by Nicole Fox
“Got someone your boss would probably like to see,” I said as Lydia shifted around to be able to see past me.
“Oh yeah? Who might that be?” he asked, slightly amused as he hunched down and looked in through my window. His eyes widened in shock. “Holy shit!” He grabbed a walkie talkie off his belt and hit the button. “Got a car coming up. You aint't gonna believe who's in it, either. Lydia fucking Banks.”
I glanced back at Lydia and gave her a wink. She didn't return it, though. Her face had gone almost ashen with bad nerves.
“The prodigal daughter?” crackled the voice back. “Xander came through, then, just like he said he would.”
“The one and only, Mr. Maxwell,” Red Beard said.
Mr. Maxwell? I shook my head a little, trying to remember who was who from what Xander had told me before I got sent to retrieve Lydia. The man on the radio, if I remembered correctly, was Tyson Maxwell, Joey Banks' second-in-command, his right hand man.
“Send 'em on up, then,” Tyson replied over the radio, his voice full of static. “I'll let Mr. Banks know she's returned.”
“Well,” Red Beard said as he put the radio back on his belt, “y'all heard the man. Let's get y'all on up there.”
“Right,” I said, nodding as he went over and pulled away the spike strips from the road, then went into the guard house and hit a button that raised the crossbar from the roadway.
I pulled through the gatehouse area and drove up the road to the main structure. There was a large parking lot area, not much more than an expanse of packed and reinforced earth, off to the side and I pulled the Camaro around and found a spot.
“Ready for this?” I asked Lydia again.
She swallowed, clearly nervous. “Yeah,” she rasped, nodding. “Let's go.”
We climbed out of the car and headed up to the warehouse. I wanted to put my arm around her, to reassure her that everything was going to be fine, but I didn't know who was watching. I didn't want to give anyone the impression that we'd been sleeping together. Somehow, it just seemed that might give them more leverage.
“What's your plan when we get in there?” Lydia asked as we got closer to the front entrance.
“Plan?” I asked with a shrug. “No plan, yet. No one knows anything about the way the Warehouse works, so I don't have one.”
Lydia stopped in her tracks and just looked at me. I stopped and turned to her.
She leaned in closer, her eyebrows narrows. “You mean you fucking dragged me half-way across the country, and you don't have a fucking plan yet?”
“Well,” I said, grabbing her shoulders, “you're the starting point of the plan. It's just going to take some time. That's all.”
She shook her head. “Fine, Kort, fine.” She brushed my hand from her shoulders, wiggled away from my grasp, then started back up the path. “Whatever.”
I thought she knew that I hadn't had a concrete plan once I got in – we were both playing this thing by ear. She was the biggest stumbling block to getting to her father. She knew that. “Lydia,” I growled as I came up behind her. I went to grab her shoulder, but as I did, the metal double doors of the warehouse clanged open.
A solidly built man in his late forties, early fifties, came out. He had a jaw line beard and dark, slicked back hair with hints of gray at the temples. His clothing was plain, run of the mill jeans and a t-shirt. A gun holster with a 9mm in it was tucked at his side.
“Lydia!” the man boomed boisterously as he came down the little path towards us.
“Uncle Tyson,” Lydia replied, her face surprised as he swept her into his arms and kissed her on the cheek.
“Lydia, baby girl,” Tyson said as he hugged her tight. “Damn it's been a long time! I'm so glad Xander could find you and send you along home.”
“Yeah,” Lydia said, patting his shoulders, clearly a little uncomfortable at the hug. She pulled back. “This here's Kort.”
Tyson looked her up and down again, a gleam in his eyes that I didn't quite trust, or like, before turning to me. “Kort?” Tyson said. “You Xander's man he called about just now?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Yeah. I'm the one who went and found Lydia for him.”
“Oh?” Xander said, looking back and forth between me and Lydia. “Xander said you picked her up from him a little while ago, that he had business and couldn't drop her himself.”
I clenched my fists. The motherfucker was trying to take credit from me, trying to get me in on a lower rung, probably so he could look better for Joey Banks, have something to hold over his head during future negotiations. Lydia caught my eye and shook her head, tried to get me to drop it.
I shook my head. “That's not how-”
“No worries, though, son,” he cut me off with a wave of his hand. “We'll take care of you, I guess, like Xander asked us to.” He turned back to Lydia and put his hand on her lower back in a possessive gesture, began to guide her up to the doors he'd just appeared from. “Now, come on up, baby girl, your pops has been waiting for you forever! He can't wait to see you!”
I grumbled silently to myself as I followed them inside the building. The twenty by twenty room inside was stylized like normal offices, with a Louisiana twist. Just in front of the door was an empty reception desk with a small potted plant on the desktop. A big, stuffed gator head sprouted from the wall over the heavy reinforced double doors on the opposite side of the room. One glance at those doors told you that it was the portal to the true Warehouse.
“Not too impressive is it?” Tyson asked as he guided Lydia around the desk and deeper into the Warehouse with his hand on the small of her back. “The real show's on the other side of them doors, there.”
A sudden image of Tyson's wrist snapping like a twig, along with every single bone in his creole hand flashed into my mind. I could use a hammer to do it, maybe some tongs to hold it in place.
“How about you, Quart?” Tyson asked as we came to stop in front of the doors. “You impressed yet?”
“Kort,” I growled as I stepped up beside them. “Name's Kort.”
Tyson shrugged and laughed as he pulled open the door and led us inside. “Welcome, everybody, to the Warehouse.”
I whistled low as I stopped on the other side of Lydia from Tyson. He was right. The Warehouse was damned impressive. I'd never been in a cathedral before, but standing in the Warehouse was what I imagined standing in one would be like. Only instead of it being a monument to God and the audacity of man it was a temple to greed. This was a place drugs had built, drugs and filthy lucre.
Goods were stacked high on shelves, reaching nearly fifty feet up to the ceiling. A wave of vertigo passed through me for a moment as I looked up at the towering structures and imagined what this would all look like if it came crashing down. Men worked with forklifts, taking down product and putting up product, a hurricane of ordered chaos, all dedicated to moving goods, drugs, money, and cash to the wider world.
“Wow,” Lydia gasped beside me.
“Fuck, lady. You said it.”
Tyson turned back to me. “Alright, Quart, this is your stop.”
I gritted my teeth and had to keep my fists from balling at my side for the slight of him misremembering my name again.
“Xander and I discussed it on our call, and we got some work you might be built for. Go talk to the foreman, Theodore, and he'll get you setup for your stay here.”
Work? That's now how this was supposed to go. Not at all. I looked past him, to Lydia, but she just turned her eyes from me. My heart sunk when she glanced away. She was in it, fully back in it, wasn't she? She'd just used me as her ride back, knowing full well what my plans were. I opened my mouth, went to say something, but shut it immediately.
I shook my head, knowing I'd lost my shot. At least for today. There'd be other opportunities, though. The hardest part of this job had been getting in, hadn't it?
“Theodore?” I finally asked.
“Down yonder,” he said, pointing off down the way.
“Tell him you're the one I told him about, he'll get you started.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Uh, thanks.”
Tyson nodded and I turned, began my meandering path through the huge Warehouse, boxes and goods swirling all around me as men moved the lifeblood of the underground economy.
I shook my head again and glanced back to Lydia and Tyson, but they were already gone, disappeared into the bowels of the Warehouse like so much drugs and money. I still couldn't believe she'd betrayed me like that. So easily, so quickly. I hit a stack of good with my fists, rocking it back and forth.
That was fine. I could bring down Joey Banks' empire all on my own, if I had to. This was just a setback. Who cared if Lydia had abandoned me at her first opportunity? Who cared if she'd already forgotten how I pretty much saved her life. Twice. Who cared that she'd never cared about me?
Who cared if I actually cared about her?
Fuck Lydia Banks.
I worked better alone anyways.
Chapter Fifteen
Lydia
I knew I had feelings for Kort. Last night in the motel room had become about more than just sex, and we both knew it. But sometimes you have to push away those you care about when you need to accomplish a greater goal. I'd learned that much from Pops. I turned back to see if I could catch one last glimpse of him before I walked into the lion's den beside my adopted uncle, but the handsome thug had already disappeared into the stacks of God only knew what. My shoulders sagged with the pain of having missed one more glimpse.
“Now, come on,” Uncle Tyson said as he led me deeper in, up to the building, towards the nerve center of the whole operation, “your father is waiting.”
I threaded my way through the mess of men and equipment and inventory, hot on the heels of Uncle Tyson as he took us to a set of industrial steel stairs that led up to a darkened management office overlooking the whole operation. Uncle Tyson swept his eyes back over me as we made it to the landing, a wide grin on his face. His eyes seemed to linger on my breasts a little too long, and I crossed my arms over my chest, turned away from his gaze.
Tyson Maxwell had been with my pops since before I was born. A few years younger than him, Uncle Tyson had always been a strong voice of reason in his ear, and a doting parental figure in my life. He and my mother had been close, even dated for a little bit before she and my pops got together, even though it went nowhere. Tessa, my mother, had always been a strong woman, and Uncle Tyson just hadn't done much for her, I guess.
Tyson had always been like the uncle I'd never had. A shoulder to cry on when I scraped my knee, or a guy who would give me and man's point of view when I had trouble with my boyfriend. I trusted him, even if he had stayed by my father’s side after he'd killed my mother. I knew he had loyalty to my family, and that was important.
But there was still something I needed to know. I'd seen the security coming in, the cameras, all of it. This was costing a fortune, and I knew it. This was the kind of money you spent when you were head of a third world country. So, why was he doing it, then? Why was he spending this kind of money for this kind of security?
“Uncle Tyson,” I said as we stood up on the landing, looking down at all the worker drones loading and unloading product, “I want you to be honest with me.”
“Sure, baby girl, anything you want.”
“All this? This building, and buying up that town, hiring the soldiers? Why did he do it?”
His eyes shifted a little, as if he was looking for an acceptable answer he could give me. “Joey, he's got enemies. You've known since before you left that he had enemies, lots of 'em, people who wanted to get at him.” He sucked air through his teeth, an unpleasant sound. “This is his way of protecting himself from them.”
I glanced from his face to the men below them. “Uh . . . huh. You believe that?”
Tyson chuckled. “Why wouldn't I? Joey saved my life, didn't he? He's taken care of me, hasn't he? This is just me letting him feel safe, baby girl. That's all.”
“It's expensive, though, Tyson. Isn't it? How many guys do you have here?”
“Just fifty or so of the soldiers,” he replied, trying to shrug the numbers off.
I tensed up as, together, the three of us went inside.
The lights in the office were shut off, the only illumination coming from screen after screen after screen of security camera footage. A stink of old cigar smoke filled the air, permeating the walls and carpet. My pops sure did love his cigars. Their stale smell had always clung to my clothes, wrinkling the noses of all the other kids in school.
I suddenly realized I could end this thing, right then and there. I could give him what he deserved for hurting mother. I could just finally end my five years of non-stop running and hiding. But could I really? Did I have it in me to kill him, like I'd told Kort I did? Having your potential victim right there in front of you is something completely different from just talking about it in some abstract way.
“Who's that?” asked an old and decrepit sounding voice.
“I brought Lydia,” Tyson said eagerly as he pulled me along next to him. “She's come back to you, Joey!”
I took a step back as a sunken, yellowed face emerged from the shadows like the villain of a child's scary story, the sallow muscle and fat hanging from his bones. “Lydia? My girl? You're back from your trip?”
Pops was barely a man, nothing like I remembered. Before, he'd been strong and sure of himself, with thick arms and a barrel chest, a long mane of hair hanging to his shoulders. Now his hair was long gone, his shoulders thin and wracked with a weak cough, his eyes glassy and barely focused. He wore a yellowing wife-beater, and the sour smell of death and body odor mixed with the cigar smoke that hung around him.
“From your trip?” he asked again, his voice weak and tinny.
“Jesus,” I said as I tentatively stepped forward, my nose wrinkling at the smell. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“You came back from New York, dear!” he said, stepping closer to me, that smell of long overdue death just growing stronger. “Oh, dear, it's so good to see you! Your mother will be so happy to hear you're home. Tessa's been talking about you nonstop for days now, weeks even, wondering when you'd return.”
I glanced at Uncle Tyson in the darkness. “Mother?” I asked uncertainly. “What does he fucking mean?”
Tyson smiled sadly and shrugged. “He's, well . . . his memory ain't what it used to be.”
“Pops?” I asked as I took a shaky step closer. “I haven't been on vacation. I was hiding from you, don't you remember?”
“Hiding?” he asked, laughing and shaking his head, then coughing wetly. “You haven't been hiding! You and I haven't played anything like that since you were a little girl. You're practically a woman now, Lydia.”
Had he really lost it? Or was all this some stupid act on his part to put me off my game? Or, did he really not remember? I felt my face harden, my teeth gritting together, my jaw muscles clenching. “Mom’s not around anymore,” I growled. “You killed her-”
Beside me, Uncle Tyson tried to step in, to interrupt me, but I kept going.
“You beat her to death!”
He staggered back into the shadows, a look of confusion on his face as he shook his head. “No, no, no, no. I didn't do that. Why would you say that about your old man? Why would you lie about me like that?”
There was movement behind him, I realized. Before I could do anything, two men rose up out of the shadows, from behind desks and came up to flank my father. Both were massive, built almost as big as Kort, and they walked with a confident, deadly ease.
“You're with them,” he said, the last word almost a hiss. “Aren't you, girl? You're with the men trying to get at me!”
Now it was my turn to be confused. “What?” I asked as I shook my head and took a step back. “No, I just want you to admit what you did, that's all. You can't act like it didn't happen!”
“The only thing I did,” the old man roared unexpectedl
y, flecks of foam flying from his lips as he seemed to bite at the words like a mad dog, “was spoiling you too damned much by sparing the rod! Pork Chop, get hold of her!”
“Yes sir, Mr. Banks.” One of the security guards darted forward through the shadows and snatched my arm, pulled me close.
I struggled away from him, fighting to get my nails at his face, to put a finger in his eye. Pork Chop was too strong, though, and he twisted my arm up behind my back as he jerked his face away from my grasping hand. “Stop struggling,” he growled in my ear, “or you'll find out what a dislocated shoulder feels like.”
I struggled again, then grunted as pain shot through my arm and shoulder.
