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“Judge?” Brick asked. At Gate’s nod, Brick went on, “Could always use some help getting the goods through customs.”
Gate studied the men closest to him in the club.
Talon, his VP, went so far back in their combined history that the two of them were integral in getting Moose, the former club pres who was nothing more than toxic waste, as far away from Savannah, Georgia as they could manage.
Moose had spent the early part of hisretirementout west, but rumor had it that he was back in the Southeast, and Gate had a very particular set of eyes checking to see just how true that rumor was.
Then Brick, the club Sergeant at Arms, a remote loner on a good day and a scary motherfucker on a worse. He wasn’t afraid to get bloody on behalf of the club, and he did it without much emotional fallout as far as Gate could tell. Brick kept his shit tight, and if Brick ever found any darkness in himself, he didn’t talk about it.
And Deuce, the club ringer who could run a pool table on anyone he went up against and who could conduct an explosion like Mozart conducted a symphony. The only thing Deuce liked better than women and a good pool game was C4, and he did not try to hide that fact. He ran the cutting edge, everyone knew it, and most of the brothers just tried to get out of the way when Deuce got happy with the plastique.
“Seems the Dragons have a friend,” Gate said, scrubbing a hand across his jaw. “Judge Hawthorne’s got ink out of Tennessee.”
“He’s a Dagger?” Talon asked, the shock plain on his face.
“Rocker on his arm says so,” Gate agreed.
Deuce pushed back and balanced his chair on two legs, “Holy shit. A judge?”
As usual, it was Talon who cut to the chase, “What does that mean for us?”
“Help with customs?” Brick grinned.
“Not that you need it,” Deuce joked.
Brick had a knack for getting anything he wanted anywhere he needed it. He was smooth and savvy, and if Talon could find a buyer for it, Brick could get it in the country.
A few of years ago, Talon had acquired contact with a thief in the U.K. She liked to think of herself as a modern-day pirate, and her swag was the best in Europe.
Somehow, she managed to bypass the most sophisticated alarm systems of the modern era, carry off truckloads of furniture, art, and jewels, and never get caught. Gate had no idea how she accomplished all that, but as long as her goods kept floating into Savannah Harbor, being tagged by Brick, and getting sold by Talon with no blowback on the club, he didn’t care.
From what Talon said, she was young enough to be his daughter, cute as a button, and had nerves of reinforced steel.
Gate’s impression of her was more Cat Woman, but he figured Talon knew what he was talking about, and since he’d never seen her, Gate kept his ideas to himself.
“I don’t think that’s what he’s got in mind,” Gate said.
“Then what?” Deuce asked.
“He mentioned your gator slide, Brick.”
“What’s he know about my swamp?” Brick demanded.
“He knows about the hookers too,” Gate said, his eyes sliding to Talon.
“Don’t trust him,” Deuce said. “Don’t trust outsiders, and especially don’t trust outsiders elected to offices that could send us to jail. Hell no.”
Brick crossed thick arms over his chest, “This something Ryde can check out while he’s gone?”
Gate nodded, “Might be, but hate for him to tip off anyone that the judge reached out.”
“How far north has he made it?”
“Moving slow, and he’s skirted Atlanta, so he should be making the mountains later today,” Gate said.
“Slow going for a reason,” Brick added.
“Yeah, and a good one,” Talon said.
