Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  No further incidents occurred. They met their customers as planned next to a long-abandoned gas station, made the transfer to their delivery truck, shook hands, then wondered where they could shack up for the evening. Spaz had a tablet in the van. He found a motel just north of where they were, and it looked like the no-tell type of motel even if they did have a website.

  The digs agreed on, the crew rolled out free of a very heavy burden. The motel was across the highway from a truck stop, which meant they had somewhere to eat. And the girls trolling the truck stop lot meant they could even have company should the mood take them.

  Buck opted for an upstairs room, knowing the rowdier guys would make the most of a motel room and women for hire. He really needed to sleep. He’d used a lot of energy keeping up with Gertie, and all the riding used the last of what he had.

  There was no booze, but of course the guys had pot. They flung their doors open wide, bikes parked out front, and eventually a handful of women crossed the highway to bum a few tokes and make a few bucks. Buck himself was enjoying a blunt on the walkway as the sky darkened, watching the revelry underneath him with amusement. That’s where Tank found him, knocking his shoulder and reaching for the joint.

  Buck passed it over while exhaling. “You’re not down there, big guy?”

  Tank shrugged. “Nah. That’s some nasty, used-up cunt down there. Probably feels like leather. More Knuckles’ speed than mine.”

  Buck laughed at that, taking back his joint.

  “What about you?” Tank pressed. “Your dick on lockdown now?”

  Now it was Buck’s turn to shrug. “I guess. Not hurting for want of it at the moment.”

  They stayed side-by-side, Buck with elbows on the railing and Tank resting on his hands as laughter and squeals drifted up to them.

  “She solid?” Tank asked after a moment. “You trust her to deal with this?”

  Buck exhaled, handing his joint over again. “I’m letting her in bit by bit. So far she seems okay. She’s a bit … I don’t know. I want to say accepting, but that’s not quite right. She just trusts me, goes along with everything, doesn’t question anything -”

  “Naïve,” Tank provided.

  Buck stood straight. “Hey,” he protested.

  Tank shrugged. “Sorry, but cut to the chase, man. She knows a bit, not everything, and she has no idea what you’re really into.”

  Buck sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. That’s it then.”

  “She has to know just enough to take it seriously,” Tank advised. “Like Trinny or Jolene. They know when shit is getting bad, but they don’t demand the details. They just want warning when people might be shooting shit up.”

  Buck nodded. “You’re right. Of course.”

  “Unless this broad doesn’t have staying power,” Tank continued. “If she’s just a lay then there’s no point telling her anything.”

  Buck bristled but held his shit together. “She’s more than a lay,” he admitted.

  Tank nodded. “Then she has to know who our enemies are. And who she can trust. At the very least. Details, of course not. But anything that keeps her alive she should know.”

  Buck had to mull that over. Again, he wasn’t worried about how much that woman was meaning to him already. But he had to worry about her now, and he had to wonder how Jayce left his wife and kids. How Mickey did it.

  Tank held the last bit of pot out to him and Buck waved it away. “I gotta get some shut-eye. Long day, long night.”

  “G’night.”

  “Night Tank.” He left Tank standing on the walkway, shutting his door and falling asleep on top of the covers with his jeans and T-shirt on.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Gertie tapped her nail on the water glass in front of her. She was fidgety and nervous, twitchy. She was in the restaurant of the hotel she was staying at, and the friends of a drug dealer were meeting her.

  How the hell did she find herself here?

  Gertie motioned for the waitress to bring her another rum and cola. Drinking could be a terrible idea right then, but her hands were shaking terribly. Her phone gave off a little jingle, signifying a text message. So she angled it upwards and smiled, even as her stomach clenched a bit. It was from Buck. You get to Vancouver OK?

  Not checking up on her, not pestering her with a phone call. Just checking in. That was nice. Got here fine. Just had supper. Miss you.

  She set the phone down after typing her response and the waitress set down a fresh drink in front of her. She smiled her thanks and took a drink just as two men entered the restaurant, clearly not hotel guests though she wasn’t sure what tipped her off exactly. Just a gut feeling, she supposed.

  They were both nicely dressed, one a bit more casual than the other in dark jeans and a long-sleeve button down, untucked. The other wore proper trousers and a shirt under a sports coat, no tie. The one in jeans was huge and she guessed he was protection. The other resembled an accountant. They were Native American, or Canadians used the term First Nations people. The large fellow had long, straight black hair and ridiculous cheekbones, almost the stereotypical Hiawatha look. The well-dressed one had a short buzz cut and a few extra pounds, still handsome as well. And he was holding a bulging, manila-colored envelope.

  Gertie’s mouth ran dry as her phone gave off the text cue, suddenly too loud and attention-grabbing. But she kept her eyes on the two men heading straight for her, swallowing her nerves and looking around the restaurant to see who was staring at them. Because surely someone must see this happening.

  But everyone, meaning the other three people at one table still enjoying post-meal cocktails, were stubbornly Canadian and minding their own damn business. Gertie turned eyes back to her guests as the large one slid into the booth opposite from her, the sports coat guy sitting right next to her.

  Gertie slid further over, closer to the wall, bringing her drink with her. She held onto it with both hands, willing them to stop shaking. She wasn’t going to be the first to speak, either. Her stomach was in her throat, clogging up her vocal chords.

  With noticeably calmer hands the buzz cut guy slid her phone closer to her, quite considerate, really. The big fella just stared at her.

  Obviously Buzz Cut was the guy to do the talking.

  “Here it is,” he said smoothly, placing the envelope on the table in front of her. “They know how many are packed inside, so no sampling. They’re individually packaged in baggies, not bottles. You’d be surprised how many people think pill bottles are a good way to ship shit like this.”

  Gertie wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh. It didn’t seem possible.

  That’s when Buzz Cut broke a grin. “Relax, girl. Jesus, you’re tense and I can’t tell if that white is just your Irish blood or nerves.”

  “I’m mostly French,” she muttered, realizing at that moment it sounded pathetic.

  Buzz Cut laughed. “Sorry. You all look the same to me. You know what to do, honey. Send it to your office, then you’ll get instructions on the next step.” He lost the smile. “That envelope is worth half a million dollars, by the way. So be careful.”

  Gertie nodded, swallowed, and tried talking again. “Okay. I will.”

  He nodded, then reaching into the breast pocket of his sports coat. He pulled out a small bag, placing it at the edge of the table. There were two small, orange pills inside she recognized right away. “For you,” he said, smile returning. “Maybe just take half if you’re drinking, though. It’ll help you relax, get some sleep.”

  Gertie quickly slid her hand overtop the pills, tucking them into her palm, out of sight.

  With another glare from the big guy the two stood and left as smoothly as they’d arrived. Free of their gaze Gertie sunk the rest of her rum and cola, hands trembling freely now. The pills she slid into her purse, on the bench seat next to her. She’d nearly crushed it against the wall. With those same shaky hands she grabbed her phone to see who had texted her right before they arrive
d and her skin shrank. It was from Buck: Miss you too.

  Guilt. So much guilt. She felt like dog shit. She downed the rest of the highball, left cash on the tray for her meal and tab, then carried the envelope with her to the elevator.

  Gertie wasn’t a criminal mastermind. She’d tried pot and acid and mushrooms. And okay, maybe she got prescription pain killers from questionable sources. But never in her life had she felt as though it was painfully apparent she was breaking many important, scary laws all at once. Every person looking at her must have known what was in that envelope. At any moment someone was going to tackle her, slap her in cuffs and haul her off to Canadian prison.

  She didn’t know if Canadian prison was bad, though. Maybe it wasn’t as rough. But no, she’d likely be extradited. That was her luck.

  The elevator doors closed with her safely inside, letting out her breath in relief. Back sagging against the wall, Gertie hugged the envelope to her chest, feeling the bubble packing shifting inside. This was going to work. It had to work.

  Although, getting caught might be okay. At least it would be out of her hands, someone else deciding what had to happen next instead of these dealers picking out projects for her. But then what happens to her dad?

  On the tenth floor Gertie stepped off the elevator and headed for her room, extra wary of the couple she passed in the hallway. They were clearly dating but she was suspicious anyway. Her key card was in hand without her realizing she’d gone for it and she let herself into her room, flipping the light on immediately. She set the envelope down on the hotel dresser next to the sleek TV, eyeing it like it might grow legs and horns at any minute.

  Gertie dug her phone out of her purse, sliding through her contacts until she found her father’s number. Her thumb hovered over the call option while she debated. It would kill him to know she had been asked to do this because of him. But Gertie was worried about her father. He had a bounty? Who the fuck put bounties on people anymore?

  With a loud sigh she set her phone down on the nightstand. She’d at least wait until she got back home before calling him. Maybe it would be better to ask in person, come to think of it.

  A part of her really wanted to call Buck, hear his voice and feel better for it. But she likely sounded strung out, he’d know something was up and he would probably worry. He seemed to know when she was off. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but it certainly felt like they were a couple now, not just friends with benefits. Gertie hated that term but it was better than fuck buddies.

  It had happened naturally, without ceremony or words. Just an accepted, unspoken plan that every available night she’d be with him. Now that she knew he had his own place that might make it less awkward. And even sharing the presence of that house with her was something special, she could tell. He hadn’t stayed there or unpacked the TV, and he was a guy so the TV thing spoke volumes, but then he asked her to spend the night there with him. She wasn’t going girl on this and seeing something that wasn’t there.

  This was something big. Important.

  And she was keeping something from him already. Something big that would make him never trust her, probably. Something that he might try to protect her from and catch more trouble than she was in herself.

  Gertie’s head was spinning, aching, and her entire body was tight with worry and regret. And plenty of stress. She stood, slipping out of the skirt and blouse she’d travelled in and worked most of an eight-hour day wearing. She pulled out the flannel pants and T-shirt she’d packed for pajamas and turned on the TV but everything was just ultra-annoying.

  That’s when she remembered the free sample Buzz Cut had left her. She scrambled to her purse, her body relaxing somewhat just from looking at those little orange circles.

  The dealer back home had warned her only take one and never while drinking, and Buzz Cut said considering her drink she should just take half.

  She took Buzz Cut’s advice, downing half a tablet with water from the tap and sunk into the big, fluffy hotel bed, eyes on the TV. The rest of the night was a blank.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  There was a knock on the motel room door at eight in the morning, and that was what brought Buck out of his sleep. He stumbled to the door still dressed, scratching his head and covering a yawn. He rearranged his crotch before opening the door too; he’d apparently been expecting to wake up next to Gertie.

  Jayce was on the other side of the door. He jerked his head to the highway as soon as Buck set eyes on him. “Going for breakfast, wanna come?”

  The truck stop across the way was open, crowded. Nothing like a greasy spoon breakfast, and he knew everyone else had been up late. Jayce needed company. So Buck nodded. “Yeah, I gotta get my boots on.”

  Jayce waited on the walkway as Buck yanked on his boots and kutte, since Jayce was wearing his as well. Outside on the walkway he stretched and locked his room, noting how silent it now was. He’d been woken up to rowdy shenanigans of some kind or another the night before a few times, and as the two hit the blacktop of the parking lot he had to chuckle at the articles of clothing and used condoms on the ground. Jesus, one night they hadn’t even planned for and they got up to all this.

  Tank was leaning on his own bike with a cigarette, wordlessly getting to his feet and leading the way across the silent highway to the hopping diner. The three of them took a seat next to the window, sinking onto the vinyl benches and asking the waitress for coffee before Jayce got to the point.

  “So I got a call from Guido this morning,” Jayce said.

  The Nomad president always seemed to have his ear to the ground, so this was likely all bad news. “Okay,” Buck prompted, moving back so the waitress could fill his coffee mug. They were silent as she did that two more times before moving on.

  “Mad Gypsys have offered to cut them in on their shipments if they move it through Markham.”

  Tank snorted. “So what’s Guido say to that?” Anthony Portelli may have been a loyal ally, but he still liked money as much as anyone else.

  Jayce shook his head. “He says he told them no. But the Gypsys really want their help. They’ve got someone pushing them to make faster deliveries, more often. Markham’s off the main freeway. It’s safer.”

  “Well, if they aren’t running shit into Bakersfield for G-Town, what is it then?” Buck frowned. “If they’re heading north … what are they pushing?”

  Jayce shot a look at Tank and then came back to Buck. “Thebaine.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “An opiate,” Tank provided. “They use it to make oxycodone hydrochloride.”

  Buck’s sleep was totally forgotten now. “No shit?”

  “They’re providing the supplies to whoever the fuck is making that home-brew Oxy. Not just helping traffic it.”

  “I don’t suppose they told Guido who was making it before he had a chance to turn down the gig,” Tank mused sarcastically, looking over his menu.

  Of course not. No one’s that stupid.

  “They must be desperate,” Jayce determined, closing his menu and setting it on the side of the table. “They know the Nomads are our associates.”

  “Or it’s all bullshit,” Buck guessed. “False information.”

  Jayce nodded. “Exactly.”

  That’s when their waitress, Jenny, returned and they ordered their meals without much small talk. When Jenny was gone again they resumed their conversation.

  “So we watch for someone other than Gypsys travelling around our yard?” Tank guessed. “Could they move that shit on bikes or would it be a truck?”

  Jayce shrugged. “Hard to say. Broken up in small batches on bikes would be safer. Easier to send out bit by bit. But let’s say they are desperate, and someone’s breathing down their necks to get this Oxy enterprise rolling, they could have enough to pay off highway patrol. I honestly don’t know.”

  Buck snapped his fingers. “What was that girl’s name?” he mused, frowning at Tank.

  Tank was nodding a
s he said, “Yeah yeah, the blonde skank.”

  “No,” Jayce was insisting already, hand up. “Not talking to Jessica.”

  “Jessica!” Tank and Buck exclaimed together, laughing.

  The blonde in question used to be a club regular. As in, Friday night entertainment. But there comes a time when a woman gets so used up she’s not much entertainment anymore. Jessica had also fallen hard into meth, last Buck heard. Some of the girls said she was hooking in Bakersfield. She was almost a cautionary tale of the danger of addiction. He was sure she was the sole property of G-Town now, just for the sake of her next high.

  She’d also had a raging crush on Jayce.

  “She’ll likely know at least some of the rumors,” Buck pointed out. “At least enough to tell us if this was a false leak or if the Gypsys really are in need of help with this shit. She might even know who’s pushing them.”

  Jayce sighed, running both hands over his short hair. “Trinny can’t know we hunted her down. And I don’t want to be the one talking to her.”

  “You have to be one of the ones she talks to,” Tank almost whined. “You’re probably the only one she will talk to.”

  Jayce sighed again as a cell rang, then the Prez was saved from the conversation as he realized it was him. He shifted sideways to pull his burner out of his back pocket. Buck took a sip of his coffee and grinned at Tank across the table. Yeah, Trinny knew which girls had a thing for her old man. She’d be pissed that they went looking for Jessica, no matter how used up and rank that old sweetbutt might be by now.

  The girl was self-serving, as were most addicts. All they had to do was dangle something in front of her she wanted and she was as fucking lucid as a preacher on Sunday.

  “Ah,” Jayce mumbled. “Downey.”

  That caused another look between Tank and Buck that made them both snort. “Tell Sheriff Sugar Tits we say hi,” Tank chuckled quietly as Jayce flipped his phone open.

  “Sheriff Downey,” Jayce said as a greeting, shaking his head at Tank. “What can we do for you?”