“Come over. I’ve got what you need.”
Vic met him at the bar that evening.
The place was nearly empty, smelling of stale beer and floor wax. Charlie sat in a back booth with a folder.
“Sit down,” Charlie said. “Listen close.”
Vic sat and lit a cigarette.
Charlie opened the folder. It was filled with addresses and notes.
“Oliver Sterling, twenty-five.”
Son of Gerald Sterling. CEO of Sterling Chemicals. The old man is a titan in this town—friends in the state capitol.
Oliver went to school out of state, got kicked out for ‘incidents,’ and came back. His dad made him a VP of Logistics.
He drives a silver Land Cruiser, custom plates. Hangs out at ‘The Vault’ and ‘The Grand.’ He’s got more money than sense.
His protection is the local precinct. Specifically, Captain Brooks.
“Next,” Vic said.
“Ryan Brooks. Twenty-three. Son of Captain Brooks, head of the local precinct. Ryan is a piece of work.”
Gym rat, bar fights, deals a little on the side. His dad cleans up his messes and buries the paperwork. He lives with his parents in the Heights.
Drives a blacked-out Mustang.
Vic memorized the details. Charlie continued:
“Anthony ‘Tony’ Fox. Twenty-four. His dad owns ‘Fox Auto Group.’ Biggest dealership in the tri-state area.”
Tony is the ‘creative’ one. Into photography and video.
He opened a studio downtown. Supposed to be for weddings, but word is he films things he shouldn’t. Lives in a luxury loft on 5th Street.
“The fourth?” Vic asked.
“Isaac Peterson. Twenty-six. Trainer at ‘Iron Works Gym.’”
He’s the muscle. Works security for Sterling Chemicals during the day. Bouncer at ‘The Vault’ at night.
He’s not smart, but he’s big. Lives in an apartment complex near the industrial park.
Charlie closed the folder.
He poured two glasses of bourbon and pushed one toward Vic.
“Vic, I get it. I know what they did. But use your head. These aren’t street punks.”
“These are the kids who own the town. You touch them, and you’ll be buried before you can blink.”
Vic took the glass and downed it.
The bourbon burned, but it felt good. He set the glass down.
“Charlie, remember back in ’83 when I pulled you out of that mess at the docks? You told me you owed me one.”
“I’m calling it in. But not for your help with the heavy lifting. I’m doing this alone.”
“I don’t care about their fathers or their badges. I have a code. You don’t break a girl like Ellie and walk away.”
Charlie sighed and rubbed his face.
