“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “your dad hated the auctions.”
My jaw tics. “And?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but I know it’s not. “Just saying. Maybe it’s time we move away from them.”
I rub a hand over my face. I know Dad hated the auctions. He thought they brought too much heat, with too many unknowns walking through the door, and too many chances for things to slip. But even he admitted they’re the cleanest way we have to move a high number of cars—fast. Everything is kept in one place, and stays organized and efficient. We’re smart and careful, and it keeps the blood out of it.
Mostly.
Kurt eyes me. “Look, kid. He may have been my brother, but we fought over this a lot. And after he died, I didn’t have a better plan. I keep them going because it works. And… I didn’t want to change something he never got the chance to fix.”
I nod, looking over the row of bikes lined up in the lot. I know we can’t keep this up. It’s been the smartest way to move product, but we’re bleeding at the edges now. The middle-tier buyers who could afford a risk once or twice are now priced out or spooked. And the rich fuckers whocanafford it are starting to pull back too. Carefully and quietly. Like they know something’s coming.
And I know what it is. Even if I haven’t wanted to say it out loud yet.
“You hear from Donnie this afternoon?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Kurt just nods, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“Great.” I tip my head back and sigh.
“RCMP apparently has a lead on us moving stolen vehicles,” Kurt says with a huff. “Donnie says his sergeant’s got enough to act, even if he can’t pin shit down yet. Which smells likefucking bullshit to me. So, they’re planning a raid here tomorrow morning.”
I sigh again, rubbing the back of my neck and wishing I had a goddamn cigarette. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police sure are an eager fucking bunch.
“We’re moving everything for the auction tonight to the old quarry,” Kurt says. “Donnie’s stalling his team until morning, but they’re getting twitchy. So it’s gotta happen tonight.”
I nod, glancing out over the parking lot full of cars—some dirty and legal and some clean and hot. It helps having a couple Mounties and local cops on our payroll, but even they’ve got limits. And lately, those limits are showing.
“Alright,” I say with a nod, bringing my attention back to Kurt. “We’ll get these moved tonight and get through this auction this week. Then we need to hold church and figure out what the fuck we’re doing here.”
Kurt nods and heads towards his bike, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the garage. “Crew knows about the raid. They’re tuning the last few so they’ll be ready tonight.”
“Where you headed?” I ask as he swings a leg over his bike.
“Downtown to show face at Reynolds’ lot,” he says, grabbing his helmet from the handlebars. “We’ve moved cars through him before, so since our Mountie friends are watching, they’ll see clean movement. I’ll lean on him to take some of the legal stock and give them something boring to track.”
“Good,” I say.
His bike roars to life beneath him, and he nods his head towards the garage. “Keep’em in line.”
My eyes dart to the garage doors, and I see Cory and Caz working under the hoods of a couple hot cars.
For fuck’s sake.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I fucking will.”
As Kurt takes off, I head into the clubhouse, happy to see it empty. I cut through the front and follow the sound of music and tools to the garage, clenching and unclenching my fists the whole way. As I push open the door, the bass hits me first, followed by the clang of metal and low laughter.
“Could you be any fucking louder?” I bark, heading straight for the sound system and turning the music down. “Real subtle. The Basin Kings wrenching after hours, the night before a scheduled raid.”
Mac throws me a look over his shoulder. “No one can hear us.”
I cock an eyebrow at him and sit on a stool, tilting my head to the garage doors, which are wide fucking open. “Trying to make sure they can?”
Cory glances up from under the hood of a '67 Mustang, eyes flicking to the open doors. Then he hustles to the wall and punches the button to close them.
“Such a good boy,” I say, offering him a smile when he scowls at me.
