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We circled the island, and I looked down at the map Cullen drafted up. He pointed to the pawn shop we’d be hitting up. I knitted my brows, picturing that part of the city. It was rough as hell, sleazy. It’s where I went to go drinking at Ricky’s.
“Dude, we’re going to hit up Mackerel’s shitty pawn shop?” I looked up at Cullen then at Dom before finally settling on Wilder. “Am I missing something? When has Mackerel had anything but pieces of shit in his shop and probably no more than five hundred bucks in his safe?”
“McKenzie told me that lately he’s dabbling in other ventures. He now really just uses the shop as a front.” Cullen’s voice was sharp like a blade, annoyed. He didn’t like when anybody questioned the plans.
“Yeah, we all know it’s a front, but they don’t bring in nearly enough for us to risk a heist on them.”
Dom grunted and gave an equally piercing look in my direction. Apparently, I was pissing him off too. “They run crystal out of there,” he spoke, and then the room grew silent, heavy.
I knew Mackerel’s shop was a front. Pretty much any establishment in that part of town wasn’t all legit, but if they were running meth, I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t tied to something bigger, say like the cartel.
“So, do we have any other information from Mackenzie other than it’s crystal? Who is the distributor? Who’s calling the shots? We all know Mackerel is dumb as fuck and just the mule. No way anybody would trust him with anything of importance.”
Wilder chuckled, which only had Dom and Cullen scowling even more.
“He’s getting a shipment of crystal Saturday night. He only houses it for twelve hours before it’s taken to a safehouse then distributed to dealers. He’s nothing more than a drop-off point.”
I looked at the map again, seeing the businesses and buildings surrounding it. There was the greasy-ass pizza joint across the street, a less-than-legitimate pharmacy beside Mackerel’s, a shoe repair shop on the other side, and then an apartment building that was on its last legs and catty-corner to the pawn shop.
“Do we know who he answers to? Who any of them answer to?” I looked up at Cullen, knowing he had all the answers. “Because I sure as fuck am not messing with the cartel, if they even deal with meth, if that’s what we’re talking about.”
Cullen shook his head. “It’s nothing but a local gang. The shit isn’t even quality.”
“But they make a killing off of it, selling it to the junkies and college kids who don’t know better,” Dom finished.
I nodded slowly. “So then why are we hitting it up if it’s shitty crystal?”
“Because it isn’t the drugs we’re after, but the dealer payments Mackerel collected.”
All the pieces were falling together, and although I didn’t like risky heists like this, ones that involved drugs, because it was just too uncertain who all the players were, we needed cash flow.
Everything about me was on edge lately, and the risk high made me feel more than just… breathing.
“How much are we talking?” Wilder was the one to speak, and I waited for either Dom or Cullen to answer, since they were the ones to know.
“We’re looking upward of one million.”
I felt my eyebrows rise at that. Although one million wasn’t a whole lot in the grand scheme of things—not just in terms of an actual heist, but also drug related—it was good enough for us.
It was enough for us.
I gave a nod and said, “Good, let’s plan the shit out then.”
I found that as the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, I’d become more recluse, angrier, and sought a higher adrenaline rush to feel alive.
Because without Nadja in my life, nothing satisfied me, and I knew it never would.
10
Nadja
I wasn’t used to my surroundings, and it had nothing to do with being back in the city I’d grown up in, the city I’d fallen in love in. It had everything to do with the fact that I’d never actually been to this part of town, the sleazy, dirty, very unpredictable part.
My father never allowed it.
Frankie never wanted me around the grime and dirt of depravity.
It was an area where people made it no secret they were selling drugs on the corner of streets, or where sex was being solicited to cars driving by. It was an area where filth and cockroaches covered the counters and floors where you lived.
Where I lived now.
At least for the time being.
I closed the front door to the apartment I was renting by the week. I dropped my bag by my feet, the sound echoing and seeming especially loud. Thankfully, the apartment was fully furnished, even if the items were disgusting, aged, and worn.
