Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I understand what you’re saying, too. After what happened to Irish, I guess it kind of messed me up, too. I saw the aftermath. And now someone else I love had it happen to her, too. You. So, that’s how I see it. No drugs. No rape. Those two things. I don’t think that is too much to ask. Tone got off easy. I wanted to bash his fucking brains in with my bare hands.”
“Well, she’s your sister, you two are close, and you both protected one another all your lives. Plus, I’m sure Billy meant what you told me he said. He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m a snake.” She shrugged.
“He can think whatever he wants. The bottom line is that he should trust my judgment. I am rarely wrong about people and when I am, I quickly correct my assessment. He knows this. I think he is aware I can see through him now, too. He’s changed, and not for the better. I’m over him and his bullshit, even though I haven’t brought this topic up to him again. This shit is too tiring, and I’m sick of him moping and acting bizarre. As soon as we wrap up this next billing quarter, I’m going to offer him early retirement. It’s just not working anymore. I don’t trust him, Honey, and if I can’t trust the person who is supposed to be handling shit for me, the details, then it’s time to part ways. Trust is everything. Without it, we have nothing.”
She nodded in agreement. “I get it.”
“He hired Tone and trained him himself.”
Obviously, he didn’t teach him how to do a proper interrogation. Sexual assault shouldn’t be included. I’m glad he’s dead…
“Anyway, I’m going to be here for a while, baby, but I’ll try ’nd hurry up. So you’re going to get Irish, right? I mean, I could send an Uber, but I’d rather it be you.”
“Sure I will. No worries.”
“Thank you, baby. I’ll be home later tonight. Sorry about this. What were you going to tell me?”
“Oh, that, uh, I asked Mike Silver for two more weeks so we can, you know…”
“Yeah? And what did he say?”
“He gave it to me. Not without me hearing a bunch of mess first, but at least it’s settled now.”
“Okay, perfect. We just need to go over a couple more things and then, we’ll do it. Love ya.”
“Love you, too.” And then the call abruptly ended.
She packed up her things, left the coffee shop, and headed to her car. It was time to drive to the Women’s Correctional Facility and retrieve an animal named Irish. As she walked outside, she could’ve sworn someone drove past that looked a lot like Billy. She paused to check out the black Mercedes that the man, or someone who looked a lot like him, was in disappearing up the road. Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her?
Just in case, she looked in her purse before she continued to the meter where her car was parked. There was ol’ Smith and Wesson—a silver and black revolver she’d picked up not too long ago. One could never be too cautious. She’d learned that the hard way…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Archer told her point blank: no one was going to trick him out of his bag, and life would stay the same for everyone who remained unchanged. That hit her like a ton of bricks. He made it clear that he didn’t expect growth and new blessings in his life if he never grew and wasn’t a blessing to someone else. That was why he was so invested in his company. He saw his business of smuggling as a necessity, as an aid to small outfits all over the country—bars, clubs, and mom and pop restaurants that would be closed if they had to pay the obscene taxes for subpar liquor and spirits. He felt it was a man’s right to drink and smoke a cigar, especially if he was a hard worker.
Though she didn’t condone his underground habits, she did respect his perspective. Archer was a strong dominant man who cared about the underdog.
She’d heard him on the phone with vendors, business owners, and the like, who thanked him a million times over. She’d heard the late-night calls from some of his employees who were short on cash, asking for more shift hours to pay for their kids’ field trips and what not, and Archer assuring them that everything would be okay because he’d take care of it. That man knew what it was to be without. To not have what was required to maintain a healthy existence. He didn’t want for others to experience the suffering of being considered unredeemable. Many deserved a second chance. Yet, fast food joints didn’t pay enough to sustain a family. American men and women needed more. They all needed more, so he’d carved his own lane.