“Hey, here we go,” Ghost said, and the energy in the truck changed completely.
A Knoxville PD cruiser slid past their parking place along the curb and continued down to the charcoal heap of sticks that had once been Milford Mattress, across the street from the Carpathians’ clubhouse. It came to a halt in front of the ruined building, and Sergeant Fielding climbed out to join the loose knot of Carpathians who sorted through the charred remains, looking to salvage God knew what.
“The bastard,” Ghost muttered. “He always was too stupid for his own good.”
They watched, stretched tight and waiting, anticipation building, until Fielding finally got back in his cruiser, turned around, and headed back toward them.
Ghost climbed from the truck and Aidan scrambled less gracefully after him, so they were both standing in the middle of the road as Fielding was forced to come to a halt, nose of the cruiser dipping down toward the asphalt.
“A word, sergeant,” Ghost said, when Fielding rolled the window down.
The cop sighed, but he humored them, parking across the street and coming to sit in the back seat of the truck, elbows on his knees, expression weary.
He’d been busted, and he knew it.
“What?” he asked, not willing to sit in suspense. “You’ve been following me?”
“Nah,” Ghost said. “I’m too busy for that shit. I just figured you’d turn up, since you like to do that so much: only, I’m guessing it wasn’t unannounced in this case.”
“You hate us that much?” Aidan said. “You’d actually work for these dipshits?”
“I don’t work for anyone but the city of Knoxville,” he shot back.
Ghost smiled. “And the man who runs Knoxville. Are you the one who’s been threatening shop owners? Or does he have someone better-dressed than you do it?”
Through the rearview mirror, Aidan watched Fielding’s shoulders slump. “No, it’s not him,” he said to his dad. “He hates it, what’s happening. Don’tcha, Vince?”
That earned him a sharp look, but it was followed by a deep sigh. “It’s not Stephens.”
Aidan felt his brows go up, saw Ghost’s do the same. “How could it not be?”
“All the shops on Main and Market are leased storefronts,” Fielding said, tone defeated. He was, at his core, an honest man, and the subterfuge was taking its toll on his conscience. “Someone came in with some muscle and bought them all up. Not a big deal, on its face: what buyer wouldn’t want to keep on business that paid the rent on time? But whoever it is, he’s squeezing the owners, all of them, telling them to cease doing all business with the Lean Dogs, or he’ll evict them.”
“Can he do that?” Aidan asked.
“Technically, no. But someone with that kind of money could steamroll any local if anything ever went to court. This guy’s attorney would know all the tricks. Someone like Ramona Baily doesn’t have a prayer of fighting someone like that.”
“How could Stephens not be involved?” Ghost asked.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, I just don’t have anything concrete,” Fielding said. “I tried talking to Ramona, and Alan Cook, but they won’t say anything.”
“They’re scared,” Aidan said.
“Wouldn’t you be?”
They both nodded in the front seat.
“So that turns the city against us,” Ghost said. “And the Carpathians are here to clean us out.”
Aidan felt a shiver deep in his belly, something a lot like fear.
“Who’s backing them?” Ghost asked. “All their bikes and the cash and the cuts – who paid that tab?”
“Nothing ties Stephens to it,” Fielding said. “So my guess is that whoever’s buying up commercial space is footing their bills too.”
“Does Larsen know he’s somebody’s bitch?” Aidan asked.
“My guess would be yes, but he doesn’t care.”
