“Need another souped-up car.” He sounds gruff and distracted. In other words, normal. “Minivan or hatchback. Subaru’s good. Beige, preferably. Gray would work. Nondescript.”
He just described half the cars in Oregon. Also, my biggest temptation.
“Can’t,” I say solemnly as Hazel floats through my mind.
Make that my second biggest temptation.
Everyone knows I love working on cars, so he’s clearly surprised by my answer. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
Heaving a sigh, I come clean. “Look, I’m expecting a kid. Two kids, actually.”
“Twins or you knocked up two women?”
“Twins,” I mumble, hoping he won’t press for more.
“They run in families, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“What’s the problem then? You told me you need extra funds.”
“I promised their mother I’d give up my ties to anything on the wrong side of the law.”
He chuckles. “You think this is illegal?”
Does he think I’m dumb? “You routinely ask me for help turning grocery getters into speed machines.” The vices that led me to prison gave me a talent for this sort of work. “Call me nuts, but I don’t think you’re doing that so Grandma can get to Bible study quicker.”
He’s quiet a moment. “Would you believe me if I said it’s all completely legal?”
“No.” That’s an easy one.
“What if I told you it’s sanctioned by the U.S. government?”
“Plenty of shit that goes down in politics isn’t legal.”
“Wasn’t talking about politics.” He mutters something I can’t quite make out. “Never mind. How about another prison job?”
“Sorry, nope.” Hazel’s face flits through my mind again. “I promised I’d sever connections to all convicts and criminals.”
“Jesus Christ.” He curses again, more colorfully this time. “You really won’t take the car job? Swear to God, you can track down these rigs anytime and see they’re not on record with ties to any crimes.”
“Interesting way to phrase that.” Not on record with ties to any crimes doesn’t actually mean they’re not being used that way.
It just means his guys aren’t getting caught.
“Yeah, well.” He clears his throat. “Gotta be circumspect in this business.”
“What is this business, anyway?”
Another long pause. “Specialized inmate rehabilitation and redistribution.”
“I see.” And I still don’t know what the fuck that means. “If I asked someone at the prison about this specialized program, they’d know what I was talking about, right? It’s all sanctioned and everything.”
“Don’t be a dick, Luke.”
That answers my question. Whatever we’re doing isn’t on the books in an official capacity.
“Look,” he grumbles. “The less you know?—”
