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“Could we have gone this route from the get-go?”

“We didn’t have enough PC at the beginning. Now we do.” Crew slapped him on the back and, as he walked away chuckling, he threw over his shoulder, “Be thankful we did it the way we did, brother. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet and fall for your new girlfriend.”

Finn wanted to pound his head on the desk.

It had been two weeks straight of watching the camera feeds. Almost fourteen days of more than eight hours each watching the footage. He’d skim through any “dead air,” like when the club was closed and empty, but he’d still keep an eye out for any unexpected activity. Since he was damn sure the Demons didn’t give a fuck about doing illegal shit only during official business hours.

Every morning he’d drop Mel off at work first, then come over to The Plant and sit for those long, torturous hours. He’d only quit when it was time to pick her up from the club again.

While he kept one eye on the screen showing multiple live streams from the task force’s cameras, he’d search the recorded video from the hours he couldn’t watch in real time. He was surprised he hadn’t gone cross-eyed yet.

In addition to the task force feeds, Decker was almost finished searching the thirty days’ worth of video from the club’s cameras.

Were they finding what they needed? To a point, yes. Were they both ready to stab themselves in the eye with a sharpened pencil? No fucking doubt.

The camera hidden in the Astro Van had confirmed that as soon as Saint graced The Peach Pit with his presence in the late afternoon, he’d head directly to the stash van, climb in, pull both meth and pot from a saddlebag and stash the small, easy-to-sell baggies in their hiding spot. He’d climb back out, lock up the van and glance around to make sure no one saw him.

One by one the prospects working at the club that day or night would head out back for a “smoke break,” unlock the van, climb in and stuff a mix of individually packaged weed and meth into the inner pockets of their cuts.

The MC’s operation wasn’t complex. It also wasn’t anything unexpected. The task force simply needed documented proof of who was involved, what they were selling and the quantity.

In truth, at this point they’d seen enough. They’d documented enough illegal activity to arrest everyone involved and even raid the club itself. Finn hoped Crew would soon pull the plug on investigating this location so they could concentrate elsewhere.

It was time to move on from The Peach Pit since they didn’t have anyone on their team making buys there. Unlike with Fletch’s undercover deals with Wolf and his Demon crew.

The task force needed that important connection as long as they could keep it. They relied on the DAMC’s tentative good graces on allowing Fletch and Wilder to remain among their midst, especially since law enforcement were considered enemies. The Dirty Angels president could easily tell them to fuck off tomorrow and shut down that leg of the investigation.

Luckily, Fletch and Wilder managed to fit into the biker life without making too many waves since they were both pros at undercover work. Chameleons would be a good descriptor for both the state trooper and FBI agent.

Because of his hot temper, Finn hadn’t been as successful. If he’d been able to keep his cool, he wouldn’t be stuck sitting at a desk for hours at a damn time, bored out of his gourd.

Also while he watched, he had to make sure he wasn’t solely focused on whatever small square on the screen included Mel. He forced himself to keep an eye on the bar, the lobby and the back lot, as well.

But when the prospects weren’t active and Saint or Cookie were nowhere to be seen, his eyes naturally found Mel wherever she was.

She was aware their cameras covered the complete interior of the club, but she didn’t know their exact placement. However, one morning when he dropped her off at the back door, he had pointed out the two facing the back lot to ease her worry about the girls’ safety when they left for the night.

Whoever Crew’s Black Box team was, they were experts at wiring and hiding cameras. Mel said she never would’ve noticed them if he hadn’t pointed them out and even then, she had a hard time seeing them. Of course, that was the goal. The last thing they wanted was Saint or his fellow flunkies discovering they were being watched.

That would end up as a master class on “how to fuck up your federal investigation.”

When his eyes scanned the live streams, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Dazzle was currently dancing on stage. Sapphire and Mel were working the floor and checking on customers. A few men sat at the bar talking to each other and Mutt, the prospect bartender. Some of the girls were doing their best to separate patrons from their money by talking them into a private dance.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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