Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Well, shit. Didn’t that little nugget of info give him an opening? “What’re we pickin’ up?”
“Cilantro.”
“What’re we really pickin’ up?”
“Cilantro.”
A snort shot out of Decker’s nose. “Wolf’s got me workin’ at Pizza Town. Know what’s in the fuckin’ pizza boxes when I deliver them.” Chewie didn’t need to know that Decker hadn’t actually delivered any pizzas yet. “Ain’t no way that pizza shop needs a fuckin’ trailer load of cilantro.”
“Did I fuckin’ say that’s where the cilantro’s goin’? Ever think we’re takin’ it to a food distributor?”
“Are we? And if we are and the load’s just cilantro, why the fuck am I along for protection?”
“Ain’t my call. All the protection I need’s right here.” Chewie patted the small of his back.
Dumbass was carrying across state lines. That could catch him a federal charge. Especially if he was an ex-con.
Even so, Chewie wasn’t the only one packing in that tractor cab.
“Yeah, so, I can pretty much figure out on my own what we’re haulin’ back from the border. Ain’t a secret what’s fillin’ the club’s coffers and givin’ the DDMC enough scratch to buy up businesses. So, you can tell me we’re haulin’ cilantro and I get that’s probably true but that ain’t all we’re haulin’ since our club’s makin’ a fuckload of scratch with more than just sellin’ weed.”
“Ever heard the sayin’ curiosity killed the fuckin’ cat?” He twisted his head and met Decker’s eyes. “Word of advice, it could kill you, too. Bein’ a prospect, you’re disposable. Remember that.”
Nice threat. Not subtle at all. “I was told to come along as protection. Need to know what the fuck I’m protectin’.”
“Figured Viper woulda told you if he wanted you to know.”
“Screw told me to go with you, not Viper. And he didn’t get into details ‘cause when he ordered me to go along with you, it was in the middle of some bitch suckin’ his fuckin’ dick. Since he was busy, we didn’t have a long, drawn-out conversation. He gave me an order and I followed it. I’m pretty fuckin’ sure if they didn’t want me to know, they wouldn’t’ve sent me along. Right?”
Chewie’s paws tightened on the steering wheel as he kept his eyes locked on the road ahead of him.
Decker needed to keep chipping away at Chewie to get him to spill the details, so he tried another question. “You normally have someone ride shotgun with you?”
“Yeah. Two-toes.”
Two-Toes? What kind of fucking name was that? “So, he ain’t ridin’ with you ‘cause he lose his last two toes?” Decker joked.
Chewie must not have found that amusing since he didn’t even crack a smile. “Doin’ a nickel inside.”
“Damn. That sucks.”
Chewie glanced over at him. “You ever do time?”
Was this a test? Whether it was or wasn’t, Decker decided to turn it into a bonding moment. “Got a kid now, tryin’ to do my best to keep my ass out of a concrete box, but yeah, here and there. Minor shit mostly.”
“Like?”
“Assault. Theft. Possession. Basic shit like that. Nothin’ major.”
“Possession of?”
“Blow.”
“How much?”
“Enough for the state to provide three hots and a cot for five fuckin’ years, just like Two Toes.” He impressed himself with how easily lies slid off his tongue.
Chewie shook his head. “A nickel ain’t nothin’.”
“Unless you’re the one doin’ ‘em.” Decker focused on the biker’s profile when he asked, “So, how much fuckin’ crank we pickin’ up that we need an eighteen-wheeler?”
At first, Decker didn’t think he would answer, but about ten pot holes later he said, “Five keys.”
“Damn,” Decker murmured. “That’s gotta cost a pretty penny.”
Chewie shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Don’t know. Don’t care. We don’t get in the middle of the transaction. We drive down. We pick up. We deliver. We take a key in payment.”
“Sounds like a fuckin’ sweet deal. Where you gettin’ these kilos from?”
Chewie glanced over at him with narrowed eyes. “Why you askin’ so many fuckin’ questions?”
“We’ve been sittin’ in this fuckin’ truck for what feels like weeks now. With a few more to go. Need to hear somethin’ in my ears other than the godawful hillbilly hoedown shit you’ve been playin’.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with country.”
“It sucks dick.”
“Bet you suck dick.”
Was that the adult version of “I know you are, but what am I?”
Decker didn’t give up. “Obviously we’re headed to the border. So, we hookin’ up with some Mexican cartel or somethin’? That why Screw don’t want you goin’ alone?”
It took forever for Chewie to respond. Decker figured he was just going to ignore the question. And maybe even ignore Decker himself.
“Bet they’re dangerous as fuck,” Decker mumbled. “Wouldn’t wanna get on a cartel’s bad side. That’s a mistake you ain’t ever gonna make again.” Because you’d be dead. But most likely not until after being tortured.
Decker turned his attention out of the passenger side window to watch the Kentucky countryside roll by, thinking he’d have plenty of time to pick this conversation up again later.