Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(102)

Definitely he needed a new job.

They waited twenty minutes and conversation was scarce, as in non-existent, which meant it was a long twenty minutes. Then the guy walked up.

Five foot six, maybe seven, slight, he had half a head of hair, the top so bald it shone in the dim lights lighting the storage unit. Wearing a navy windbreaker that probably wasn’t doing shit to break the wind. Company logo on the chest. Chinos. Visibly nervous. Layne pegged him as I.T. or an accountant. Probably I.T.

Looking at the guy, Layne hoped he had the money. He needed Stew out of his sons’ and Gabby’s lives but he didn’t want to watch Stew working this guy over. He didn’t particularly want to watch Stew working anyone over but especially not this guy.

Stew and his crew of three arrived ten minutes later, the guy was wired by the time they got there and the minute he saw them, he became jittery.

Shit, he didn’t have the money.

Layne assessed the scene. Stew did not need a crew to deal with this guy. Especially not this crew of thugs. He brought one because he was an ass**le.

Layne lifted the camera, quickly and expertly adjusted the telephoto and started shooting.

Stew no sooner made it to him than the guy handed over an envelope. Stew took it, bent his head to it, thumbed through what was inside, handed it to a lackey at his back and then turned and hammered the guy, fist to cheekbone.

There it was. The envelope was light.

Layne shoved back the instinct to move in and kept taking shots as Stew whaled on him with his fists until he was down and then kicked him in the ribs with his boot four times after he was down. The guy was curled in a ball on the pavement, whining, loudly and shrilly, “It’s all I’ve got!” when Stew stopped, bent over, said something to the guy that Layne couldn’t hear, his finger in his face, he lifted up, kicked him one more time and then stood over the guy, staring down.

It was at that point when Layne would understand why Ryker said Stew had a special flair.

The guy was down, cowed and beaten, bleeding from the face and likely had one or more broken ribs. The message had been delivered and, by the look of him, the guy would talk his grandma into selling her plasma so the next payment wouldn’t be light.

Stew still pulled a gun out of his jeans and drilled a round in the prone man’s thigh. The guy cried out in agony and curled into himself deeper, cradling his thigh.

Flesh wound, it’d bleed like a motherf*cker and hurt worse, but it was way over the top.

Then Stew kicked him again, this time in the spine, turned, jerked his head at his crew and they all disappeared.

Layne tensed to move toward the guy but Ryker curled a meaty hand around Layne’s shoulder.

“Focus, bro,” he whispered. “Tonight you’re a hero for your boys, not this guy. Let’s go. Baranski’s not done.”

Layne clenched his jaw, knowing Ryker was right. It would be the right thing to do but being seen would also jeopardize the mission. People talked even if you told them to keep their traps shut. He didn’t need his and Ryker’s attendance at the festivities getting out.

Though Ryker was right and Layne was pissed about it, he still moved through the shadows with Ryker to the Suburban. Once they were in the cab, they still had eyes on the guy and Layne waited with Ryker, both of them silent, until the guy crawled to his feet, arm wrapped around his ribs, bent nearly double with his other hand at his thigh, blood oozing between his fingers, and he scuttled into the night dragging his bad leg.

When they lost sight of him, Ryker muttered, “Bet that dipshit lost the urge to visit the track anytime soon.”

Layne turned to Ryker, not in the mood for a breakdown. “Stew has another collection?”

Ryker shook his head, Layne felt his eyes on him in the dark and he didn’t get a good feeling when he saw the white of Ryker’s smile. “Nope. After he’s done a job, he gets horny.”

“Come again?” Layne asked.

“Your ex ain’t gonna like those photos you just took but he’s got her hooked deep and he knows it. You wanna be certain to get a woman to set a man out, you show her pictures of that man porkin’ another woman. Even Baranski isn’t stupid enough for you to show him those kind of shots and not know his time in Big Momma’s House o’ the Free Ride is up.”

This just got worse and worse.

Jesus.

“You know where he’ll be?” Layne asked but he knew Ryker knew.

“Yeah,” Ryker sounded like he was laughing. “Sorry bro, ‘bout to show you the only thing that’ll put you off that piece you got waitin’ for you at home.”

“Great,” Layne muttered and started the SUV through Ryker’s chuckle.

Ryker led him to a trailer park just out of the ‘burg. Negotiating it, Layne knew that Stew’s other woman might not carry extra baggage like Gabby, on her body and through two boys fathered by another man, but she wasn’t a supermodel either.

Layne cut the lights when Ryker told him they were rolling close, parked where Ryker instructed and they both walked through the cold, silent dark of the trailer park. When they got to the trailer Ryker indicated, one end was lit, the curtains opened. Ryker stayed clear and kept lookout as Layne approached the trailer.

When he got there, Layne saw that Stew was already celebrating and Ryker’s information, already proved legit, became even more so. She was na**d on her hands and knees, she was absolutely no supermodel, Stew was na**d behind her and he was going through the backdoor. Not pretty.