Corruption (23 page)

Bo quirked up the edges of his mouth. “Yeah, the whole shebang.”

“Hang on a bit longer. They’re trying to get their hooks into the operation south of the border, and we’ve got folks under
surveillance as far north as Virginia. The other Cruiser chapters are small yet, but growing. Once enough folks are in place, we’ll wrap up
here.” It was the right move. They were close, and Lucky couldn’t do this job without Bo. But Bo needed out. Soon.

Bo nodded without lifting his head.

“You’re not feeling temptation, are you?” Free access to drugs and a former addict weren’t a good combination.

“Not my drug of choice. Hallucinogenics and a crappy past don’t mix well. Remember, Cyrus leads lemmings to water but doesn’t
join them when they drown.” The slumped shoulders and the utter defeat were cracks wide enough to split Bo’s cover in half. Lucky
stepped closer. One quick hug wouldn’t hurt. The moment skin touched skin, Bo gasped, wrapping his arms around Lucky’s back. Lips met
lips, and someone moaned. The shock wore off after a moment, and Lucky plunged his tongue into his lover’s mouth. Locked together in the middle
of a storeroom full of drugs, he clung tightly to his lifeline.
God, get us out of here together
.

The kiss ended, and Lucky buried his face in Bo’s neck, the warmth of his body an anchor. They might have held each other for an hour or mere
minutes, but when they parted, Lucky felt whole again.

“Thanks,” Bo said. He pulled his fabricated character around him like a coat, iron-willed Cy once more in control. “We need
to get a move on,” he said. “The guys’ll be here soon.”

They’d no sooner tagged the merchandise when the man Lucky privately called
Dusty Beard
barged through the bay doors. “What in
the hell got into Jerry?”

“What do you mean?” Cy asked, snagging himself a beer from the fridge in the office.

“I was coming in and met him on the road going the other way, driving like a bat out of hell, and all over the damned road. Acted
drunker‘n shit.”

Oh fuck. He’d seen.

***

“Damn little son-of-a-bitch. Why the hell did you call out a search party for such a worthless little piss ant?” Lucky groused, because
Ricky would. They’d all be a hell of a lot better off if the kid fled the county, out of reach of Reyes. If they were lucky, Walter’s
crew would find him first. Lucky’s frantic phone call had better pay off.

“He’s not hurting anyone.” Bo drove past the bar one more time, having commandeered the keys to the Malibu.
“Besides, he doesn’t have anyone else but us.”

Lucky narrowed his eyes at his partner. “Better watch it there, Cy. For a moment you sounded like a guy I know named Bo.”

Bo pulled his eyes away from the road long enough to glare at Lucky. “Asshole.”

“He’s old enough to take care of himself. He’s probably pissed about something or another, maybe someone looked at him wrong,
I don’t know. But the further he stays away from here, the better.” Lucky no longer saw an earlier version of himself in Jerry, for
even without Victor’s influence, Lucky had started stealing cars at Jerry’s age. No, instead of a younger Lucky, Jerry favored Daytona:
good-intentioned, but far too gullible for his own good.

Bo sighed. “You’re right. I’ll head back to the garage. Maybe he showed up there. As long as we find him before Reyes does
and ask why he’s been following the guys.”

The truth dawned on Lucky. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“He’s not following Reyes’ men. He’s following you.”

“Me?”

“The kid’s got it bad, though I can’t blame him.”

Oh shit
registered on Bo’s face a split second before the words came out of his mouth. “Then we have to find him. He may have seen or overheard
something he wasn’t supposed to. If Reyes corners him, there’s no telling what he might say.”

Somehow Lucky doubted Reyes would go looking. He’d put someone else to the task.

Sure enough, a beat-up Honda sat in the garage parking lot. “Thank God,” Bo breathed. He ran across the parking lot and through an open
bay door. Lucky would’ve had someone’s ass for leaving the door unlocked. Sirens sounded in his head, and sirens called for guns. He
banged the dashboard; the glove box popped open. Walter’d told him long ago to listen when his gut told him something wasn’t right.
Armed and ready, he took off after Bo.

“Jerry?” Bo called, stopping to flip on the lights before bounding across the floor.

The hidden door stood open, a flashlight’s beam cutting the darkness within. “Oh shit.” Bo ran and Lucky tried to keep up.

While Bo barreled on in, Lucky held back, gun at the ready. He took up a defensive stance outside the door and peered inside to find the kid sitting on a
low shelf. An open box sat in front of him, packets dumped out on the floor. A misting of powder covered his hands.

“Oh my God!” Bo fell to his knees. “Jerry? Jerry! Are you okay?”

Jerry lifted his chin, too much white showing in his eyes like a crazy horse. “I saw you,” he said, voice low and the accusation clear.
“I saw you.”

“Saw me what?” Bo ripped the open packet from Jerry’s fingers. White lined the kid’s nostrils. “Good
Lord, Jerry. How much of this did you snort?”

“You treat me like a kid,” Jerry growled. “I’d do anything for you. Anything. You won’t even notice
me.”

“That’s not true. I do notice you. I’m sorry if I haven’t told you how much I appreciate you, but I do.”

Had anyone been watching but a high-as-a-kite kid, Bo’s cover would be blown. Nothing about the man kneeling down, trying to wipe away tears and
drugs, resembled a hardened criminal. No, Bo Schollenberger, bleeding heart extraordinaire, scrubbed the guy’s face with the back of his hand.

“No, you don’t. You used to have lunch with me, hang out. Until
he
showed up.”

Pure hatred raged in Jerry’s eyes when he lifted his head and glared past Bo, straight at Lucky. “I saw you. I came out to your place
last night, hoping to talk to you. You were fucking
him
!” He might have meant to point an accusing finger at Lucky, but he pointed at the
wall instead. Even from a distance of a few feet, Lucky noticed the kid’s pupils blown wide. The contents of at least four packets covered the
box. No telling how much the kid had sniffed. He needed help about five minutes ago.

“Cy?” Lucky kept his voice low. “We need to get the boy to the emergency room. I know what that shit can do.”

“I ain’t no fucking boy!” Jerry shrugged Bo off and staggered to his feet. A cloud of white dust swirled from his lap down to
the floor. “I’m a man, and I love you!” he screeched at Bo. “You don’t want me. You want him.”
Again with the finger pointing. “And… and…” Jerry’s eyes flew wide. He took a step backwards, hitting
the back wall. Nowhere to run. And Bo now standing between him and the only exit.

“B… Cy, you need to step away.” Lucky tightened his grip on his .38.
Don’t make me do this, kid.
“This might get ugly quick.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bo argued. He faced Jerry. “Jerry, you’ve got too much of that shit in you. How much did
you use?”

“What the fuck do you care?” Jerry huddled in on himself, eyes riveted to a spot above Lucky’s head.

Holy hell. Here’s where the space aliens and crap show up.

Jerry began to shake. He backed further into the corner, crouching down.

Bo approached, hands out in front of him. Having seen a similar performance not too long ago, Lucky voted for conking the kid on the noggin and hauling him
off to the nearest emergency room in restraints. Let the paid professionals deal with the aftermath.

“Stay back!” Jerry wailed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bo murmured. “Please. You’ve had too much. I need to get you to the
hospital.”

“But you don’t want me. You want him,” came out in a whimper.

Lucky started to lie, but the wild eyes said Jerry had passed beyond logic’s reach.

Bo took another step forward. “Lu… Ricky? You’re upsetting him. Why don’t you go wait by the car? I’ve
got this.”

How much Corruption did it take to shoot someone past hallucinations into cardiac arrest? “No.”

Bo whirled, spitting out, “Damn it, Ricky!”

A
snick
sounded unnaturally loud. Oh fuck. Jerry upped the ante with an ace of cold, hard steel.

Hands out to his sides, Bo took a slow step toward the kid. “Put the knife down, Jerry. I ain’t gonna hug you with a knife in your
hand.”

What the fuck? Bo wanted to hug him?

Jerry stared at Bo, a momentary flash of hope replacing his angry scowl. The knife dropped two inches, but rose again. “You ain’t gonna
hug me! You fucked him!”

“Didn’t know you wanted that.” Bo tossed his head toward Lucky. “He holds still for about anything.”

Okay, I’m not in your league. I fucking get it already.

White crystals stood out in vivid contrast to the mottled red of Jerry’s face. “You gave it to him! When I—”

Bo put himself at eye level with Jerry. “Hey, buddy. Remember how we went hiking out by the river? It’s been too long. Maybe we should
go again sometime. What do you say?”

A furrow formed between Jerry’s eyebrows, and he cocked his head to the side. “I don’t remember that.”

“Oh yeah, sure. We went to the caves, saw the bats. And the old railroad bridge.”

Bo stood three feet away, hands still out in a “see, I’m harmless” pose. Jerry’s white-rimmed nostrils flared. His
chest rose and fell with each breath.

Lucky took a step closer.

“You fucking bastard!” A glint of steel flashed an inch from Lucky’s nose. He dove and rolled. A shower of cases rained from
a toppled rack.

“Jerry! No!” Bo screamed.

Time slowed. Lucky struggled out from under a mass of cardboard. “No!”

Two hands, overhead. A blade plunging straight down at Bo.

Lucky aimed and fired.

Chapter 17

“Can’t you go any faster?” Bo sat in the Malibu’s backseat, cradling Jerry to his chest.

“This is as fast as the car’ll go,” Lucky shot back. Why the hell hadn’t he insisted on driving his own Camaro? At
least Jerry quit hollering about three miles ago. “How’s he doing?”

“Going into shock.”

Lucky glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Bo wrap the kid tighter in a blanket they’d found at the garage.

He gripped the steering wheel in one hand, hitting a speed dial number on his phone with the other. The call picked up on the first ring. “Athens
Regional, twenty minutes, gunshot wound to right shoulder, possible overdose.” He hung up and tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat.
Please let us make it, please, Lord, please.

Why the fuck did the kid have to develop a crush on Bo? Why did he have to invade the stock? How the hell had he gotten in there to begin with? Oh yeah.
He’d been spying on Bo, and possibly Reyes too.

They arrived at the hospital to find a gurney waiting. Bo ran in with Jerry while Lucky parked the car. Before he could get out, his passenger door opened.
The car leaned to one side when Walter got in. “I won’t ask you if you needed to fire that round. You wouldn’t have unless
necessary.”

Good thing Walter believed Lucky’s innocence. For the entire drive, Lucky had envisioned the scenario from every possible angle, like a training
film, trying to find better options. He hadn’t found any. “He nearly stabbed Bo.”

“How is Bo?” Walter sounded more like a father worried for a son than employer and employee.

“A bit shook up. Took a scratch.” Thank God for small favors.

They remained quiet for a time. The rich scent of coffee filled the car, tinged with Old Spice. At the moment, Lucky couldn’t care. Quietly he
said, “I’ve never shot anyone before.”

“Never?” Did Walter really find the news shocking?

“Never.”

“I remember the first time I shot a man,” Walter said. “I was eighteen years old and had started my first tour.”

“Kill him?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

The silence grew oppressive. Bo waited inside the hospital, but Lucky had no idea what he’d face the next time they met. Would he look into
accusing eyes and keep saying “I’m sorry”? ‘Cause he was, and yet he wasn’t. If he’d been given
more options, he’d have chosen differently, but with a split second decision between his lover or a hopped up maniac, he’d done what he
had to, and he would again. “Does it ever get any easier?”

“I’m afraid not.” Walter placed his hand on the console, covering Lucky’s. “Do we need to pull you to
out? Have they figured out who you are?”

“I don’t think so on both counts. Reyes suspected the kid of planting trackers and spying on the guys. That’s why
I’d asked you to have him picked up. Then he got into the goods, flipped out, and pulled a knife.” No need to mention the jealous rage
over Bo and Lucky’s night together.

“We’d hoped to flush out the Mexican supplier, but after seven months, we’re no closer now than we were. It’s the
DEA’s call, but I recommended that we close our fist and take out the connections that we have. We’ve put nonstop surveillance on the
barn and garage on our end, and have enough evidence to issue warrants. A few phone calls to neighboring states will put them on alert.”

Lucky wholeheartedly agreed with closing the fist now. “Whoever’s down South knows the game.”

“What will you tell Reyes about the man you shot?”

“The truth, or all he needs to know. The kid got into the goods, and we don’t allow that.”

“Good answer.” Walter’s big mitt came into view, clutching a Starbucks cup. “We’ll make the arrangements
and issue the warrants. To keep your covers intact, you and Bo will have to stay, I’m afraid. Expect a call from me soon. In the meantime,
we’ll post a guard on Jerry Wilkerson.”

“You do that.”

The car dipped again when Walter got out.

Lucky sipped his Starbucks, trying not to close his eyes. Every time his lids drooped, he saw Jerry’s wild eyes, and the knife plunging down.
Next, he’d see a frightened kid, looking much younger than his years, tears streaming down his face and staring down at his bloodied shoulder. In
the next moment, Bo yelled, “Oh fuck!” All in slow motion, on endless loop.