Fighting to Be Free
Page 85
I laughed and pushed myself out of his leather chair so that he could sit down. “Sorry,” I muttered sheepishly.
He grinned and rolled his eyes. “I worked with your dad a long time ago, years before you were born, when he was just a kid like you are.” I stood watching him intently; waiting for him to continue and tell me something I didn’t know about the man that’d made me. All I knew about him was that he was twenty-three when he died, and that he had brown hair and brown eyes, like mine. I was only two at the time of his death so I had no memories of him at all, my memories were just what my drunk, drugged up, and saddened mother had told me.
“He was good with cars too,” Brett continued.
I smiled at that. “Really?”
He nodded, looking wistful. “Yep, I worked with him for about a year and I saw him steal cars without leaving a trace of him behind, he was like you in that respect, a ghost. You have his talent.
Quick, nimble fingers and an eye for detail.” He smiled and pulled out a cigar from the little box on his desk, nodding down to them, silently asking if I wanted one. I waved it off politely. “He was a good guy. It was a shame he was killed, I liked him.”
I chewed on my lip thoughtfully. “How did he die exactly?” I asked curiously.
Brett sucked on his cigar as the flame from his silver lighter licked at the tip of it. “Shot. He’d moved on and was working for a guy named Tommy Harris, he’s long dead now though too, but Jackson, your dad, he was on an arms deal with a new supplier apparently, something went wrong, a double cross or something, and he got shot. Damn shame, such talent,” he said, frowning sadly.
I chewed on the inside of my mouth as I imagined how that went down. Things went sour so quickly at deals like that, things often went wrong when a group of highly charged alpha males got together and tried to make a deal. I tried not to imagine how different my life would have been if he’d not gone to the deal that day - would I still be where I am today, or would he have not wanted his boy into the business like him? I sighed and nodded, not knowing what to say.
“You should go get started, the guys are starting to get antsy down there,” Brett suggested, nodding at the door in encouragement.
“Yeah. See you in the morning,” I muttered, turning on my heel and headed out of his office. My mind was now also full of thoughts of my father that I barely knew. I smiled at the thought of him being good with cars, maybe that’s where I got it from. Trudging down the stairs, I stopped when I saw the unorganised rabble standing around waiting to go. Another of those uneasy feelings washed over me because I hardly recognised any of the people here.
I cleared my throat loudly, staying on the bottom step so I was a little higher. The murmur slowly died down as people turned to look at me with interest. “Right then, we’re ready to go. You’ve all been given your packs so you know which cars you’re going for. For the five that have never done this before, you guys have been paired with an experienced booster. We’ll all go together for the first one, the warehouse job, then after that we’ll split up and go get the rest of them. Don’t take risks, don’t get cocky or speed or jump lights. Someone will boost the car and all you do is drive it back here to the warehouse, Ray will tell you where to put it. There’ll be transporters outside ready for you so just keep focussed and do your job,” I said sternly.
There was a nod of approval from the group, signalling they understood so I nodded towards the blacked out minibus that was waiting to drive us all to the warehouse so we could get the Jags.
Immediately they all started marching there as one, some of them looked really excited - that was the usual crew, but the new guys looked a little apprehensive and out of their depth.
One guy caught my eye so I smiled and headed over to him where he was leaning against the desk, a cocky smile on his face. Dodger - the new me. I’d suggested that Brett hire him for the night to help with the boost, we definitely needed the help and this guy was supposed to be good.
Apparently he was at a bit of a loose end because he’d lost a lot of his trade when I came back to work for Brett. I’m surprised the guy didn’t hate me.
“Alright? I’m Jamie by the way,” I said politely, holding out my hand. We’d spoken on the phone a lot this week, but this was the first actual meeting.
“The Kid, yeah, its nice to meet you in person,” he replied, putting his hand in mine. “Dodger,” he finished.
I winced, I really didn’t want to call the guy that, it had to be the worst nickname ever, a total rip off of Oliver Twist. “Yeah, err, what’s your real name, I’m not calling you that,” I said, laughing and shaking my head.
His eyes tightened slightly. “It’s Vincent, but I prefer Dodger when I’m working.”
“Vincent it is then,” I stated, dropping his hand. There was no way I was calling this guy by a stupid ass name, if I had to refer to him so someone else knew him then I’d call him Dodger but other than that he was Vincent.
He frowned. “You don’t want me here, that much is obvious. Am I encroaching on your territory?” he mocked, a sarcastic smile on his face as he raised himself to his full height. I would imagine that he was trying to be intimidating, and he would totally have pulled it off too with his muscles that could be clearly seen through his dark grey t-shirt. The dark brown skin of his arms was marred with tattoos of quotes about cars and his nickname inked up the inside of his forearm. On the other bicep was a big cross with a quote from the bible underneath. He would have been intimidating to others, I have no doubt in my mind about that, but he didn’t scare me in the least.
He grinned and rolled his eyes. “I worked with your dad a long time ago, years before you were born, when he was just a kid like you are.” I stood watching him intently; waiting for him to continue and tell me something I didn’t know about the man that’d made me. All I knew about him was that he was twenty-three when he died, and that he had brown hair and brown eyes, like mine. I was only two at the time of his death so I had no memories of him at all, my memories were just what my drunk, drugged up, and saddened mother had told me.
“He was good with cars too,” Brett continued.
I smiled at that. “Really?”
He nodded, looking wistful. “Yep, I worked with him for about a year and I saw him steal cars without leaving a trace of him behind, he was like you in that respect, a ghost. You have his talent.
Quick, nimble fingers and an eye for detail.” He smiled and pulled out a cigar from the little box on his desk, nodding down to them, silently asking if I wanted one. I waved it off politely. “He was a good guy. It was a shame he was killed, I liked him.”
I chewed on my lip thoughtfully. “How did he die exactly?” I asked curiously.
Brett sucked on his cigar as the flame from his silver lighter licked at the tip of it. “Shot. He’d moved on and was working for a guy named Tommy Harris, he’s long dead now though too, but Jackson, your dad, he was on an arms deal with a new supplier apparently, something went wrong, a double cross or something, and he got shot. Damn shame, such talent,” he said, frowning sadly.
I chewed on the inside of my mouth as I imagined how that went down. Things went sour so quickly at deals like that, things often went wrong when a group of highly charged alpha males got together and tried to make a deal. I tried not to imagine how different my life would have been if he’d not gone to the deal that day - would I still be where I am today, or would he have not wanted his boy into the business like him? I sighed and nodded, not knowing what to say.
“You should go get started, the guys are starting to get antsy down there,” Brett suggested, nodding at the door in encouragement.
“Yeah. See you in the morning,” I muttered, turning on my heel and headed out of his office. My mind was now also full of thoughts of my father that I barely knew. I smiled at the thought of him being good with cars, maybe that’s where I got it from. Trudging down the stairs, I stopped when I saw the unorganised rabble standing around waiting to go. Another of those uneasy feelings washed over me because I hardly recognised any of the people here.
I cleared my throat loudly, staying on the bottom step so I was a little higher. The murmur slowly died down as people turned to look at me with interest. “Right then, we’re ready to go. You’ve all been given your packs so you know which cars you’re going for. For the five that have never done this before, you guys have been paired with an experienced booster. We’ll all go together for the first one, the warehouse job, then after that we’ll split up and go get the rest of them. Don’t take risks, don’t get cocky or speed or jump lights. Someone will boost the car and all you do is drive it back here to the warehouse, Ray will tell you where to put it. There’ll be transporters outside ready for you so just keep focussed and do your job,” I said sternly.
There was a nod of approval from the group, signalling they understood so I nodded towards the blacked out minibus that was waiting to drive us all to the warehouse so we could get the Jags.
Immediately they all started marching there as one, some of them looked really excited - that was the usual crew, but the new guys looked a little apprehensive and out of their depth.
One guy caught my eye so I smiled and headed over to him where he was leaning against the desk, a cocky smile on his face. Dodger - the new me. I’d suggested that Brett hire him for the night to help with the boost, we definitely needed the help and this guy was supposed to be good.
Apparently he was at a bit of a loose end because he’d lost a lot of his trade when I came back to work for Brett. I’m surprised the guy didn’t hate me.
“Alright? I’m Jamie by the way,” I said politely, holding out my hand. We’d spoken on the phone a lot this week, but this was the first actual meeting.
“The Kid, yeah, its nice to meet you in person,” he replied, putting his hand in mine. “Dodger,” he finished.
I winced, I really didn’t want to call the guy that, it had to be the worst nickname ever, a total rip off of Oliver Twist. “Yeah, err, what’s your real name, I’m not calling you that,” I said, laughing and shaking my head.
His eyes tightened slightly. “It’s Vincent, but I prefer Dodger when I’m working.”
“Vincent it is then,” I stated, dropping his hand. There was no way I was calling this guy by a stupid ass name, if I had to refer to him so someone else knew him then I’d call him Dodger but other than that he was Vincent.
He frowned. “You don’t want me here, that much is obvious. Am I encroaching on your territory?” he mocked, a sarcastic smile on his face as he raised himself to his full height. I would imagine that he was trying to be intimidating, and he would totally have pulled it off too with his muscles that could be clearly seen through his dark grey t-shirt. The dark brown skin of his arms was marred with tattoos of quotes about cars and his nickname inked up the inside of his forearm. On the other bicep was a big cross with a quote from the bible underneath. He would have been intimidating to others, I have no doubt in my mind about that, but he didn’t scare me in the least.
