“Shale pit. Soon as I saw what was in there, I started the bike on that trip.”
“Good call, brother. Now get out there and find the fucking detonators.”
Cherry opened the door and walked through. With deliberate movements he went across the floor to where they kept a variety of stage dressing things. He picked up the whiskey bottle and took a healthy slug...of the caramel-tinted water they stored inside. In this room, he would always have the upper hand.
Need all the advantages we can buy, steal, or make.
“Racer, huh?” He stood with his back to the chair where he knew the man had been secured. “That’s a name. How’d you come by it?”
“Why am I here, man?”
Cherry lifted the bottle again, taking a second long swig out of it. He hissed at the end, putting the cap back on the bottle and setting it down with a thud.
“Brother,” he pointed to Bruiser, “you’re spelled.” Cherry watched him leave, then noted Reggie’s position directly behind the intruder, and finally looked at the man currently restrained. “Racer, you’re here because you were on IMC territory. We just wanna know a coupla things. Who you are, why are you here, who sent you. You know, the basics.” Cherry turned slowly, holding tightly to the edge of the table as if drink was already upending his balance. “Not much, ‘man’.” He aimed for snide with the repeated word. “Not much.”
“I didn’t know for sure it was IMC. Not until I saw the clubhouse.”
“But you knew it then, and you didn’t immediately vacate.” Cherry shrugged. “Why?” He reached back and fumbled the bottle a little, bringing it out and working at the cap, pretending to have just a little bit of problems with it. “Why would you hang around?”
“Rock and a hard place.”
Cherry stared at the man, realizing he wasn’t belligerent, wasn’t really afraid, either. He wasn’t acting or sounding like someone who understood the depth and breadth of his fuckup.
“What?” He took another swig of the colored water, clearing his throat and licking his lips, playing up the drama end of him getting a little soused while conducting an interview. The intent was always to give the person the impression that he didn’t like his job, that he needed to be a little drunk to be the club’s enforcer. “The fuck’s that’s supposed to mean?”
“I was given two long/lat locations. I went to the first and picked up three bricks of C4. This was the second location.” The man laughed, the sound harsh and echoing around the room. “They didn’t give me enough information, clearly.”
Cherry studied him. Blood streaked his face, from a deep cut near one brow. There was also bruising on his face, and his hands bore several abrasions. He’d not come without argument.Neither would I.Something about the man’s posture hinted at military.That’s an avenue to explore, at least.
“Why are you here at all? What was the goal of the op?”
“There was supposed to be a well that the buyer wanted shut down for good.” He worked his jaw, leaned as far to one side as he could, and spit out a mouthful of blood.Oh, that shit’s for show. He’s trying to work me.“Bike isn’t mine. Too bad, she’s a nice one. No well I could find, then I saw the house and decided to see what I could figure out.”
“So you’re not a member of the ASMC? That’s interesting.” Nothing was making any sense. Cherry shook his head. “Why were you wearing a vest, then?”
“Issued to me, just like the bike. And no, I’m not a member of that fucking circus.” The guy spit again, the red splattering wide. “I took a job, but I’m a nonviolent contractor. I know my way around explosives, which is why I was recommended for the gig. The job I took seems to be entirely off track of what is reality.” He shrugged. “I got half in advance, so at least I’m not out everything.”
“What’s your name?”
“Wallet was in my back pocket, one of your guys took it. My IDs are in there. I’m Manning, Chuck Manning.”
“Well, Chuck Manning, I’m going to have to leave you here for a few minutes.” Cherry took another swig from the bottle and pushed to his feet, fingers fumbling the lid slightly. “I’ll be back.” He turned to the door before looking over his shoulder, “Who was your contact in the club?”
“Apollo. He’s the president. He’s the money guy.”
“I thought Dillinger was the money guy over there.”
“I think I heard the name, but he wasn’t part of the op prep.”
Cherry nodded and walked through the door held open by an IMC member. “Thanks, Blackout.”
The door shut behind him, and he quickly went into the room next door.
“He’s not buying the booze.” Busk stood next to the screen showing the inside of the room where Chuck Manning was restrained. “He’s also trying to python the tape holding him to the chair. Watch him breathe in.”
Cherry sighed. “Yeah, I saw that. He’s subtle with everything he’s doing. Trained very well. Doesn’t match with the profile Salty gave of him and how they clocked him. Doesn’t make sense. Did the ID confirm the name?”
“IDs, emphasis on the esss. He’s well supplied with supporting documentation, but it’s from too many places. It’s too perfect. Why would he take real identification on a job? Smart bet is his name isn’t Chuck Manning.”
