“What the hell is this?” the new arrival growled, still close enough to the open SUV door that he could dodge back in if things went bad. “You said we’d meet alone.”
“You want me to believe you haven’t got someone crouched down behind the seats, hiding behind your tinted fucking windows?” Mike spat on the ground. “And you think I haven’t got a couple guys in the woods with sniper rifles? Ourmeetingwill be just the two of us. And the deputy is here to make sure that’s how it goes down.”
The newcomer barely flicked his eyes in Jericho’s direction. “This isn’t a good start to our relationship.”
“It’s a fine start. You’re interested in doing business in our area, and we’re interested in making it crystal fucking clear that you won’t be pushing us around.” Mike stopped talking for long enough to jerk his head at Jericho. “Go wait by the car.”
Jericho wasn’t going to hear anything useful from way over there. But he wouldn’t hear anything useful if he started a fight with Mike about it, either, so he did as he was told. Mike probably loved that, getting to show off his tame under-sheriff in front of the stranger. Damn it, Jericho was someone’s tool, again, and he didn’t think he was getting much in return. He had no strategy, was being reactive instead of proactive, was in way over his head. Wade had been right, the smug bastard. If Jericho’d had a plan and playing a part in this little display had been part of a larger strategy, that would have been one thing. But as it was?
He couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the SUV’s license plate. He made sure he kept his eyes on the blond guy, memorizing enough details that he’d be able to pick him out of mug shots. But something about the way the man carried himself made it seem unlikely that there’dbeany mug shots of him. This guy didn’t move like he’d spent any time in the penal system. He was too damn smooth for that.
The two were still talking, still too faintly for Jericho to hear, so he spent some time scanning the tree line for signs of the snipers Mike had mentioned. The forest here was different than Afghanistan, sure, but the same general principles applied, and it was nice to focus on an area where he was confident. He worked out sight lines, analyzed the opportunity for cover, searched for signs of movement or the telltale glint of sunlight off a scope.
Mike and the new guy kept talking, looking over the railing down the slope like a mismatched pair of tourists admiring the view. Whatever the topic of their conversation, it didn’t boil over into anything more dramatic. On the surface, they still seemed casual as they parted. No loud threats, no hurled obscenities. But there was no handshake, either, and as Mike stalked back toward his car, his expression was fixed in a snarl. “Get in,” he growled at Jericho.
Well, it was either that or walk down the mountain on his own, so Jericho did as he was told. Possibly he was being too prosaic about all this and should be making some sort of a stand in the name of—the name of something. The independence of the police force, or at least the importance of not being a pussy. But he’d gotten in the car and come up the mountain because he’d wanted to get in tighter with Mike and the bikers, and there was no point ruining any progress he might have made.
So how would a weak, willing-to-be-corrupted cop respond to the current situation? “I could have used some warning on that,” Jericho said as Mike peeled out and headed back to town. Jericho watched the other car in the passenger-side mirror, but still couldn’t see a license plate or anything interesting. “I mean, I’m happy to help, and I hope I did. But if we’re going to be working together, I need to know what’s going on. You know?”
“We’ll tell you what you need to know,” Mike said.
“We? Last I heard, it was your uncle running the show with the Mountaineers. Should I be congratulating you on your upward mobility?”
“Larry’s still in charge.” Then Mike looked over at Jericho and said, “Technically,” with the weight of a thousand bullets.
Oh, good, a power struggle in the biker gang at the same time all the rest of this shit was going down? That should lead to perfect stability. “But I followyourlead?” he asked, trying to sound impressed without going overboard. “Whatever’s going on with these out-of-towners, you’re the one handling that?”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “You follow my lead.” Then he glanced over in Jericho’s direction. “But you don’t cause any trouble with Larry. You don’t challenge him, you don’t disrespect him. Clear? He’s still president of the club.”
“Got it,” Jericho said. And then, hoping he was moving things in a convincing direction, “I’m glad I was able to help with your meeting just now. But, you know, I’ve seen some other places I’d like to help. Not with you guys, with—like you said—with people in the community. But I’ll need money to get started with that.”
Mike drove quietly for a while, then said, “You need to watch yourself, Crewe. Don’t get pushy.”
Damn it, how would a crooked cop react to that? Why did cops go crooked in the first place, and how would that influence their decisions at times like this? Jericho almost snorted, thinking of the drama-class cliché.What’s my motivation?He’d driven a few thousand miles away from Hollywood andnowhe was trying to turn into a damn actor?
Well, fuck it. Maybe he needed to let a little of his own personality come through. “I need to watch myself?” He twisted in his seat so he was facing Mike, who had to keep his eyes mostly on the road. “Fuck that. I’m willing to talk about a partnership, here, Mikey, something mutually beneficial. But if you’re just looking for someone you can push around, someone to be your bitch? Find another sucker.”
“Jesus, Crewe, cut the drama! You’re as twitchy as your old man.”
They were back in town, now, coming up to a yellow light at the first intersection. “Give me my phone back,” Jericho demanded.
“Settle down,” Mike replied. “I’ll give it back when we’re done.”
The car had almost stopped for the now-red light. Jericho slapped the automatic transmission into park with one hand and grabbed the keys out of the ignition with the other. Then he pushed his door open and climbed out of the car, keys in his left hand, right hand free in case he needed to grab for his sidearm. It was probably stupid to escalate the situation, but he wasn’t generally known for doing the smart thing.
Mike was already out of the car on the other side, staring across at Jericho, surprise fighting with anger in his expression.
“We’re donenow,” Jericho told him. “Give me my fucking phone.”
They were facing off against each other when Jericho caught a flash of colored lights in the corner of his eye and heard a single yelp from a police siren. Neither man broke eye contact, but Jericho could see Mike begin to reassess the situation.
“You need backup, Crewe?” Kayla asked, loud but controlled. Jericho knew she’d be standing in a position similar to his, shielded by her car door, hand near her firearm. In addition to having good timing, Kayla had good technique.
“Do I need backup?” Jericho asked Mike.
Anger won the fight on Mike’s face, but the man wasn’t stupid enough to take on two armed officers in broad daylight. “You need to get a fucking sense of humor,” he growled.
“Mr. DeMonte’s going to be reaching into his pocket to retrieve a cell phone,” Jericho called in Kayla’s direction, still not taking his eyes from the other man. Then in a quieter voice he added, “We might be able to work together. But no more of this picking me up on Main Street bullshit, and no more power games. You want something from me, you can leave a note in my mailbox. And you can damn well make sure I’m compensated for my time and the risk involved. Clear?”
