Page 6 of The Last Grift
“Come on, Lundin,” Calvin said, his tone now wheedling, “give us a break.”
“This is what? The third or fourth time I’ve busted you?” Casey asked. “The answer is no, I will not give you a break.”
The chanterelles wouldn’t be destroyed because they were a “valuable food product.” When he got back to headquarters with the haul, Casey would reach out to his approved contact in Westfort. She would buy them and then turn around and sell them to wholesalers for a tidy profit. The revenue generated from the sale of the mushrooms would cover enforcement costs.Eventually, his office might see some of the proceeds. “Might” being the operative word.
“I’m issuing you each a citation. Maybe you can sell your part of the harvest to cover the fine.” That last bit was petty, but Casey couldn’t help himself.
Calvin spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re going to be sorry for this, Lundin.”
“Is that a threat? Because I can cite you for that too.”
“But it’s not a threat, it’s a fucking promise.”
Casey wanted to roll his eyes, but it would’ve ruined the moment.
Another low growl from Bowie had Casey glancing Dwayne’s direction. The younger brother had stepped closer, one arm half-raised. At Bowie’s warning snarl, he lowered it and stepped backward.
“Not gonna happen.” Casey set his hands on his hips, pushing his jacket off his holster so they would see his weapon. “Pick up what you have here and get out to your vehicle.”
Calvin scowled and shot a wad of spit toward Casey. The mass landed a few feet short.
“Fuck you, Lundin.”
“Not in your wildest dreams. I’m picky about my bed partners. You’d have to bathe several times, and even then, it would still be a big fat no. And there’s the problem of your personality.”
Calvin growled and clenched his hands into meaty fists, but Dwayne broke the standoff. He huffed, dropped his bucket to the mossy ground, and headed to the road. Calvin shot Casey another baleful glance and followed his brother. Keeping their distance, Casey and Bowie jogged after them; Casey wouldn’t have put it past them to knife his tires and strand him up here.
Their truck doors slammed shut—no way did they take the time for seat belts—and the engine roared, disturbing the peaceof The Valley. Calvin navigated a three-point turn and then they were headed back down the road toward the highway.
“I’d say good riddance, but we know they’ll be back.”
Bowie didn’t bother to dignify that observation with an answer.
Casey returned to the mushroom glade and retrieved the buckets that had been left behind. Then he and Bowie, who was ready for a car ride again, headed the same direction as the Perkinses. Casey drove carefully, though, half expecting an ambush.
He’d be watching his back for a few weeks until Calvin and Dwayne put the incident behind them. They wouldn’t be happy about missing out on the cash expected from the sale of the mushrooms and weren’t ones to let laws stand in the way of evening up the imaginary score between them and Casey.
He had almost reached the paved section of road again when the thump-wump of a helicopter overhead reached his ears. He leaned forward and glanced up at the sky.
Aside from gourmet mushrooms, the big harvest this time of year was brush. Salal was collected year-round and shipped all over the world for floral arrangements, but boughs from the high-elevation noble firs were harvested only in the fall. The aromatic dark green foliage was destined for holiday wreaths across the US and Europe.
There was serious money in the brush economy if a person had the right connections. In the forest and in general, actually. So. Much. Money. And it was Casey’s job to protect those resources. Leaning out the window of his truck, Casey waved up at the copter. He thought the pilot responded with a dip of the blades, but it could have been the wind.
“It’s always about money,” he said to Bowie. “Remember that.”
FIVE
GABRIEL
Tuesday
Gabriel knew he was stalling—lessthan an hour out from Heartstone Island and the butterflies in his stomach were having a rave. This was a bad idea; he had no clue what he was heading into. It was a case of the devil he knew or the one he didn’t, and Gabe didn’t know which was worse. So he’d pulled into a gas station that stood at a crossroads, figuring that filling up the Honda’s gas tank would give him just a few more minutes to prepare for whatever it was he was preparing for.
He’d have to go inside to pay, but that was unavoidable when using cash. Ducking the store’s security would be impossible as well. Gabriel tugged the itchy wool cap down closer to his ears and hoped that would be enough. The chance of having been followed from Seattle was low—the creep he’d ditched had never seen the Honda as far as he was aware—but the chances also weren’t zero.
Attempting for nonchalance, Gabe walked around the back of his car, glancing across the two-lane highway toward the only other business close by, a taco truck with its shutters drawn and locked.
“It’s fine, there’s no one.” He was just fucking nervous.
