Chapter One

 

DAVIS

 

There's a fast food joint exactly forty feet away. I can't guarantee the distance, but I can feel it in my bones. I've always been good at judging distances, but under normal circumstances I would have paced it.

"What did you need to see me about, boss?"

I press the cup of the earphone against my ear, as if having it closer will make Beauchamp say the magic words sooner.

"Spider. Hey."

My stomach growls so loud I'm afraid Hawkins can hear it through the mic. 'Spider' is the dumbest name I've ever heard, but if Beauchamp buys it, then it doesn't much matter.

Only forty short feet to a big, juicy burger and a heaping plate of fries, and my stomach can sense I'm weak. Right now, though, of all times, is when I can't do a damn thing about it.

Danny's got the other earphone cup pressed against his ear, and we're sitting so close I can smell that he put on too much cologne to cover up the smell of having been in the back of a carpet cleaning van for three hours, and he'd probably be here for another three.

"We've got another shipment coming through, and I need to make sure that you've got guys on it."

"What are we shipping this time, boss?"

Hawkins is going to blow this whole fucking thing. I can hear it in his voice. He's losing it. I'm not going to let that happen.

"Back off," I say, quiet enough that there's no way Beauchamp hears it. "You're pushing too hard."

"Spider, you been with me, what, a year?"

"Sure, I guess."

I suck in a breath. The twisting growl in my stomach sets me on-edge, and I can feel the tension in the room through the headphone set. Danny's thick body tenses beside me. He can feel it, too. The question, was that digging too much.

"You know better than to ask what's in the crates."

"You're right, boss. I'm sorry, I'm still—"

Beauchamp's voice relaxes. "I know what you mean. You're still young. Just keep your nose clean, man."

"So where am I dropping this stuff off, at least?"

I listen close and hard. Our man in Los Diablos says there's a drop right on the border tonight. A trade. It's circumstantial, but it'll be enough, if we can connect the dots.

Circumstantial is good enough, with Rico. If he just says the words, we've got him, and I can finally go get that juicy burger that fills my dreams and pulls another hard twist of hunger from my stomach.

Beauchamp doesn't give me what I need, doesn't say the magic words. "You coming by the bar, later?"

I can feel the deflection just as much as I can feel the hunger twisting inside me. I can almost see Beauchamp's face as he changes the subject.

As if I need it to imagine his face, I look up at the photo taped above the C.C.T.V. feed. It's a few years old, from back when he was caught running dope small-time through Cleveland.

That was the first time he slipped through my fingers, and it's about to happen again. At least, that's what he thinks. Well, I've got other plans.

But first, I need him to incriminate himself. Hunger pangs through me again and I slouch a little, feeling my breasts press into Danny's arm. He moves it without saying anything and my back springs straight like I've been slapped.

Two fucking headphones. Should've had two God damn headphones for a job like this, but budget cuts were always on the horizon, and nobody can seem to justify two pairs of god damned headphones for a bust almost two years in the making.

If Beauchamp just said the God damned words, I could go get my sandwich, and that's all I ever asked for, I tell myself.

Spider takes a long pause, and it takes me too long to realize he's waiting for something from us.

"Uh—shit. Tell him you've got to get to work before you can have fun."

Spider repeats it about verbatim.

The pause was too long. I can feel it, can feel the doubt in Beauchamp. I have to hope for Hawkins's sake that he figures out a way to ignore that doubt, because otherwise in a game like this people end up dead.

Hawkins knew the risk when he got in, but an identity like 'Spider,' you hope that things can go better in the moment. But here I am getting distracted by my stomach.

"I feel you, man. Well, I'll keep one on ice for you, then. Once you get the boys settled in for the haul, then you can come back."

"Thanks, boss," Hawkins answers, settling back into character, knowing what he's supposed to do again. I know what I'm supposed to do, too.

"Did you need something else?"

"Yeah, you haven't—I need to know where to drop the trailer."

"Oh, shoot. I didn't tell you, did I?"

No, you didn't, I thought. I add 'you son of a bitch' as an afterthought.

"No, sir."

"Well, how the fuck are you supposed to make a drop when you don't even know where you're going? What the fuck am I thinking, right?"

Beauchamp's laugh comes out easy and smooth. Not anything like the killer that I know he is. I imagine for his people, he must be an easy man to like, and with his history it's hard to believe that he's as small-time as he is.

But hard to believe or not, and in spite of their rise to power, the Ravens are still a small force in the national scene. That's what makes them the perfect choice for what I'm hoping to do.

I pegged them when the Beauchamp brothers pulled their tractor-trailer into the first little warehouse they picked up, and unpacked their big, bored-out hogs. The power they'd gained in such a short span of time just went to prove that I'd earmarked the right boys.

But first, before my plans for them went into motion, I just needed him to say the fucking words. I don't hear anything through the headphones. Real quiet, in fact. Too quiet. The pause is too long, considering that Hawkins was waiting on a location.

A moment later, though, I hear Beauchamp speaking again. "We good?"

"We're good," Spider says.

I can hear in his voice that he's not just saying it to Beauchamp. I let out the breath that I'd been holding for the better part of three hours.

This job is too stressful, I need a God damn vacation. But that's not going to happen, and if someone offered me one, I wouldn't take it.

Not this close. Let Danny take the credit? Like hell would I let that bastard have credit for my haul. No chance. This is my commendation waiting to be pinned on my chest.

Right after I get the evidence from Hawkins, and right after I get that burger in my stomach. Then I get the commendation, as long as nobody asks any questions about how I pulled McCallister down.

If there's one thing I know, it's that nobody but Beauchamp is going to get to McCallister. If I know two things, though, it's that however he does it, nobody's going to be fuckin' happy.

So I'd better make sure that nobody finds out what I did to get him there. When we've got the evidence we need on McCallister, we can cut Beauchamp loose.

Who's going to look too close when a low-level dealer ends up dead in a ditch somewhere? Nobody.

Not anyone that pays my salary, anyways.