Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Got it,” I replied automatically. Baltimore, understood. Short was under five minutes. Any kind of trip, interference with CCTV. Thirty without specification meant seconds. Hours became minutes. Right. “What if I need interference to last longer?”
“Learn flight and driving times,” he answered. “Baltimore is the only one with a fixed time of five minutes because it’s the one we use the most. Otherwise, you specify the city and how you’re getting there. If you need interference for, fuck, I don’t know, forty-five minutes to an hour, say you’re flying to DC or driving to AC.”
Okay, that made sense. “Understood. And I can switch it up? Like, I could say we’ll meet up in a couple hours because I’m going out on a run first?”
He nodded. “As long as you find a natural-sounding way to include how long the run is.”
Oh right. Hence why they used locations to determine the time it took to get there.
“I’ll remember that,” I replied.
“Good.” With that, he opened the door and got out, and I followed and— “Grab the bat.”
Oh. Yeah, sure.
“You’ll only need a safehouse for the times you can’t handle a problem on-site,” he added. “You gotta decide for yourself how big the infraction is and what punishment is fitting. If someone shows up two minutes late for a shipment, it’s a come-to-Jesus talk and a wise up or else. If they do it again…? Escalate—take ’em off the job and talk to their crew boss. If they’re ten minutes late…? Now we’re talking compromising the delivery altogether. When a truck rolls into one of our bays, it’s a heavy prison sentence sitting in the cargo. We need the shit redistributed within the hour.”
I nodded in understanding.
“This is why management never goes near the drop-off points.” He paused on the little path leading to one of the buildings, and he leveled me with a serious look. “You never go down to a warehouse in the middle of a delivery, Alfie. You stay back—stay in the condo or whatever—and you keep a plan B and C at the ready if something goes wrong. Frequent communication with your top dog. Today, it was Mikey Sheridan. You can have a second crew waiting in the wings if you’d like, but—fair warning, few low-men will accept the job because there’s very little money and zero recognition in being on standby.”
I nodded once more and chewed on the corner of my lip. It was a lot to remember, but I got it. This was a business that depended on structure and efficiency as much as we needed to switch things up in order to never establish a pattern for authorities to track.
Tomorrow, I’d find some time to think of a plan C for shipments, because Kellan had already recommended using Colm as my plan B. As in, if something went wrong, call Colm, because he always had a crew ready for emergencies during shipments.
The shipment tonight had been under Kellan’s command, so that he could show me the ropes, and I reckoned that was a good thing. Even when nothing went wrong, there were a shit-ton of cues and details to remember.
Philly—and nearby towns—suddenly popped up in my head as a map of warehouses, safehouses, and red zones. I knew where most of them were. I’d studied addresses for days. Red zones meant an area was too close to where a high-ranking member lived, and we didn’t fuck around there.
I followed Kellan to the back entrance of the building, and we took the stairs down to the basement.
He grabbed the bat from me.
“Schedule a sit-down with Richard O’Brien,” he ordered. “He runs Liberty Six Property Group, and they own all the buildings we keep safehouses in—in residential areas only. Youse need to have a line of communication for when you deem a safehouse too hot permanently. He’ll help you find a new place.”
Damn. Nice. “Is he a Son or just an associate?”
“Even better. He’s in our debt and has eternal gratitude toward Finn.” He took a turn down a hallway of…fuck if I knew. It read Bike Garage on one door, Maintenance Only on another. “We helped him settle a gambling debt a few years ago, and this was how Finn collected his favor. Sweet deal, if you ask me.”
I’d say so. Being able to jump between safehouses had to be convenient.
We came to a stop outside a door that had a Storage Unit sign and the number 4. And…just a simple padlock?
“How’s that for security?” I muttered.
Kellan chuckled. “Easier this way. Tighter security would attract more attention, and we don’t keep anything in here anyway.” He knocked twice. “No matter what happens inside, you call a cleaner when you’re done. Understood?”
“I know.” I’d heard that before, and I knew who to call. There was another set of codes to that language.