took the bag that was handed to him. He paused to adjust the strap and used both hands to drag it over his shoulder. “But I think the answer from the both of us will be spookily similar.”
“None of your beeswax, it’s personal?” Max asked and grinned.
“Like I said, spooky.” He shrugged and returned the grin. “Now, if I manage to kill that army and avoid it killing me, I think that there is definitely business that could be done between us in the future. What do you say about that, Max?”
The man shrugged. “So long as you don’t mind paying in cash and up front like you did here, I see nothing but benefits for everyone involved.”
“Look at that. We have something of a like mind. Take it easy, Max.”
The two men shook hands and Savage headed casually toward the door. He couldn’t help but feel that he would be shot in the back with every step on his way to the exit, and he didn’t doubt that there were at least three weapons aimed at the back of his head in case he decided he wanted his money back and planned to use their weapons to get it.
But, if nothing else, he was a man of his word. In this respect, anyway. He knew that the likelihood of him needing weapons in the future was high, and should that day come, he wanted to make sure that he parted ways with everyone on the best possible footing. People didn’t like to be violent for violence’s own sake, even among criminals. If you wanted to do business and were willing to pay without any trouble, they
were more than happy to help. It was a lawless kind of capitalism.
When he reached the door, he saw Dee waiting, his shotgun out of the jacket and aimed at him. Savage took a moment to read the man in front of him before he pressed forward. It was a show of force. A reminder that turning any of the weapons against Max and his crew would be a losing proposition. He didn’t mind. Most times, he picked his battles, and pointless testosterone measurements were the kind of thing that he simply couldn’t be bothered with.
He stepped around Dee and turned to face him as he walked away.
“Now I have a shotgun,” he said and grinned cheekily. “Ho ho ho!”
The man didn’t answer and used the hand that didn’t hold the shotgun to flip him off. Jeremiah chuckled and turned away to stroll back to his car at an easy pace. He knew that the vehicle, as well as all his possessions, would be there when he got back. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that it was known in this area that people who parked in the gas station were doing business with Max, and the man would take offense at anyone who wanted to get in the way of that.
He opened the trunk of the car, dropped the duffle bag in beside his original one, and paused. Even if he didn’t intend to use the weapons he’d just bought against the people he’d purchased them from, he still didn’t want to walk around unarmed for any longer than was necessary. Quickly, he pulled the Glock out of the bag, found the rounds for it, and filled the mag hastily.
There were a couple of extra ones included with the sale. These enabled him to fill two more and slip them into his pockets before he zipped everything up, shut the trunk, and walked to the driver’s seat. He put the pistol in the glove compartment where it would be easily accessible before he
started the car and pulled back onto the highway.
Yes, he could definitely say that he felt more comfortable. Of course, if any cop pulled him over and decided to search his trunk, he would be in violation of too many laws to count. So many that the officer would possibly consider letting him go due to the sheer amount of paperwork that would ensue from trying to bring him in. That said, he wasn’t overly worried. It wasn’t like he would spend too much time in the heavily policed sections of the city, anyway.