Jason’s tone made it clear he wasn’t joking, and Wesley immediately grew wary.
“What are you trying to do? I’m warning you right now, I won’t tell you anything about Kingpin. Do whatever the hell you want with that video and recording!”
“Heh. I almost envy Kingpin, having a loyal subordinate like you. Relax. I’m not planning to make a move against him yet. What I need is information on the biker gang.”
“The biker gang?” Wesley was thoroughly confused.
“As far as I know, you’ve got no beef with them.”
“I don’t. But I need money. I heard they got their hands on a huge shipment of high-end motorcycles a while back. They’re planning to smuggle them into South America and sell them.”
“That’s true. You’re interested in the bikes?”
Jason snorted.
“I’m only interested in money.”
“Even if I know something, what makes you think I’d tell you?”
“Kingpin’s dream is to clean up Hell’s Kitchen. Clean up New York. That biker gang is exactly the kind of trash he wants gone. Sooner or later, you’re going to end up fighting them anyway. Giving me their location is basically helping Kingpin.”
“No! Not now. Things are different. Every gang in New York needs to stand together against you!”
“Cut the bullshit! Their intel in exchange for the dirt I have on you. That’s my bottom line. Otherwise, enjoy spending the rest of your life in prison.”
With that, Jason hung up.
Wesley was a smart man.
He would make the right choice.
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After returning to the restaurant and finishing breakfast, Jason received a text from Wesley, just as he’d expected.
It contained an address and a single message.
“Jason! I’ve sent you the address. I hope you’re a man of your word! This is the last time I’ll ever help you. The next time we meet will be the day you die!”
Jason sneered.
Yeah.
The next time we meet will be the day you die.
The address Wesley had sent was unfamiliar, so Jason handed the phone to Franklin.
“Know where this is?”
“It’s up in the northern Bronx. Whole area’s full of abandoned factories.”
Abandoned factories?
Not a bad place to stash stolen goods.
“Boss, what’s at this address?”
“A New York biker-gang hideout. Supposedly they’ve got a huge batch of high-end motorcycles in there, all stolen or jacked. Looks like we’ve got work to do.”
Work meant money.
Franklin immediately perked up.
He’d had enough of Denise, and he’d definitely had enough of living under someone else’s roof.
He wanted money.
He wanted to move out and get himself a big house.
“Boss, what do you need me to get ready?”
Jason thought for a moment.
“The guns are at my safe house. We’ll also need another car. Can’t use yours. The cops could trace it back to you.”
“Easy. Stealing cars is nothing.”
“One more thing. We need disguises. The bounty on my head in the underworld just went up again. If we slip up even a little, we’ll have every gang and hitman in the city crawling all over us.” This story is hosted at g.com.
“How much is it now?” Franklin cared a great deal about the bounty.
“Every gang in New York pooled their money together. 15 million dollars total.”
“What?!” Franklin stared at him, stunned by the astronomical figure.
“Boss, how the hell do you have that many enemies in the underworld?”
“I’ve been in this game a long time. I watched New York’s underworld grow over the past decade and change, and I was part of it the whole way. I know the higher-ups in practically every gang in this city, big or small. And I know exactly what kind of shit they’ve done.”
“If the cops catch me and I start talking, it’ll be a magnitude ten earthquake for New York’s underworld. Well over a hundred thousand gang members across the city could go down with me. So if they want to survive, they have to kill me before the cops can take me alive.”
Franklin’s expression turned grim.
When the lives and freedom of more than a hundred thousand people were on the line, no wonder New York’s gangs were acting like lunatics.
“Got it, Boss. I’ll be careful.”
“Let’s split up. You find us a car. I’ll take yours to grab the guns. We’ll meet at a parking lot about two miles from the target.”
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Jason drove to his safe house in Queens to collect the weapons, then headed to the agreed parking lot and waited.
By the time the sky began to darken, a Honda S2,000 roadster pulled into the lot.
Franklin climbed out.
Jason got out of his own car.
“No trouble?”
Franklin shook his head.
“Then let’s get moving.” Jason pulled the guns out of the car.
“You know how to shoot?”
Franklin looked a little embarrassed.
“I can shoot. Can’t promise I’ll hit anything.”
Good marksmanship was built by burning through ammunition.
Someone as broke as Franklin had never had the money to waste on endless trips to a shooting range.
Jason didn’t particularly care.
They were going there to steal motorcycles, not kill people.
If everything went smoothly, they wouldn’t have to fire a single shot.
And even if things did turn violent, Jason was more than enough by himself.
Franklin just needed to drive.
The two climbed into the S2,000.
Franklin was visibly excited.
“Boss, I hit the jackpot today.”
Jason glanced around the interior, unimpressed.
“It’s a beat-up Honda.”
Franklin immediately corrected him, dead serious.
“This is a Honda S2,000. My number one sports car. Period.”
He talked so much he practically started foaming at the mouth, but Jason couldn’t have cared less.
As far as he was concerned, cars were tools for getting from point A to point B and picking up women.
That was it.
When they were about half a mile from the destination, Franklin drove the S2,000 into an abandoned factory and hid it.
Then the two armed themselves and quietly continued on foot.
Just then, the roar of an engine came from behind them.
A heavy semi truck hauling a shipping container slowly drove past.
A smile appeared on Jason’s face.
Talk about perfect timing.
That truck had to be there to haul away the motorcycles they were planning to smuggle.
“Come on. Follow it.”
Using the darkness as cover, Jason and Franklin quickly closed in on the factory.
Among the sprawling maze of abandoned industrial buildings, only one still had its lights on.
More than a dozen heavily built men in flashy clothes were sitting astride motorcycles, smoking and chatting.
The semi pulled into the open yard, turned around, then backed up to the factory entrance.
Its loading ramp came down.
The bikers tossed away their cigarettes and got to work.
One after another, they rode the high-end motorcycles stored inside the warehouse up the ramp and into the shipping container.
Watching from a distance, Jason counted them.
Fifty two motorcycles in total.
“Franklin, you know cars. Think you can figure out what all those bikes are worth?”
“Yeah.” Franklin held out a finger and started doing arithmetic in the dust covering the concrete floor.
Jason stared at him.
“Seriously? You can’t do it in your head?”
“Boss, I’m not Chinese.”
Jason gave up.
Five or six minutes later, Franklin finally arrived at an answer.
He’d screwed up twice along the way and had to start over.
“Fifty two motorcycles. Total value is close to four million dollars!”
“You sure?” Jason had serious doubts about Franklin’s arithmetic skills.
“I’m sure!”
“Now that’s what I like to hear. Four million dollars’ worth of bikes… Even if they’re hot, we should still be able to get half their value.”
Jason was itching to make his move.
Once the motorcycles inside the container had been secured, one biker climbed into the truck to guard the shipment.
The semi pulled away from the factory and slowly merged onto the main road.
Jason and Franklin had already returned to the S2,000.
They waited until the truck was nearly out of sight before Franklin started the engine.
Then they followed from a distance.