Enforcer's Price

by Sarah Hawthorne

  He gave my arm one last squeeze before he released it, and I let it go slack at my side. A hundred invisible needles poked me as the blood started to rush back. Rolling my shoulder a bit to work out the kinks, I turned to face him. He wasn’t going to leave me alone until we had it out. A public schoolyard was the safest place to be. I waited for the first shot.

  “I supported your ass for two fucking years. You owe me. I need some money and fuckin’ fast.”

  He got up so close to me, I could smell his breath. Like rotting garbage. He hadn’t showered in a while, probably not since before he came to my apartment two days ago. I wanted to step back, but I couldn’t show him any fear. He lived for that. So instead I let him have it.

  “I was pregnant and then raising our newborn, you asshole. I don’t owe you shit. Get the fuck out of my way.”

  He snaked his arm out and wound it around my waist. Half dragging me down the sidewalk, he whispered in my ear. “I don’t have time for your shit. I need some money and I need it fucking now. So let me tell you what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get it for me. As much as you can.”

  By now, we were walking stiffly down the sidewalk, his arm around my hips. We probably looked like any other couple dropping their kid off at school. I could scream and someone would come running, but that would mean the cops.

  “I don’t owe you anything. You’re supposed to be paying me child support anyway. Where the hell is that?”

  We were well away from the school now. He gripped my waist with his fingers. “You’re gonna do what I say, bitch. Otherwise I’m gonna tell your new boy that you’re a whore.”

  I froze. How did Robby know about Colt?

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. Was he following me, watching me?

  Robby grinned, his yellow teeth peeking out from below his lip. “The guy that fucked me up. He’d only do that if he was getting some.”

  I sighed. At least Robby wasn’t stalking me again. But I couldn’t resist needling him.

  “Too late. He knows I’m a whore and wants me for me, and so fuck you, Robby. He’s a real man.”

  I couldn’t believe how liberating it was to say that. Yup, Colt liked me for me. He didn’t care that I was a whore. Too bad I had turned him down and he wasn’t really my boyfriend. Colt couldn’t protect me, but I wasn’t about to tell Robby that.

  “Then I’m gonna call CPS. Tell them you’re a fucking whore. They’ll take Becky so fast it’ll knock the tassels clean off your tits.”

  I laughed. He was living in a dreamland.

  “Yeah and they’ll drug test your ass and you’ll land yourself in jail. Nice try.”

  Turning, I pushed away from him and started walking down the wet sidewalk. Surprisingly, he just let me escape. He didn’t even have the balls to finish threatening me.

  * * *

  I did a couple loads of laundry while Becky was at school. Damn, my shoulder hurt from where Robby wrenched my arm back. It would heal. Robby liked to threaten, but he never did anything that caused permanent injuries.

  Colt would never have treated me that way. Even after that disastrous encounter where I ran off when he was kissing me, he wasn’t angry, just confused. Hell, I was confused. I knew I wanted him, but as soon as he touched me, I had a hard time telling my brain to just shut off and enjoy what was happening.

  Around noon, I ran across the way to pay Señora Lopez, Becky’s babysitter. She was a nice old lady who watched two other girls from Becky’s school, but damn, was she expensive. Of course, she taught the girls how to make scrambled eggs and did crafts. They were already learning fractions using measuring cups. The other babysitters I had interviewed were all meth heads who just needed the cash. Señora Lopez loved children.

  Counting the money out was painful. There wasn’t much left after I paid the babysitter, paid my rent and kept a little bit back for utilities. If not for the guys at the club and my tricks, I would barely have enough to live.

  “Señora, would you be able to take Becky this week after school? I know this isn’t our current schedule, but I need to work days for the rest of the week. I’ve got tonight off for Becky’s dance lessons, but can you pick her up from the bus stop the rest of the week?”

  I wanted to cross my fingers and my toes. I wanted to say “lucky” a hundred times with my eyes closed. I wanted her to say yes.

  “Of course, my dear. Is there some sort of emergency?” The old woman was truly concerned. She put her hand on my arm, and I winced. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh no, no. Someone is on vacation at work and I’m just filling in for them.”

  The old woman smiled. “I was hoping you had a man.” She shrugged. “You always seem so sad, a little lonely. A man might do you good. But not one who does that.” She looked pointedly at my arm.

  She was right. I wanted someone in my life who didn’t leave bruises.

  Tonight was dance lesson night. Colt had said he would come. I wondered if he would keep his promise. It was important to Becky—and to me. I needed to somehow redeem myself after the scene in my room at the club.

  “My man wouldn’t do that.” I smiled. I was already thinking of him as my man. Colt wouldn’t dare leave bruises on me or touch me in anger. Robby had an intensity that had a hard edge to it. But Colt had intensity shot through with passion. He was the man I wanted.

  Chapter Ten

  Colt

  I ate a sandwich and looked over the club’s finances one last time as I waited for Tate to get there. The Storm Kings were in good shape financially, no disputing that. But things had declined since Torque had died. Krista had done a good job with the numbers, but everything slumped when Bear had taken over. The number of shipments from overseas was the same, but payouts were smaller. Either the casino was taking a larger cut, or someone was skimming after everything hit port.

  Could Krista have somehow learned the club’s weaknesses in that short time she was acting bookkeeper? Hell, she didn’t even really need access to the books to skim. She just needed knowledge of where and when the ships would dock, then she could grab her share. As the club bartender, she had plenty of opportunity to hear idle discussion of times and details when the guys hung around the clubhouse.

  I shook my head. As a single mom, she had to juggle the kid and work. I doubted she had time to slip down to the docks for a little theft.

  Bear, on the other hand, had plenty of time. He worked part-time in the legit side of the club’s towing business. He knew the details of all of the shipments, and knew just when it would be hardest to track a theft. I’d have to wait to meet him, make my judgment call then.

  Tate must be running late. I dug deeper into the box of papers he gave me. There were some invoices for his old lady’s catering business and a W-2 form for Krista. Fuck. It was her personal information, I shouldn’t be looking at it. I put it back in the box, facedown. I stared at the back of the form before I picked it up again. I was a fucking asshole. I looked.

  She was twenty-four years old and took two deductions, herself and the kid. She gave her address as the same little apartment she was in now, so she had lived there a while. Her signature was clear and precise. I could see every single letter, formed with loopy old-fashioned script. Looked like she had signed the Declaration of Independence. I wondered if her grandma taught her how to write like that.

  Time to get my mind on the job. I’d called my club’s VP, Hawkeye, last night. He wasn’t surprised with what I’d found so far, but he didn’t like it either. The club was solvent, but if something was causing them to leak product and money, they were fucked. We were heading to the port today to talk to their customs guy. I hoped he was not the problem. Tate needed the money drain fixed before the patch-over. Otherwise Volk, our prez, wasn’t going to agree to any sort of partnership.

  The door open
ed and Tate walked in. He grabbed a barstool next to me and sat down. “What do you need Krista’s W-2 for?”

  I could have just said nothing and shoved it in the stack. But I couldn’t resist asking. Something wasn’t quite right. Most clubs were moving toward a hybrid model of both legal and illegal money flow. But club women, they were always under the table.

  “Just looking. It’s odd that she’s a bartender. When we have bitches around the clubhouse, they usually don’t draw an hourly wage. It’s more of a per suck kind of thing.”

  The old man shrugged. “She’s our bartender. She does wrangle the whores from the strip club whenever we have parties. There’s always a piece of ass around if you really need one. You want one sent over? I got the impression you liked your pussy one at a time.”

  I nodded. No point in denying it. As fucking crazy as it was, I wanted one woman: her.

  “One is enough for me. Looking to settle down for a while.”

  Tate laughed. “I thought so. I saw the way you were looking at her that night. You need me to play matchmaker?”

  I’d made a mess of it so far. The last thing I wanted was to get Krista’s boss involved. I shook my head. Besides, Tate and I needed to get down to business. “Come on, let’s go.”

  The port wasn’t far from the clubhouse. San Bernardino was inland, so I’d never been to a port before. The south side of the property held huge warehouses full of goods that had been unpacked from shipping containers or were waiting to be loaded. Out on a huge asphalt pad, thousands of rectangular containers lined up like rusty building blocks. The water was a never-ending parade of ships. Big, small, tugboats. All of them waiting to be unloaded so they could turn around and head back to Alaska, Asia and Africa. The loading and unloading docks were busy as hell. Over forty truck bays were all packed, with lines of trucks waiting for their turn.

  “Our guy is over here.” Tate wound his way through the miles of trucks and containers until we found a series of temporary buildings set up as offices. Tate found the right one and banged on the door.

  The customs office had a big metal desk shoved up against one wall, covered with a computer and paperwork. The rest of the office was a storage place for bankers boxes, the kind the feds stored records in. They were probably full of forms filled out in triplicate.

  The guy who invited us into the office was a greaseball. His hair was slicked back and his forehead shined like chrome exhaust pipes. I didn’t trust him. He and Tate made small talk and the more this guy yakked, the more I wanted to punch him.

  He fidgeted with his hands in his pockets, making his cheap slacks billow out over and over. He was nervous. From where I was standing, I could see a Rolex on his wrist and a thick gold chain around his neck. He was a goddamn government employee. He didn’t make enough money to buy that kinda shit legally. If he didn’t know how to hide his money, he was gonna get caught. If he got caught, that meant the Storm Kings were gonna get caught.

  At home, I would have suggested we fix this problem with a gun. But we didn’t have that choice up here. It might take years to find another customs agent to look the other way. We were stuck with this guy.

  Tate crossed his arms over his chest. “So what’s been happening with our shipments? Why are amounts changing after they hit the port?”

  “Hey, man, don’t look at me. I just sign off on the ships that dock.” He stuck his hands in his pocket and fucked with his fingers. “I don’t have any authority over what’s inside those hulls, or what happens when they get to the warehouse. Alls I do is check ’em in and rubber-stamp ’em for you. That’s all we agreed.”

  He was a real credit to the United States government. Head down, doing just enough not to get his ass fired or arrested.

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Explain to me how this process works.”

  The guy shrugged. “Ships are assigned times and locations when they can dock. I make sure shipments that belong to the Kings are docked in my areas. I do a quick count of what you’ve received. Then I inspect and issue a writ sayin’ it’s electronic equipment or something. Something that won’t cause an audit. Then I give the Kings a call and they come pick it up.”

  Tate finished for him. “And by the time it gets to the warehouse, someone has skimmed off it already.”

  If this guy did the initial count, he would have no reason to skim after it was completed. It would be more believable if the original count was wrong.

  Blinding light filled the room and I turned to see that the door had opened. An older man in a rumpled suit stepped into the office. I looked to the greaseball, whose jaw was hanging open. He wasn’t going to be able to think fast enough to get us out of this. Shit.

  “George Sayer, United States Customs.” The suit held out his hand to me with a tight smile. He didn’t like us being there. His gaze kept darting back to the greaseball.

  Fuck. I had to come up with something. Fast. Something believable, otherwise Tate and I were gonna spend the rest of our lives in the Federal Pen.

  I couldn’t risk looking at Tate for confirmation—I was going to have to wing this on my own.

  “Colt. I’m working with the Storm Kings here in Tacoma. Your coworker has been graciously volunteering for our annual toy drive that’s coming up this December. Would you like to make a donation for the cause? We’re supporting a local shelter for foster kids.”

  “Uhhh...” The greaseball played in his goddamn pockets again. I wish I knew the guy’s name. Dropping it would have made my lie more believable.

  “You pledged three hundred dollars, Connor. You said you were gonna pay up today.” Points for Tate. All we needed was for George the Suit to buy the lie. Then, we’d be home free.

  George glared at his employee. “Damn it, Connor. No personal business while you’re on the clock. Sorry, guys, but you’re going to have to go.” He propped the door open for us.

  Tate and I left like our goddamn pants were on fire. We made it all the way out to the parking lot before we busted up.

  After a long laugh, I sobered and turned to him. “Who usually handles your communication with the agent?”

  Tate put on his helmet. “Me. Bear handles the transport. That’s why I sent him to Portland with the other guys. I wanted to make sure he was out of the picture and talk to the customs agent myself.”

  I nodded and we pulled out of there. Shit. There were so many fucking scenarios here, I might never get down to it. The most obvious answer was that it was Bear or another club member, but I’d need more proof than just the greasy customs guy.

  Less likely, the suppliers were playing some sort of shitty sleight of hand game. They were somehow packaging the counterfeit bills so that when Connor did the initial count on the ship, he came up with one number, but by the time the guys had it in the warehouse and did a real count, they saw another number.

  I needed to spend some quality time with Bear. It was good that he was in Portland so Tate and I could get to know each other, but I was still seeing only half the picture. Damn. Was Tate trying to confuse me? Or was Bear really behind this? I ran scenarios through my head until we got back to the clubhouse. Bottom line, I wasn’t gonna know until I met Bear.

  Fuck. Why had Volk and Hawkeye chosen me? If we never found any hard evidence, this whole situation would just boil down to me making a judgment call about the identity of the skimmer, and my track record sucked as hard as a hooker late on her rent. I had thought things were great with Tina until I woke up with a gun in my face and a search warrant on my chest. I never saw it coming. And now I was setting myself up for it all over again. What did I really know about Krista?

  We got back to the club and I headed inside. It was nearly three o’clock. Becky needed to leave for dance lessons, and I needed to see her hot mom.

  I turned to Tate as we walked into the bar. “Hey, can I borrow your t
ruck again?” Fuck if I didn’t feel like I was asking Dad to borrow the car.

  Tate turned to me and nodded. “Look, I know you wanna fuck Krista.” He blew out a breath. “But there’s something you need to know.”

  I cut him off. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But nothing about her concerns me. Nothing is gonna happen. I’m taking the kid to dance class. And that’s it.”

  Nothing was going to happen because she’d told me to fuck off. She kicked me out of her room. Of course, I wasn’t going to say that to Tate. It hurt like a fucking stab wound that I put myself out there and got turned down—twice. But it was fine. I was just going to have to convince myself that she was a set of tits and I could find that anywhere.

  “I’m going to tell you anyway. She’s like a member of the club. She’s good people and no one wants to see her get hurt. So if you go over there and you start acting like her man, she’s gonna be your old lady.”

  Tate held out the keys to his truck. He was waiting for me to step up and claim her. I’d already tried and she shot me down. No way was I going to admit that to him.

  “You got nothing to worry about. I’m not her man. I’m just giving her kid a ride to dance lessons.”

  I grabbed the keys and left. Tate didn’t have to worry about me acting like her man. She’d made it damn clear that she wasn’t interested in being my old lady.

  Chapter Eleven

  Krista

  “But he promised!”

  Becky crossed her arms and sat on the couch, waiting. I had told her not to put on her dance outfit, but she did it anyway. She even got her tights on by herself. Now she was waiting for Colt.

  “He’s a very busy man, honey. Besides, he only has a motorcycle, remember?”

  And he’d offered me everything and I shot it back in his face. So, yeah, he probably wasn’t coming around here anymore. But, you couldn’t explain that to a kid.

  Colt not showing up was a good thing. Becky was going to learn quickly that men couldn’t be trusted. Not her dad, not Colt. I didn’t want to break her heart, but that was life. She needed to learn these lessons early.