Rev (10 page)

It bothered me how much Winter Calloway was getting to me. Yeah, the sex was mind numbing. She was smart mouthed, keeping me on my toes. I had to say, she held my interest. And that was all well and good. But maybe whatever we had between us was becoming something more.

No chance.

Honestly, there was no way I would want to date a girl. Especially one like that. Too much work. Too much commitment.

Not to mention, she was from a whole other world. Some rich guy was probably going to reach out to her any day now. That’s how it worked with those people. If it wasn’t that asshole she was engaged to, some other clown would step in to take his place. She wasn’t some racetrack floozy. For a girl like that, you needed money.

And that wasn’t one of my strong suits. I mean, take my apartment for starters. It was a piece of shit studio at the edge of Desert Haven. I guess that was the cost of doing life on your own terms. I’d turned down working for my dad and he wasn’t the type to dole out money for no reason.

So, after that explosive hookup in the backseat of my Charger, she asked to come home with me and I declined. I made up some excuse about staying with my Uncle tonight. It was half-true. I’d be busy late into the night. And I dropped her off at her Aunts. We said we’d get in touch. We kept it casual. But things between us were going way beyond casual.

“Your uncle says there is no time.” Adrian returned from inside the warehouse. “We go now.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, alright.”

I had an uneasy feeling about jacking those cars from Gryffin Transportation. Things just didn’t add up. I’d have a word with Uncle Norman afterwards.

“I guess we’ll take the rice rockets?” I asked referring to the untraceable modified Japanese imports we used when maneuverability trumped all out speed in an operation.

Stefan finally appeared in front of one of the loading docks and initiated the electric gate roller. It’d be me and the nearly identical twin brothers from Denmark driving in two little street racing cars.

I say nearly identical because Stefan had a longer nose or something. I still couldn’t tell most of the time.

Derek and Uncle Norman would communicate intel and Cruz would show up with a multilevel platform to load the cars once we got the transport off onto the side of the road. We’d have to move fast and disable the driver safely and carefully.

The idea was for him to wake up half an hour afterwards none the wiser. He’d probably be fired, but we’d get an envelope to him soon after with more money than he’d make hauling for Gryffin. If we pulled this off, there’d be millions coming in. And honestly, working for Gryffin Transportation wasn’t all that great. My father ran a tight ship and micromanaged everything, expanding employee responsibility and trimming compensation. Drivers got the short end of the stick.

“I get the red one!” I called out as the loading dock doors opened on two similar looking compact cars. The other one was green. I just really liked red. Always did. When I got the money, I’d have to get my Charger painted. Believe it or not, all they had left was burnt orange.

But, boy did I love that car. I was reminded of how great American muscle is when I started up my little Japanese rice burner. No deep rumble, maddening engine roar when I hit the throttle, or visceral thrill of knowing over 700 horses were loaded up in 6.2 liters of Hemi Hellcat insanity.

Then again, these little cars were like toys. You could spin them around in circles and fit them wherever you needed. That’s probably be much more useful.

I donned my black gloves and mask as Stefan settled into the passenger seat. Probably not a good idea to get spotted when you’re the son of the guy who owns the business you’re going after. I blipped the throttle. Adrian, an accomplished driver in his own right, ripped out of the hanger and onto the highway. I quickly caught up.

Following Derek’s directions, we were soon on the heels of a multilevel car hauler stocked to the brim with Maserati GranTurismos. Each was individually wrapped to protect it from the elements; and, as Derek informed us, each had a locked up ignition to prevent someone from just jumping onboard and driving off in an Italian luxury vehicle. Apparently there were also kilos upon kilos of cocaine hidden behind the trimming of the interiors. We’d get about 100k apiece once Derek did his magic and reassigned VINs and washed the paperwork.

Too bad about the cocaine, but Uncle Norman was adamant that it go down the drain. After all, we were doing all this to help the agricultural communities displaced by our family’s land sales. One of the biggest problems once people lost their jobs or homes was recourse to drugs. Desert Haven had become riddled with small time dealers looking to take advantage of people.

“You ready?” Stefan asked, grabbing his grappling hooks.

“I’m always ready,” I replied, hitting the throttle hard to get us alongside the car hauler.

“Don’t be joking man. This is serious.”

Stefan opened the passenger door and climbed on top of the car, staying flat to the roof so the air resistance wouldn’t knock him off.

I matched the car hauler’s speed. I needed to maintain highway speed while getting right up alongside the front of the hauler so Stefan could dig his grappling hooks in and climb onboard. We didn’t want to get too close to the Maseratis and risk damaging those puppies.

A thumbs up from Stefan. We were close enough. Right in the driver’s blind spot. He sunk the hooks into the soft, thin metal of the hauler driver’s compartment.

I watched the road, anticipating small minute changes in the hauler’s speed, matching them as they happened. Stefan made the jump. I watched him flail a little in the high wind, but he found purchase on top of the compartment.

Now all he had to do was use the small sedative dart Derek had rigged up. Shoot it through the window, whatever.

Of course the truck was barreling down the highway, so the key was avoiding lag time between the driver going unconscious and Stefan grabbing the wheel.

Which was why I really wished he’d wait for a long, straight stretch and not try his luck as we rounded a turn.

Yeah, that won’t end well.

“Stefan! Stefan!” I called out over our in ear communication devices.

“Rev, Stefan’s signal is down,” Derek’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Must have fallen out on the jump. You’re going to have to get his attention some other way.”

Wonderful. Change of plans then.

I inched closer to the driver, within the range of his rearview mirror. He saw me and he put things together really fast. After all, I was wearing a mask and gloves and driving alongside him in the opposite lane. He pushed the throttle and his speed changed noticeably.

It was noticeable enough for Stefan to get the message. I think things finally clicked for him as we rounded a long curve. Unfortunately, neither of us anticipated what came next.

The driver pulled out a shotgun and pointed it straight at me. The hauler slowed and swerved just enough to knock Stefan back off the top of the driver’s cabin until he dangled off the back clutching at his grappling hooks. And, as we exited a curve, a huge semi came up behind the hauler, honking furiously at the sudden braking.

There was a solution to all three problems, but a very small chance that it would work. I think I might have seen what I was about to do in a movie. Usually that’s not enough to go by.

I did a quick calculation. The truck in back of the hauler was high up of the ground and everything underneath the platform had been removed. I was in a severely lowered Mazda Miata. Dangerously lowered. I was practically scraping the pavement.

Hopefully it’ll be enough.

I slammed the brakes and manipulated the wheel and the clutch to slide left and towards the bottom of the semi. A shotgun blast ripped across the roof of my car as I narrowly avoided getting my head blown off.

I was essentially eyeballing this whole maneuver through the rearview and left sideview mirrors. I prayed the clearance under the semi would be enough. If the car stuck, I’d be crushed.

I pulled under, straightened and revved to match speed. All the while I was sweating bullets.

Holy crap!

I kind of hoped somebody saw the whole thing.

The semi pulled into the right lane to pass the hauler, and I followed tucked safely under. Just as we passed, I made sure the shotgun was out of sight and I pulled the car out left and to the opposite side of the hauler. I put the car in cruise control and crawled onto the roof, grabbing a grappling hook. The Mazda wouldn’t make it.

I dug into the side of the driver’s cabin and climbed on top. Stefan had made it back on top. He handed me the sedative dart gun. We were on a straight flat stretch, so I went for it. I reached down the side of the driver cabin and shot once. Then again. Two shots was all I had.

The hauler started swerving. I risked a peek and sure enough the driver was out. Breaking the tempered glass window with the butt end of the pistol, I swung myself feet first into the driver’s cabin and took hold of the wheel. Stefan soon followed through the other window and dragged the driver off the pedals just enough that I could get to them myself.

We managed to steady the hauler to the side of the road. My heart felt like it was going to rip out of my chest. I wasn’t looking forward to the exhaustive comedown from the adrenaline rush, that’s for sure. And I still had to have a chat with Uncle Norman.

“So, how’d it go?” my uncle asked, meeting me as I stepped out of Adrian’s green Mazda.

I tilted my head to the side and shrugged. “Yeah, it went well.”

Uncle Norman laughed. “My ass… Derek told me you had a little special ops moment there.”

“You could say that.”

“Thank God you’re okay.”

“It’ll take more than that,” I joked. “So, I guess we’ll get the cars sold pretty soon. Cruz says he’s got a guy lined up for Wednesday night.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you find out if anyone at Gryffin Transportation knew about the drugs?”

Uncle Norman exhaled deeply. The skin around his eyes creased and he stood quiet and pensive for a moment. “Revon, this shipment belonged to Roman Carmichael.”

I searched my brain. The name sounded familiar. I’d heard it before. “Isn’t that a big timer on the East Coast?”

“Yeah, we’ve got reason to believe he’s making moves countrywide now. Both the cocaine and the cars were his. He’s not just in the drug trade. He’s in gambling, real estate development, and all kinds of legitimate business as well. Like I said—big time.”

“So there’s a good chance there’s a connection between Gryffin Transportation and this guy’s expansion plans.”

My uncle shrugged. “I’m looking into it. But we have other problems as well.”

“Let me guess, more fighting and theft,” I said, referring to recent problems with the displaced workers. “The money from this haul should help.”

“Not so sure.” He looked down at the ground with sunken eyes. “We’re just disbursing money. People aren’t working. They don’t have jobs. Many of them are turning to drugs. There’s an epidemic now in Desert Haven.”

“Didn’t used to be like that,” I noted angrily. “My dad really fucked things up.”

Uncle Norman put his arm around me and we walked back towards the warehouse to go over some details with the rest of the crew. He had a way of reassuring me just by being there. I mean, I’d been closer to him than my own father.

He’s the one who taught me about how things used to be. How Arthur Gryffin had made his two sons swear to never sell the vast family ranch lands that made up the majority of Desert Haven.

But then my dad became obsessed with the great big warehouses online companies were building out in the desert. He saw the trucking boom around the corner and did everything and anything he could to raise the money to expand Gryffin Transportation. And that’s when my Uncle Norman taught me how important it was to do anything we could to compensate for our family’s tarnished legacy.

Suddenly his expression changed. The somber tone lifted from his demeanor and his eyes lit up. “So, the guys are telling me you have a special lady now.”

I balked. “What? Those jerks…”

Uncle Norman laughed. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. You know me.”

“Yes. I do know you.” He poked his index finger straight into my chest. “And I know that in here is one of the most genuine, sincere hearts I’ve ever known. You put on a show Revon, but I remember you as a little boy sneaking off from school and hanging out by the track. You’d use whatever lunch money your mom gave you to buy food for the homeless.”

“Yeah, well, I had enough to eat. Plus, I’m not sure overpriced concessions were the most effective way to help feed people.”

“It’s the thought that counts. You’ve always had the right intentions.”

We parted ways as he headed to the office on the second floor and I went straight to the locker I kept stashed with extra clothes.

I peeled off my sweat soaked shirt a dry one. I could feel the exhaustion setting in as my body crashed after that heart pounding adventure.

It got me thinking. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe there was a way to get a girl like Winter to stay.

If it really was the thought that counts, I’d do something to impress her. I’d be getting a small cut from the haul. I’d thought about putting it towards my car. But I’d get one of those big penthouse suites on Saturday when Mayhem had another fight. I’d invite her to join me and I’d explore the possibility of what I once thought impossible.

Was it really be time for me to settle down?

I could barely think that without flinching instinctively. I was reckless, spontaneous, dangerous, and free. No one had that kind of power over me. No one.

I guess we’ll see…

But first, I needed about 48 hours of sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Winter

“Oh this one would look beautiful on you Winter!” Aunt Sylvia threw me a dress from the rack that had just come into her boutique.

“Aunt Sylvia,” I protested. “I’m supposed to be working here and helping you out while I visit. Not taking all your merchandise before you can even sell anything.”

It’s been almost a week since I’d stayed at my Aunt’s and already she’d gifted me about a dozen light, flowing dresses and several pairs of bohemian boots. It was more than she’d sold that week.

People seemed to wander into her boutique for the curiosity of it. Tchotchkes of every kind lined the display windows and shelves. It looked like some explorer’s club gone to disarray. In one corner, dusty antiques mingled with handmade jewelry. In another, Far East objects like a Japanese tea ceremony table and giant ball of jade were shoved together with stacks of ancient maps and scrolls. Still weirder, she had a collection of fossils, some labeled dinosaur bones, arranged in a hodgepodge with ornate native American ceremonial masks.

And then, as if it made sense, a sign designated a small section of the boutique for a curated selection of indie designer clothing. Somehow it all made sense to her.

I had no doubt that some of the items might actually have been worth a lot of money. But, I don’t think anyone actually came into the store to buy anything. Somehow she’d kept it open for a very long time without making any earnest effort to sell.

“It’s not about the money, Winter,” she exclaimed, as if reading my mind. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Let me spoil you.”

“I feel horrible though. The first day I came to visit I ran off before we even sat down to catch up.”

Aunt Sylvia smiled in that gentle, honest way in which she did everything. Maybe it was the yoga every morning, but she positively beamed with positive energy throughout the day, her zealous spirit showing through in the smallest things, like how she sang while cooking.

I have to say, I used to think she was crazy. Heck, the first day I spent with her I still thought she was a bit mad. But her open and easy attitude towards life was contagious. I found myself trading in my preppy ensembles for the draping fabrics of her kind of desert chic looks.

She couldn’t have been more unlike my mother. Diane Calloway and Sylvia Taylor were sisters. But the resemblance ended there.

My mom exaggerated her pronunciation in a self-conscious, affected way in an effort to be more sophisticated. The end result however was an awkward formation of vowels in the back of the throat, like she had hot potatoes in her mouth. She was careful, overly concerned really, in the way she presented herself to the world.

Aunt Sylvia was a free spirit. She wore her long silver hair loose or in braids and preferred free-flowing clothing that moved in the wind rather than the structured, matronly outfits my mother wore. Even though Aunt Sylvia didn’t wear makeup, her skin shimmered with a natural radiance from within. I was surprised that apart from the crinkles at the corner of her eyes and the lines that formed at the sides of her smile, her complexion was near perfect. She was beautiful in an unpretentious, down-to-earth way.

“Well, go ahead and try this on.”

I took the dress and stepped into the small curtained dressing room to try it on. From the feel, it seemed to be a light, airy mixture of cotton and linen. Abstract flower designs ran across the cream-colored fabric in vibrant tones of turquoise blue, golden orange, and dusky reds.

“How are things with that boy?” she called out suddenly.

I was taken by surprise. “How’d you know?” I asked from behind the curtain, pulling on the dress and marveling at how light the material was.

“Well, you just told me!” My Aunt chuckled warmly. A big hearty laugh. “That and I saw him dropping you off in that fancy car of his last weekend.”

I stepped out and checked my reflection in the mirror. I looked so different. But the dress fit perfectly, tracing my shape down to the knees.

“That looks gorgeous on you.” My Aunt smiled. A big, wide, luminous smile. “And the colors,” she noted. “The colors are magnificent against your hair.”

I spread my dark coffee brown hair across my shoulders. She was right. Those dusky reds and golden hues brought out the different tones in my hair.

“Thank you so much Aunt Sylvia.”

She waved her hand. “No, it’s nothing. Now tell me about that boy. He looked handsome from a distance.”

“Well, he’s certainly that up close,” I began. “And more.” I hesitated. “But I can’t help feeling like I’m reading too much into it. Maybe I’m just going through a phase after what happened with Frank.”

Aunt Sylvia put her arm around me. “He cheated on you, even before the marriage, didn’t he?”

My head sank and shoulders slumped. “Did my mom tell you?”

“She didn’t have to.” My aunt motioned for me to sit down on a rickety old chair that was either a priceless antique or just a rickety old chair—I doubted she cared either way. “Your mother and I hadn’t spoken in years, but she called me when you didn’t go back to New York. She figured rightly that you’d be here.”

I slumped back into the chair. “She gave me your address.”