“No, call Slice. Tell him to back off us, and circle around. We’ll be at the truck stop in Lumbee. If they follow us in there, we’ll chat. Slice is to make no moves, just wait and watch. Understood?”

Finishing up my phone call, Tank is already making the appropriate turns to get us to the location. He pulls the truck up to the diesel pumps and stops. I ready my Glock. Tucking the pistol in the waist of my jeans against my back, I exit the truck as Tank is prepping his weapon and logging the miles and hours. Sure enough, as planned, the caddy pulls in behind us. What’s surprising is the boldness of the car, as it parks directly behind our rig. Glancing over my shoulder, I’m aware of Slice arriving. He’s parked out of sight from the caddy’s location. If things go wrong, he’s close enough to step in and help while Tank leaves.

I nod to Tank making him aware, the shipment comes first. He’s not to exit the truck. If these boys want to fuck around, he’s to pull off and leave Slice to back me up. The other boys will catch up and cover him. Knowing there is a risk, but also knowing this is my job, I approach the vehicle. Aware of my weapon, but not showing any signs of being armed I tap the window.

The car has four tattooed Hispanic men inside. The guy in the passenger seat rolls down his window with a smirk of arrogance on his face.

“Can I help you boys with anything?”

The fucker actually chuckles at me. My anger boils immediately.

“I’m Pablo. We work for Mr. Delatorre. Consider us quality assurance.”

“Well, Pablo.” I stretch out his name, my annoyance evident in my tone. “I don’t know who the hell Mr. Delatorre is, or you, for that matter. We are a corporate transport company. Nothing we ship is for private individuals. So, mister quality ASS….urance, you’re already fucking up your job. If you would back your car up and pull away, you might have enough time to catch up to whatever truck it is you are supposed to be on its ASS for insurance. This ASS has a delivery and deadline to make.” I step back off the window and cross my arms over my chest.

“That’s your story…..mister….I didn’t catch your name. What is it?”

“You didn’t catch my name because you have no need for my name, Amigo. Now turn your fucking car around and be on your way.” I start to walk away, but I’m halted momentarily as his last words are said out of the window.

“Mr. Crews, I know who you are. We will leave you, as you have assured me our shipment is safe. Your other boys better be as quick witted and quiet with details as you are. See you around, Talon.”

I don’t look back as I hear the car start and then pull away. I fill the truck up with fuel as I run my fingers through my long hair. He called me by my given name, not Tripp. My business lists everything as Tripp Crews. The trucks are all unmarked, no business names, only our licensing numbers for the state Department of Transportation checks. Who the hell is Pablo? What is he to Delatorre? How much does he know? Having someone we’re in Hellions business with know my real first name isn’t an issue. Being confronted on a transport, however, that screams trouble. Taking this job has become one huge mistake for the Hellions. Shit just got real deep. Fuck me.