“Applied some pressure.” Ghost said. “Helped them to understand that Ellison was one man in Tennessee, and the Lean Dogs are an international organization with chapters in eight states. My Cali brothers offered to take their business, and they accepted.”
They were talking quietly, in their corner table by the window, well away from the other patrons, Bruce the bodyguard keeping an eye out. Another man stood on the other side of the glass in a black suit, and had a neck like a Christmas ham. More muscle, Ghost knew. He’d left Michael watching the bikes in the parking lot, eyes peeled.
“I can’t go into the particulars, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Shaman echoed. “But I take it our friend is without suppliers?”
“And after what happened at his home, without manpower. And short a shitload of digital intel.”
What Ghost didn’t tell the Englishman was what they’d found on all the laptops and flash drives they’d pulled from Ellison’s place. Ratchet and Walsh had spent night after night trolling through the files and emails, and had managed to piece together a delivery schedule.
“I contacted his clients,” Ghost said with a shrug, cutting more ribeye. “Informed them I’d be taking over their orders.”
Shaman flicked a quick, sharp grin. “I’m completely impressed, Kenny.”
A prickle of irritation crawled down Ghost’s back to hear this man use his given name. But no sense making a fuss.
“A proper dismantling,” the dealer continued. He lifted a single reddish eyebrow. “But it doesn’t explain how you found him.”
“Getting to that. Remember the real estate developers he was backing? Gannon and Gannon? I had their computer too.”
Realizing that radio silence from Ellison meant he’d gone underground, they’d begun searching in earnest for his hideaway. “Gannon deals in real estate, and G&G was Ellison’s first real investment; they were his ticket into Knoxville, so I decided to put a little pressure there.”
“Business or personal pressure?”
“I got into his email. And his photos. The guy owns a beach house in South Carolina. About two weeks ago, he came down before first light to start the coffee brewing” – Ghost smiled – “and I was sitting at his kitchen table.”
“Oh dear.”
“He didn’t have a location, but he had a phone number. It led us to a bait shop in the middle of nowhere up in the mountains. Best we can tell without getting close enough to spook him, Ellison’s in a cabin, holed up with a woman. Someone does his shopping for him. RealZero Dark Thirtytype shit.”
“The woman will be Monica,” Shaman said. “She’s his assistant among…other things.” He sipped his wine. “I don’t supposed you’ll give me the location?”
“No. You understand.”
“I do. I understand a great many things, Mr. Teague. For instance.” His long hands folded together, sharp chin tucking as he regarded Ghost critically across the table. “I understand that it sounds a lot like you’re taking leaps forward in the drug business.”
Ghost had been ready for this. He shook his head and took a swallow of beer. “No, actually. That’s why I wanted to meet with you. I’m sitting on an obscene amount of product at the moment. I want to give three quarters of that to you.”
The resulting grin was wicked in ways Ghost didn’t want to contemplate. “In exchange for what?”
“Nothing. As a gift.” Ghost grinned back. “We’ll call it a favor.”
“Ah yes. And here we are back to favors.”
Ghost sighed, and dropped his voice another notch. “You know I can’t grant you the favor you asked for.”
In an instant, the composed gentleman façade dropped away, and Shaman became the bitter shell of a creature The Cuckoo’s Nest had left him years ago. “I understand that you were going to let him die in Ellison’s basement.”
Guilt twisted his gut, made the steak restless and heavy. “I love that boy like he’s my own son. I wasn’t going toletanything happen to him. It was war; war has casualties.”
“It has leaders, too. Not all of them equally suited for the task.”
Ghost sighed through his nostrils. “And you won’t know if you are until after the fighting starts. It’s not exactly a vicarious learning experience sort of thing.”
He stood. “I’ll contact you about the delivery. Otherwise, thanks for the steak.”
He was shrugging into his light jacket and cut when Shaman said, “Ken.”
