“What kind of shady?”
Her dark-eyed gaze bored into his a long moment before she replied, “I’m not sure, but my gut tells me it’s bad.”
Like Lucky, Rett had pretty good instincts—except when it came to men. “What do you suspect?”
“Drugs, of course.” She paused, blowing out a slow breath. “But maybe some human trafficking too.”
Human trafficking? Fuck. He tamped down his outrage a split second before he’d have crushed his coffee cup in a fit of rage and tried to think like Walter coached him. “What proof you got?” Please let it not be kids. Or women. Oh, hell, not anybody.
She shrugged her broad shoulders. “There’s a market near my apartment that Granny likes to walk to. One morning I went with her. We passed a rundown apartment building, with lots of gang-bangers hanging out, and not one of ‘em looked older than mid-twenties.”
Nothing criminal about hanging out, but if they plotted gang activities—then they’d become the SNB’s problem. “Hardly evidence of anything.”
“I’m getting there. An old school bus, beaten to hell and back, pulled up and let about two dozen people out, mostly women, barely older than girls, actually. They had haunted eyes, didn’t appear well kept, and they went straight up the steps into the building. The bus didn’t leave until they were out of sight.”
Suspicious enough, but in a bad neighborhood, the bus driver could’ve been looking out for coworkers. However, prickles ran up the back of Lucky’s neck. Not many people would be found guilty of kindness instead of illegal acts. “What else?”
“The bus driver and the guy riding shotgun were armed.”
Lucky snorted. “This is Georgia. Everyone has guns.” He owned two himself.
Charlotte owned six.
“Not the people going into the building. Besides, when they came past me, they never even bothered to look at me, Gran, and Rone, not even when he said hello. And they, well, some smelled like chemicals. Not meth, but, you know, the scent that gets into your clothes and won’t leave when we tour a drug manufacturer.”
“Circumstantial evidence. Not enough proof to launch an investigation.” Though the ghostly scent of cherry cough syrup invaded his brain. Had taken days to get the smell out of his nose last time.
“Which is why I came to you and not Walter or Bo. I figured you’d be curious enough to check things out, and cautious enough not to get caught. And if we don’t find anything, we don’t have paperwork to file.”
True enough. “What do you suggest?”
“Can you take a few hours off and come with me? I’m betting the bus picks ‘em up, takes ‘em to work, and brings ‘em back. They don’t appear to have much freedom. I never see them outside on weekends or going to mass on Saturday or Sunday.”
“Weekends? How long have you been stalking them?” Yes, she needed a hobby to keep herself occupied while recovering from a bad boyfriend, but he’d recommend running or something. Maybe boxing for stress relief. Hell, spending two hours a day in the gym lifting weights shouldn’t leave her with much time on her hands.
She probably imagined Philip’s face on the heavy bag. A mental image appeared unbidden, of Johnson in workout gear, punching the bag through the wall on the other side of the gym.
Johnson stared down at her coffee cup. “Three weeks.”
She hadn’t been watching someone for three weeks without a bit more information thansaw them while passing by. “Out with it. All of it. You weren’t simply out at the butt crack of dawn walking with your dear old granny and your kid.”
To her credit, she managed to meet Lucky’s eyes for her confession. “No. I was heading for the gym before work the first time. After that I made a point to walk by every now and then. Granny was with me around ten a.m. on a Saturday. Whenever I’m alone the wanna-be gangsters hoot and whistle like a bunch of assholes, but the women never say anything. I’ve followed the bus. They make several stops along the way, letting out two or three passengers at a time.”
Prickles tap-danced up Lucky’s spine. “When is this?”
“About ten at night.”
Ten at night? Damn. Maybe Charlotte could convince her to go to a club or something. Shereallyneeded to get out. “Did you see where they went?”
“No. Some catch the MARTA bus.”
“The city bus comes by your house. Why not simply get on closer to where they live?” He knew the answer: to keep anyone from figuring things out.
“I’ve cruised the area for likely businesses. At that time of night, most are closed. I thought maybe they worked cleaning buildings or such.”
“Who owns the bus?”
“A cleaning service.”
