Kid? I didn’t know JP had a kid. I store the info away in case I ever need it. I’d like to get the laptop back to Red, but JP’s right. That’s a rookie mistake, one I’m way too experienced to make.
I shrug, wishing I could do more but knowing at least someone will appreciate the laptop. “Then we’re good?” I ask, checking off the art handoff and the unexpected laptop issue. JP nods, but I add, “I expect to meet the boss man soon. I’ve proven myself, my skills, and loyalty. I should know who I’m working for.”
JP rolls his eyes again, waving a dismissive hand. “He’ll see something in the stars that tells him he’s safe, and then he’ll probably invite you over for dinner and scotch. He’s just paranoid. You understand?”
No, I still don’t, but I nod anyway and climb back into my truck. “See ya for the next one.”
I pull away, going to make my other meeting of the night. Everyone who lives in the shadows and who plans on maybe seeing the next few years outside of prison needs people they can trust to make it work. For me, my ‘fixer’ is Hunter. I’ve known him for a few years now, and he’s one of the best there is.
“You got a place for me?” I ask as I pull into the garage and get out. Hunter’s already moving, going around to the back of my truck to swap out the plates. I know they’re clean because he’s trustworthy and even more careful than I am.
“Yeah, here’s the keys,” he says, reaching into his pocket and tossing them to me. “It’s not your usual speed, but it’ll be good for you. You can play house in a nice place like an actual human being, not some hole in the wall.”
He’s talking about my actual home, a place I haven’t been to in way too long. After a job, I always spend a while decompressing and making sure the coast is clear before I go back home. Plus, it lets me keep touch on what’s happening on the market, who’s looking, who’s buying, and who’s stealing what. I like to stay caught up, know who the players are.
And despite giving me shit, he’s the same fucking way. He floats from place to place so much, I don’t even know where his real home is, though I’m sure he’s got a home base of operations somewhere. By his age, he must. Not that he’s remotely old, but he’s got nearly a decade of hard-won experience on me, and I’d damn sure better have some cushy digs by the time I’m pushing up on forty.
“Whatever it is, it’ll do. I just need a waystation to handle operations.”
“This’ll more than do,” he says as he roots around in his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper with the address and other important info on it. It’d be really stupid to get caught because I trip my own damn home alarm system. “Enjoy the sweet digs for a change, man. Maybe treat it like a vacation instead of going from one job to the next. You can afford a few weeks of downtime after this one.
I shake my head. “Wish I could, but Mr. Big was a no-show.”
Hunter pauses in attaching my new license plate and looks up at me. His gray eyes are stormy as he scrubs a hand across his blond beard. “Well fuck. Maybe no vacation then. What happened?”
“Don’t know,” I admit, leaning against my truck. “Cold feet, basically. Got the payday, funds are transferred, but no face with the name. I don’t like it.”
Hunter hums and goes back to bolting on my new plates. “I know. You like to be in control of everything and have everything planned the way you like it. Not everyone falls in line, Connor.”
“Yeah, and because of that, I work with people like you,” I remind Hunter, who grunts. He finishes up my front plate and knocks on the hood when he’s done. He knows better than to pat it and leave potential finger or palm prints. “Thanks for this. I’ll be in touch.”
“Watch your ass,” Hunter reminds me, standing with his arms crossed and a serious look on his face. I dip my chin in acknowledgement as I back out, disappearing into the night. I find the address on the paper, doing a quick drive by in the quiet neighborhood. Even in the dark, I can tell that Hunter was right. This place is swanky compared to my usual hideouts. Normally, my first stop is to the nearest all-night store to buy fifty bucks’ worth of roach and rat traps.
Not this time. The townhouse has a small yard with a private driveway and even a cute mailbox with what looks like a firetruck on it. Driving past, I take ten minutes to patrol the neighborhood, just getting a feel for things.