Page 51
I raise a brow at him, “What makes you think we’re scheming?” He gives me a bored look. “Fine. We’re doing recon.”
“Recon? Lemme guess, Chewy?”
“If I tell you, will you tell Rhodie?”
He thinks about it for a moment, before shaking his head. “No need. He’ll figure it out sooner or later.”
“Well, in that case,” I say, “does that man look familiar to you?”
He squints in the direction I tip my head, his blunt fingertips tapping gently at the table. “Yeah, that’s Christopher Mercer. He owns Mercer Transport.”
As if the frozen blonde woman on the stage heard him, she points a clicker to a screen and there, in full color is the logo to Mercer Transport with the face of the CEO beside it. Up there, on the screen he looks slightly younger than the man across the room from me. He also has a receding hairline rather than the plugged one he has now, but I recognize the man on the screen more than the one in the room. That man, alongside his truck, is someone that Diesel used to meet with.
“Mad Dog,” I whisper low.
“Yeah, babe?”
“I know him. Or, I mean, I know of him.” Mad Dog looks at Mercer before turning his attention back to me. “He used to meet with Diesel. A lot.”
“Who met with Diesel?” Chewy’s voice in my ear has me jumping in my seat, and it takes Mad Dog’s large, warm palm on my thigh to ground me.
“Fucking hell, Chewy, you scared the shit outta me,” I hiss.
“Meh,” Chewy says. “So who met with Diesel?”
“Christopher Mercer. He -”
“Owns a transport company, shits money and has been investigated 37 times and all charges have mysteriously disappeared.”
“He sounds like a real saint,” I grumble.
“How many times did they meet up?”
“Huh?” I answer.
“Diesel and Mercer. How many times did they meet up?” Chewy asks in her robotic voice.
“Not sure. Pretty regularly though. Like every month, at least.”
“Iiiiiinteresting.” Chewy’s voice replies in my head. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Loads of places. Everywhere and nowhere.”
“Did Mercer ever give him loads?”
I think back to those days. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was that timid girl being led around by a gruff older man who should have known better. Now I’m older, wiser and pissed off over those lost years. I don’t know who this Richard Thompson guy is, nor do I really care. All I care about now is getting Diesel out of my life and if that means helping shut down whatever the DRMC are shutting down, then so be it.
“I don’t know Chewy. I was told to keep my mouth shut and my legs open. And it’s not like he was coming home with a Powerpoint presentation every night.”
At my words Mad Dog stiffens, the hand on my thigh gripping a little tighter. I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it. My suspicion is confirmed when he snatches his hand back, as if the heat of my thigh has burned him.
“Fuck, sorry babe. I never, shit -” He runs a hand down his face and I gently take his free hand, placing it back on my thigh where it once sat. I rest my smaller hand over his, holding him in place.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you two sound all emotional. Are you emotional?” Chewy says.
“No, we’re good,” I reply, voice as steady as I can make it.
“Oh good. When you ratted on Diesel was he driving one of Mercer’s trucks?”
