[h3]The Things We Leave Behind, Part I…[/h3]
[i]Said the Joker to the Thief…[/i]

>LEXINGTON, KY
>IHOP
>24SEP2019
>0500...///

Drip coffee, a stack of pancakes, old lady waitresses with caked makeup and Southern hospitality all under the faint buzz of the fluorescent lightbulbs in the ceiling. What wasn’t there to like at IHOPs the world over in the earliest hours of the day. Donnelley sipped his black coffee and continued reading his copy of Heart of Darkness, a book he had the hankering to read ever since he’d mentioned it to Ava during his stay at her house before doubling back into Lexington. Before the argument. Before he poked holes in her dreams. It was a battered copy with a faded cover he’d found at a thrift store along the way. There was probably a metaphor for him somewhere.

He was still dressed and groomed like some sort of sixties Hells Angel as he sat in his window booth, sipping away at his coffee. The waitress, Anna- by her nametag- zipped over to him with a plastered on smile, “Where’s your plus-one, darlin’?” She asked as she grabbed up his plate formerly stacked with pancakes, “You want some more?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Ma’am. I’m stuffed as it is,” Donnelley smiled, playing up the southern good ol’ boy image of a roving biker, “I’ll take some more coffee though.”

“You got it.” She smiled, and was off to fetch him more coffee in a pot.

“Thank y’kindly.” Donnelley smiled back.

The sun was still hiding behind the black humps of low mountains as Queen’s bike roared down the mostly empty highway. He drove past the horse farms with their bright white fences, the faint smell of manure and sweet alfalfa hung in the dew laden air. The only other vehicles out were the 18 wheelers making their cross country hauls and he wove past them with a lazy ease. As he crested a hill he could see the lights of Lexington twinkling and the taillights of commuters coming to town from the spread of suburbia. He continued towards the small city, accompanied by more big rigs rolling in and out of the industrial side of town. 

A dimly lit billboard declared there was an IHOP a mile down the road and he set his course, pulling up into the parking lot with a rumble of the Harley Sportster 1200, the black and red paint job shone slick under the parking lot lights. Queen had removed his Hell’s Highest colors once he had crossed into Kentucky, he had left Easy and the other nomads in Georgia and had no reason to call attention to himself. He wore a black leather jacket over a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and worn jeans cuffed over heavy biker boots. 

He set the helmet on the back end of the Sportster, brushing a hand over the seat before stepping into the 24/7 restaurant. The familiar smell of imitation maple syrup and grease hung in the air and he spotted Donnelley in a booth. Queen ran his hand over his hair, ruffling out where the helmet had pressed it down before strolling over to it. 

“Mind if I sit, sailor?” he said as he slid into the bench across from his old friend. 

“Go right on ahead, pardner.” Donnelley smirked as he saw Queen cross the restaurant and over to his booth. He set his book down after dog-earing the page he was on, “You hungry? They got endless pancakes here or whatever. I asked for two menus.”

“Shit yeah I am,” Queen replied, his knee bouncing under the table. “I had to ride most of the night, caught me catching up with some old friends.”

He glanced up at Donnelley, his sea colored eyes dilated and glassy ,”I ain’t slept in a minute and I could kill some pancakes ‘bout now.” 

Queen picked up the menu but did not need it, flipping to see what the special was then decided to go with his old reliable. He dropped the menu and turned the coffee cup over to set it near the edge of the table to signal the waitress. 

“You know, my mom worked at an IHOP in Tampa...or was it Ocala? Fuck I don’t remember, I just remember she worked overnights and always brought home a shit load of pancakes and eggs,” he said, then grinned, “Sometimes a steak.” 

Queen laughed, “She got fired for that but fuck it.” 

Donnelley laughed in turn, shaking his head and taking another sip of coffee, turning the bottom of the mug up to get the last of it. The waitress came back and clicked her pen, smiling at the both of them, “Well, how’re you, sweetie? I’m Anne, your server. What can I get you started with, hon’?”

“Coffee,” he said, grinning up at the waitress, “Then I’m gonna have the breakfast sampler, eggs scrambled and with them endless pancakes. Might as well start the second stack now, I’m starvin’.” 

Once she left, he shrugged out of the leather jacket, the vintage t-shirt a faded pale blue from Skynyrd’s ‘76 tour that fit his lean body in the style of the time, very snug. He leaned forward on his inked forearms, “How was your time off? Figured you’d start going stir crazy before long.” 

“It was nice.” Donnelley smiled, looking out at the parking lot and seeing their two bikes parked next to each other, “Ex-Wife let me see my daughter. Jesus Christ, Queen, you should fuckin’ see her now, she’s grown. Ain’t like the pictures in my notebook no more.”

The waitress came by and set another pot of coffee down for the two of them, Donnelley pouring himself another cup. Much like Queen, he hadn’t slept for a bit. One part because of his habit to avoid sleep, the other part because he was busy calling in favors and setting things up for the two of them. “Yeah, she’s a young lady now.”

He sighed, looking down at his coffee, “But you know I didn’t call you to talk about missed years in an IHOP in Kentucky.”

Queen grinned at that, running a hand over his beard, smoothing down the windblown hairs. “Hey, man, that’s great. So I take it was a good visit, that can be rough, after so much time.”

He shrugged then went back to bouncing his knee, “Well, I don’t mind small talk, I figured I’d at least get my food before we start scheming our way back into West Virginia. Unfinished business we got there.”

The memory of Jay flashed in his mind, watching him slip away after the hotshot and his wily mother, dead from a bullet through her eye. They had just been the start, there were more lives they would probably have to take that he would not regret too much.  Queen sniffed and ran a finger over his mustache, “So, where do we begin?”

“I got a place set up for us in Charleston. I don’t want to go in as Feds, maybe just private investigators, make shit up as we go along and stay flexible.” Donnelley sipped at his coffee, “We can stash our bikes in Charleston, I got us another vehicle.”

He glanced at Queen, “Weren’t exactly easy,” he smirked, bringing his coffee up to his mouth again, “Or legal.”

“Check in with Roy, the State CID in charge of the case for the state PD. See if anybody else was around handlin’ our case and touched base with the Stateys.” Donnelley said, “And there’s some things I need answers for from her.”

He set his coffee back down and looked at it, then shook his head, “I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to make it out like I ain’t interested in catchin’ up with you.” He frowned, “I just can’t turn my back on this.”

He looked back up at Queen, “And you’re the only one I know and trust who’d go all in with me to get some goddamn answers.” He smiled at Queen, “Thanks for comin’, Billy.”

Queen huffed a soft laugh at it not being legal, “I hope it’s something good. So we’re gonna need some IDs and shit. So you gonna go in FBI with this Statey but we go in poking around Blackriver as a couple of private dicks.”

He grinned as he dumped sugar into the black coffee, “I can dig that. And it ain’t no thing, you know I’m here for you. Free time always gets me in trouble anyway. Better I get into trouble with you than on my own.” 

He sniffed and pinched his nose then stirred the coffee before looking to see if they had creamer on the table. “Anyway, this business with the Russians and these backwater Nazis, you still gonna be messing with them, we might maybe think about going in on their level. I can’t play a Russian but I got the other shit down. What’ll be tough I think is the sheriff’s department. You think any would recognize you?” 

Donnelley worked his jaw and shrugged, “We just gotta maintain good tradecraft. Change our appearances when we get into Blackriver.” Donnelley scratched at his beard, “We can only change so much, so we’ll have to show up sparingly around those parts.”

“A big fuckin’ firefight in the middle of town can get a man recognized with the Sheriff Department.” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “I never learned how they knew we’d be comin’ that time. But I’d be willin’ to bet my left nut that Sergeant McCune in the State Police knows somethin’ about that.”

“We’ll have to see how he’s doin’ sometime while we’re there in good West Virgie. Got some questions. Mainly why Detective Roy warned me about askin’ things about the old families in West Virginia.” He snorted, sipping at his coffee again, “This is completely off the books. I have my Company friends helpin’ me a bit on this, but nobody can know we’re doin’ this. Not Foster, not Poker, not anyone.”

“We’re goin’ to be flyin’ under the radar and if we get popped, there’s no one helpin’ us.” Donnelley turned dead serious as he looked across at Queen, “Last chance.”

Queen nodded slowly, his grin fading under his beard as he listened. He met Tex here without a second thought, he stayed fighting this fight that was slowly breaking him down because he could not leave him. Sometimes that’s all a person had to fight for anymore was those that meant more to him than life and he had very few of those people that he loved that much. He saw the waitress heading their way and said, “It ain’t fun if we ain’t risking it all.” 

It was bravado he knew and waited until the pancakes were in front of them and he had put away a piece of bacon before he added, “I know what you’re saying, brother. We’re on our own but I’d not want anyone else to put my ass on the line for. I want to find these fucks behind it all, I know you want justice for the girl, Maria. And God knows how many others like her and those that could end up in the same place. I suspect if we find out who’s behind the bullshit in West Virginia we get a lot closer to finding out who put the hit on us.” 

“And a lot closer to puttin’ a fuckin’ bullet in his face.” Donnelley muttered, his latest plate of pancakes in front of him now, “Let’s get some food in us and hit the road. Hopefully my Indian can keep up with your big ol’ Harley.”

>0600...///

Breakfast was good, filled with small talk and laughs while reminiscing about old times. About Amsterdam, about Mexico, about Florida and Queen’s mother taking them in and nursing them back to health after a big bender of cocaine, tequila, and hookers. They paid in cash, like they’d be doing for a while on this extracurricular rogue op the two were running. They were outside now, Donnelley sitting on his bike with a burning American Spirit between his lips. He looked Queen over in his clothes and how they fit him, how he looked like a wild outlaw biker. He averted his eyes at the last second, reminding himself that he and Laine were more official.

The two of them alone with no one else around, the reminiscing about their best of times together stoked some coals in him. Stoked something that would always be there for Billy Patrick, the only man he could say he ever had that specific type of fondness for. So long as he was the only person who knew the truth about his sexuality, and took part in it with him, there would be a bond between them. Accomplices to the things they did to and with each other where no one could see. The parking lot was barren besides the two of them.

“You come from somewhere classified? I know you DEA boys don’t like us Company men knowin’ things about y’all’s antics.” He smirked at Queen, ashing his cigarette and taking another draw.

Standing in the parking lot, Queen smoked one of his Kools and watched the sky grow lighter in the east, the sun rising behind distant hills. He caught Donnelley looking away from him and grinned around the smoldering menthol. The case aside, it was nice to be away from THUNDER and UMBRA and just be with Donnelley on their bikes and ready to go on some clandestine adventure. The definition of their relationship, clandestine adventure. He snorted a laugh and blew out a stream of smoke as he asked about where he had been. Another clandestine adventure thought not the same. 

Queen thought of Easy, how quick it had been to pick up the lost threads of their friendship and how it was so simple to pick it back up and relive the lie, basking in affectionate return. He took a drag and glanced at Donnelley, “Nah that’s just overseas, getting all up in our narco business.” 

He chuckled then shrugged, “I was visiting some friends, uh...you know those tattoos I got from my undercover days that I’ve never got covered?” 

Queen gave him a sheepish grin then gestured at the double H painted in fiery font on the gas tank and the 1% diamond decal centered on the fender. “Maybe I didn’t quite sever those bonds like I should have.” 

Donnelley chuckled and nodded, lifting up his shirt to show the THUNDER unit insignia still emblazoned on his ribs, “Some bonds are too hard to.” He dropped the shirt back and smoothed the fabric with a palm, “Not many people I can call friends in this world, man, but the ones I can…”

He took a drag and blew it through his nostrils, shrugging, “I’d kill and die for every one.” He snorted, “Think I proved that last one by now.”

Queen grinned at the unit tattoo and laughed, “Who was the asshole that tattooed that on you?” 

His sea colored eyes twinkled at the memory of his own handiwork and the official bringing in of Tex to the THUNDER pack. “I get that,” he agreed, his expression wistful. “It’s like a family, a big fucking drunk violent one but we all had each other’s back. I had theirs…”

Queen grimaced and then sighed, “They’ll never know if I have my way. Let them think I been doing time in Oregon State Pen rather than what I really am.” 

He finished his cigarette and picked the butt up after grinding it out against the asphalt. “Ain’t that true? I still can’t wrap my head around all that, not like I remember getting shot or being dead. Waking up a priest? I knew I’d be going to hell.” 

Donnelley chuckled and nodded, looking away from Queen to the sunrise, not exactly willing to share how he woke up and what he did with his first few moments of new life, “Yeah,” Donnelley smirked, muttering, “Ain’t we all.”

Donnelley took his last drag and deposited the butt into his ziplock. He firmly kicked down his bike’s kick pedal and heard it roar, that beautiful throaty sound ringing loud in his ears and across the empty parking lot. He swung his leg over his bike and settled into the seat, giving the throttle a couple cranks to hear the engine growl. He turned his head and raised his voice to his good friend, “Time to punch the clock, Billy.”

Queen put his helmet on, a compromise for his mother but with his Raybans and shaggy hair, he made it look cool. His Harley Sportster rumbled to life and he revved the engine, glancing at Tex, “Let’s see if that old bastard can keep up.”

He flashed a grin at him, the playful barb at both the bike and the rider as he hit the gas, recalling briefly the rolling out of Hell’s Highest but it was just the two of them and no dramatic parade. Just two wild ass country boys heading towards the hills.

Donnelley flashed a middle finger at Queen’s back as he screeched out of the parking lot, just before Donnelley did the same and set his bike to work catching up to the newer Harley. He regretted letting Gracy hold onto his Triumph in Texas about now. He hadn’t pushed his old Indian like this in a while, but the old bastard held his own as he slowly came up to pace Queen’s Roadster, [url= https://open.spotify.com/track/4rG7GtTipquzXDBHUcJQw1?si=ae9LTzUeSzij4-qWL8Nm7A&dl_branch=1]and the two of them raced into the distance toward Highway 64 into West Virginia...///[/url]

>CHARLESTON, WV
>SELF STORAGE FACILITY
>0900...///

Two riders were approaching the front gate of the self storage facility. Donnelley had paid for a garage big enough for their bikes when they retrieved the vehicle he had gotten Smitty to poke around his contacts for. Police auctions were always a welcome resource. Donnelley cut his Indian’s engine outside the garage and opened the door to reveal a 2015 Ford Taurus SHO in gun metal gray, kitted out with an unmarked police package. He retrieved the keys from inside the wheel well and slapped the hood, “How’s this for low key? Responsible four-door sedan with tac gear stowed in the back and 365 horses under the hood.”

“Sounds like we’re responsible upstanding badge wielding citizens,” Queen snorted, “I wonder whatever happened to that piece of shit Camaro, I hope it got a good home.” 

He brushed hand over his shoulder length hair and looked at Donnelley, “Well, we got the car. I reckon we’re gonna have to look a little more responsible?”

Queen gave his beard a tug, he had been growing it since he knew he was going to West Virginia in the first place. “I reckon if I’m gonna look any kinda official I should clean up. Been rolling with dirty white boys too long.”

He winked at Tex and gave him a lascivious smile over the hood of the car. Donnelley smirked as Queen smiled at him, running a hand over his own beard as he nodded, “At least trim it back to a respectable length so we don’t look like a couple of Hells Angels.” Donnelley shrugged, “I [i]am[/i] goin’ to miss lookin’ like a dirty white boy though. We’ll keep the changes subtle for when we go back to that set of Deliverance, fuckin’ Blackriver.”

Donnelley unlocked the car and started it, rolling it slowly out of the garage and into the lot so they could stash their bikes inside and not have to worry about them. He rolled down the passenger window, smirking at Queen, “Get in, fucker, we’re goin’ rogue.”

After stashing his bike, Queen grabbed his backpack and tossed it in the back, then hopped into the passenger seat. “Daddy drivin’ today?” 

He chuckled and snapped the shoulder belt on and sat back in the Taurus, “I feel like you should be taking me to Little League.” 

“Oh, I’ll be takin’ you to school in a second.” Donnelley muttered, leaving that on the air for Queen to ponder over its meaning as he stashed his bike next to Queen’s and shut the door on the garage. He got back in and set them towards the front gate and then past it. The rural backroad was empty this time in the morning, and Donnelley smirked, placing his aviators over his eyes. “Gon’ learn today, son.”

They merged onto the road and Donnelley took it slow for a minute before he knew it was clear, no State Patrol cars hiding in the bushes. There was a long, straight portion of the road with only trees lining it and Donnelley lead-footed the pedal, the engine jumping to life and screaming down the road, air whooping in through the open windows as their backs were pressed into their seats. Donnelley let out a mad shriek of laughter and his best rebel yell as they careened like lightning down the country backroad.

“Promise?” Queen quipped then sat back as they left the city behind. Once they touched the open stretch of highway, the car shot forward and he grabbed at the door where the window vanished inside it. 

“Hooo-ly shit!” 

Queen laughed and swore, the horse power hidden in the bland suburban car was a hell of a surprise. The mad rush of speed, the trees whipping by in a green blur left his heart pounding and once they slowed, he had to reach down to adjust himself in his jeans. 

“Goddamn,” he breathed out, “That’s a sleeper. Shit. I hate to say it, but this bad boy picked up faster than the Camaro.” 

“Shoo’, you think Tex likes drivin’ slow?” Donnelley put a hand on Queen’s thigh, the feeling of fast driving and faster living coming back after all this time spent away. He moved his hand away from Queen’s thigh and then cleared his throat, suddenly taken aback by his own behavior. He covered it with a smirk, “This baby’s got a whole shitload of torque and a shitload of horsepower. I like ‘em fast.”

“I know Tex don’t drive slow,” Queen said, lifting his eyebrows for emphasis and glanced at Donnelley when he gripped his thigh for a moment, making him shift in his seat even as Tex withdrew his hand. “You like  ‘em hard and fast.” 

He grinned crookedly at the suggestion but kept the conversation on the car, “I’m slackin’, I didn’t know about these things. Good pick. We’ll out run the fuzz anyday.” 

“Or run down anybody tryin’ to split.” Donnelley grinned, “Goddamn, I want one of these for myself now. Bronco’s a bit too top-heavy for takin’ corners.”

“First things first, let’s get dressed at the motel and then visit Detective Roy. We don’t exactly cut the image of investigators right now,” Donnelley eyed Queen’s Skynyrd shirt and his own black tee with ripped jeans and denim vest, “Just a few questions, in and out. We get trimmed up and see what else we can do if she can give us some leads I ain’t already got.”

He tapped his temple, “Gary Bruster, Hubert O’Grady, and Clem Jackson.” He recited, “Associates of our old friend Jay Mitterick, drug pushers and gunrunners. We need to find a way in with them if we want to find out where the fuckin’ Midazolam and Propofol came from. They’d be the biggest suppliers with a link to the Bratva.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Queen said, “I got some files on those fucks in my laptop. We can go over it at the motel room before meeting Roy.”

He glanced at the rearview mirror and brushed his hand over his beard, “So, you do me and I do you?”

Queen grinned a little at the innuendo, flicking a glance at Tex. He had no trimmer on him but he was willing to bet his right nut that Donnelley had come prepared for tradecraft including disguising their appearances. 

Donnelley licked his teeth as he grinned at Queen’s sense of humor. He could tell it’d be hard not to lapse into old habits if he was already grabbing Queen’s thigh. He took a breath, feeling the growing sensation inside of him when Queen looked at him like that, like a Pavlovian response to each other. “Yeah, I’ll do you and you’ll do me.” He smirked, “You know what they say about a sharp-dressed man.”

Soon enough, they were on the doorstep of Charleston. A city Donnelley hadn’t seen in a bit on account of completely avoiding West Virginia on his way to his office at Langley. It was one part not being seen anywhere he’d be recognized, and just not having a taste for tainted mountain air after everything he’d been through there. Thankfully, they didn’t have to go too deep into the city, their little Motel 6 off in the outskirts where they could cut and run and be away at a moment’s notice and where nobody looked too long at new faces. They checked in at the front desk, a single room for the two of them.

Donnelley closed the door behind them as they piled their luggage in a corner, or at least whatever luggage they could reasonably be seen with. The long guns would stay in the trunk for the time being, but he kept his FN close at his hip. He went to laying out the pieces of a crisp Fed suit, “So, what kinda black magic you got for me in that laptop of yours?”

Queen noticed the suit and quirked his lips, “I hope there’s an iron, I kinda stuffed mine into my bag. I love motorcycles but storage space.” 

He took out the slacks and blazer, shaking them out  and hunted down the fold out ironing board and cheap iron that would take forever to heat up. Turning it on, he glanced over to Donnelley. “You really wanna know what I got on my laptop?”

With a snicker he walked behind him and slapped his ass like they were in a locker room, “You’ve seen all the good stuff anyway.”

Donnelley bit his lip and looked over his shoulder to Queen’s way, watching his own ass as he walked to the closet, “Best not be showin’ some of our pictures on there around, motherfucker.”

Queen grabbed the laptop bag and dropped down onto one of the beds and removed the sleek little Asus computer and turned it on to wait for it to boot up and balanced it on his knee as he pulled up the files. “Before we had to high tail it out of there I ran some checks through the federal arrest records and a friend of mine on the OCDETF dug into some of his Russian files and found some thick borscht.” 

He took the laptop and set it on the table so Donnelley could read for himself as Queen ironed his suit and dress shirt. It was charcoal gray, nearly black and simple, nothing as stylish as his Versaci but no one would believe an investigator could afford that. So Nordstrom would do, at least he rarely had to tailor things to fit his lean body.

Donnelley finished putting on his black slacks, albeit nothing else. He was much too transfixed on the computer screen and what information it held for him. He reached behind him and slipped the black button-up over his arms and set to buttoning the shirt as he read, “You know, I ain’t too surprised by this shit. All of ‘em are verified Brotherhood, or Brotherhood affiliates. Mister Bruster, nicknamed Sly, is or was part of the Wolves of Erik.” Donnelley snorted, “White Supremacist hate group. I ever tell you all the times me and my little crew out of Dalhart got our knuckles busted on Nazi skulls out in Dallas?”

“Anyways, fucker got picked up on drug charges. Big ones. Did Fed time and came back very well connected. Namely Big Clem Jackson and Hubert ‘Clovers’ O’Grady, both AB. I bet they set Sly up with Jay.” Donnelley nodded, clucking his tongue and then barked out a laugh, “Look at this fuckin’ nerd.”

Donnelley stepped aside so Queen could see the screen. Gary Bruster looked like an office accountant, thick-rimmed glasses and clean-shaven face, “Apparently, he’s been keepin’ clean unless these ain’t the most recent records… oh, nope,” Donnelley snorted, “Says here he’s part of the Appalachian Sons Club.”

Donnelley pulled out his phone and searched up the club on Google, his brows raising when he not only found a Facebook page, but an Instagram page as well. He pulled up the Facebook, “Appalachian Sons Club, organization that advocates for the preservation of conservative American values in the region commonly known as Appalachia. Several fundraisers, charity events, and more.” Donnelley recited as he scrolled through the pictures and found quite a fair few of them with Gary Bruster in them, “We are proud to welcome our newest Son and Brother, Gary Bruster. He is newly reformed and has been helping the West Virginia branch grow through several outreach programs and rallies. Thank you for the sizable donation, Gary Bruster.”

“Lots of money in that Club. And transparent as all fuck.” Donnelley nodded, “Won’t be too hard to find this Gary Bruster. Says they’ve got an actual office in Clarksburg.”

Queen worked the iron over the suit as he listened, it had been awhile since he read the files but it started to filter back through the haze of post Alaska pills and powder. “Sounds about right, all those fuckwads stick together in and out of prison. Nothing unites people like fear and hate, right?”

He shook his head, working the iron vigorously over a stubborn crease in the wrong place. His expression lightened and he nodded, “Yep you told me, I would have loved to have seen that. Little Tex and his boys rockin’ some skinheads. Long haired and didn’t you say you wore makeup?” 

Queen chuckled fondly then shook his head, “Hell you saw my highschool pictures my mom has. Pretty much a clean cut redneck looking jock back then.You probably would have tried to fight me.”

He held his arms up, the bright tattoos flashing as he laughed, “Thank god [i]that[/i] was a phase. Ain't it funny...we were both probably rebelling against what our parents expected. ‘Course I might have looked square, but I was still sucking dick and banging pussy.”

He finished the pants and laid them over a chair and went to work on the shirt, “But you’re right, we can find that Sons of Appalachia real quick. Maybe we give Bruster the old shake down after we visit this Roy. And you sure he’s still reliable?” 

“She. [i]Maryanne[/i] Roy.” Donnelley smirked at Queen and his reminiscing on his younger days. The two of them had their different ways of rebelling at that age, but they still had that little secret rattling around in their back pockets, “And I don’t know, maybe I’d be smitten with young Billy.”

He chuckled, knowing he shouldn’t be enticing Queen like that now that he and Laine were that deep into a relationship with each other. He loved her, and he made a promise to himself and to her when he told her he loved her. His heart was strong, but his flesh and skin were sinful, the past knew. He sighed, “Ain’t it somethin’ though. Sometimes I ask myself if young Donnelley would approve of the things I’ve done and the country I’ve done it for.” He shook his head, softly chuckling, “But, I don’t think I’d be able to get anythin’ through that hard fuckin’ head of his.”

“She?” he raised his brow but was quickly distracted at what Donnelly said after. Queen grinned, the devilish gleam in his pale eyes sparking. “Fight me then fuck me.”

He turned off the iron and went over to lay his hands on Donnelley’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, “Sure, I’d have been smitten, too. We would have been an even odder couple back then.” 

Queen let go and sighed, “Yeah, I bet. I don’t think any of us would imagine ourselves where we are today. Or having done things...like we have.”

He tugged his t-shirt up, pausing halfway in thought, “But I think our younger selves would be proud we at least look cool doing it.”

Laughing, he pulled the shirt off and unzipped his jeans, “I think I’m gonna have a shower. Wanna shave me before?”

The mischief was there still in his face when he indicated his beard instead of his open jeans.

Donnelley’s eyes roamed from Queen’s face down to his exposed, flat stomach, the abdominal muscles standing out like bricks with the lack of fat. Even Donnelley had put on some fat in the pursuit of muscle mass he’d gotten, but it only served to fill his sleeves. He wanted to reach out and touch Queen, run his fingers down his stomach and grab him by his manhood, but that was a line he just couldn’t cross. Flirting and innuendo was one thing, actually following through with what he wanted was another. Even with all the history between them. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, let’s do it now.” He said, “You can get me before I shower after you.”

>WV STATE PATROL STATION
>CHARLESTON
>1100…///

The Ford Taurus rolled into the parking lot of the Station, the sight of the two bearded Fed lookalikes turning heads of beat cops and detectives standing around and talking on their breaks. Donnelley and Queen dismounted, shutting their doors, and Donnelley noted some of the looks they were getting from behind his aviators, “You’d think they’d never seen two dudes swingin’ their fake Fed dicks through the front door before.”

Donnelley walked in unheeding of the curious glances he and Queen got, up until they were at the front desk, “I’m here to see Detective Roy, I called ahead.”

“Okay, let me-“

“I know where her office is.” Donnelley cut the young officer off and pushed off from the desk and made his way to Roy. When they found her office, she’d already had three piping hot mugs of shitty drip coffee.

“Oh, you know just how to make a girl feel at home.” Donnelley smirked, taking his aviators off and hanging them on his collar, “How are you, Detective?”

“I was doing better before you showed up again.” Roy smirked, “Haven’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Was there not another team taking over the case in my absence?” Donnelley was drained of all humor at his question, his suspicions needing to be answered. Roy shook her head, and Donnelley growled out a sigh, “Alright then, business as usual. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Er, well, first,” Donnelley chuckled, gesturing to Queen, “This is my partner, Special Agent Bradley Phillips. I’m showin’ him the ropes on this case, he’s a new face for the Bureau.”

“Well,” Roy gave Queen a good, long once over, “Ain’t you easy on the eyes.”

Roy stood and offered her hand out for a shake, “Detective Maryanne Roy. How are you, Special Agent Phillips?”

Queen had his hair slicked back, it still was probably too long for a proper FBI agent but at least it was tamed and his beard trimmed closer to the skin and combed. He adjusted the Hugo Boss jacket and smoothed the sleeves to tug them down over the tops of his tattooed hands and raised his eyebrow at Donnelley as they entered the office. 

Roy was not what he had expected, a middle thirties blonde with a no nonsense air about her and large brown eyes. She wore little makeup and looked like she slept too little and worked too much but had naturally attractive features. When Donnelley introduced him he gave her a nod, silently cursing Tex for the name Brad. What a douche name. 

At her observation, Queen grinned, his eyes gleaming with interest. He stood to take her offered hand, the lettering on his skin now on display. He brushed his thumb lightly against her after the shake, just a subtle movement of less than professional touch. ““Might I say the same to you, Detective.”  He smoothed his jacket, unbuttoning it to sit back down. “I’m doing very well, thank you. Learning a lot from this man right here.”

He turned and gave Donnelley a nod, all seriousness as he covered the desire to tease. Queen looked back at her, his sea colored eyes lingering on her lips until he had to remind himself it was supposed to be a real button down Fed.

Roy sat back down in her office chair and folded her hands in her lap, “Well, I got coffee ready for you too. I didn’t know how you took it, so I left it black.”

“Usually take mine with whiskey.” Donnelley joked, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I do too, just can’t be drinking around these fools here. Anyway, you said you had a question for me?” Roy quirked a brow, all business now.

“Yeah,” Donnelley pulled out his phone and made sure not to show his entire camera roll. There were pictures in there nobody but him and Laine should ever see. He finally found the picture he’d taken in Warden McKenna’s office and showed it to Roy, “You know some of these people in here?”

Roy’s eyes studied the faces in the picture, going over them a fair few times before she sat back and fixed Donnelley with a stare. She shook her head, “I like you Donnelley. A lot. I can tell you’re doing everything you can for this case,” Roy paused, “But there’s things here that even a Fed like [i]you[/i] should be careful with.”

Donnelley fixed Roy with his own stare, “That a threat?”

“A [i]warning.[/i]” Roy said. She pointed to his phone, “It’s Sheriff MacOnie. The suit in that picture is the County Prosecutor, his brother, Killian MacOnie. Then there’s Sergeant McCune.”

“I remember I asked you last time, what Sergeant McCune’s deal was. You remember that?” Donnelley pressed, knowing he’d struck a nerve, and maybe if he kept pushing she’d slip something in there.

“I remember I told you to pump the brakes.”

“I can do a lot, but I can’t do that. You know where Warden McKenna is now?” Donnelley asked.

“Retired.” Roy answered.

“Okay, where?”

“The cemetery. Killed. Hit-and-run a day before his flight out of state was scheduled.” Roy shrugged, “Open and shut case. I opened it, they shut it.” 

“Who’re they?” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed.

“Some suits. Listen, I’m not going to talk about this. Not here.” Roy’s demeanor grew darker, she shook her head, “Just going to do my job, clock out, go home. And take my coffee with whiskey.”

Donnelley nodded along, though the look on his face told the three of them in the room that he wasn’t happy with Roy’s answer. “Okay.” But it wasn’t, “What can you tell me about Gary Bruster, ex-Wolves of Erik one-percenter, now he’s got his big boy button-up and slacks on with the Appalachian Sons Club. What’s their story?”

“Good ol’ boys club. Not-so-subtle white supremacy. Par for the course here in Dixie.” Roy snorted, “Why do you need Gary?”

“Hoping he can put us on the right track with these people selling drugs. Know where he lives?” Donnelley asked.

Roy booted up her computer and began typing, clicking on whatever she had to on her screen neither he or Queen could see, “Here in Charleston. Runs his own little Appalachian Sons office downtown.” Roy nodded, “I’m sure you can book a meeting with him. He likes his outreach, showing new folk what they can accomplish by realizing they’re white or something.”

“Two of you should be able to waltz right in.” Roy chuckled.

Donnelley stood and smiled to Roy, “Thank you. I’ll remember what you said about being careful.”

“[i]Please do.[/i]” Roy sighed heavily, rubbing at her face, “That it?”

“Yep. Now I’m off to kick the hornet’s nest.” Donnelley tapped his forehead in a quick salute.

>…///

Donnelley shut his door and just sat there in the driver seat for a moment before scoffing, “Hit-and-run. Some [i]suits.[/i]” Donnelley chuckled exasperated, starting the car, “You believe this shit?”

Queen shook his head then nodded, “I believe it. I believe they made it look like that, good way to get rid of someone that might talk. Those suits though, you think they’re part of our club?” 

He glanced over at the closed door and said, “Maybe I see if she wants to meet for coffee and whiskey. Maybe she might be more pliable and willing to talk outside the office. You know, relaxed.” 

Donnelley depressed the gas pedal and took them out of the parking lot and the disappointment of that interview. He waited a moment, driving down the streets until they were stopped at a red light, “Maybe, maybe, maybe.” Donnelley mouthed a swear under his breath, “You can try. Let’s go talk to Gary first. See if our good ol’ boys have a habit of killing former wardens.”

After the light turned green and they were off down the road again, he snorted, “You just want some pussy with a badge.” Donnelley chuckled.

Queen snorted and grinned, “Well, hell I mean you know...uh, maybe. I think she’s cute, nice lips and pretty eyes plus she knows things. Things I bet she wants to tell but she’s afraid.”

He glanced out the window after the near slip and rapped his knuckle against it. “But yeah, let’s go see Gary Goebels and see if he’ll get chatty. Wanna play bad cop and less bad cop?” 

“Oh, boy, do I.” Donnelley grinned with the throaty growl of the engine as he accelerated down the road.

Following the GPS, it didn’t take long to find Gary Bruster’s office. Donnelley parked in one of the spaces available on the side of the street, opening his door and stepping into the sidewalk. He looked from the big ‘Appalachian Sons Club’ sign proudly displayed on the front of the little office space and then to Queen, “How we goin’ to do this?” He asked, “Figure you’re a better talker than me, loosen him up. Play along with the white trash master race bullshit or somethin’.”

“Or we just play the Fed role straight. We got dirt on his old friends, lump him in with them and he’ll squeal like a pig.” Donnelley grinned.

Queen glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh you do?” 

He left it that as much as he loved sweet gossip they had a job to do. “Well, I’d go in there as some poor white man who lost his job because of Affirmative Action or because some Mexican did it cheaper. Whatever bullshit they like to blame. If I was cultivating him over time but time ain’t something we got. I say we go in as investigators but play along with his shit, lull him into a sense of security then hit him with it. If we go in guns blazing he’s liable to just clam up, he knows what happens with people that become liabilities.”

Queen thought it over, “Maybe we play along, get him out of the office. Take him somewhere quiet.” 

He looked at Donnelley for a long moment, “Did you bring your bag?” 

Queen paused and breathed out a rough chuckle and drummed his fingers against the door frame, “Jesus, I’m talking like Poker. Yeah, we’ll do it your way. Lie and offer him immunity, protection, whatever will buy his cooperation.”  

“I ain’t sayin’ I [i]don’t[/i] like that idea.” Donnelley smirked at Queen, looking at him sidelong, “Let’s play like we’re a couple of good ol’ boys here to discuss a donation to their… charity, or whatever the fuck.”

“The rest’ll come natural.” Donnelley walked forward and grabbed hold of the office door, pulling it open and gesturing him in first, “You enter, you look friendlier.”

As Queen stepped through, Donnelley followed. What greeted them was a tiny waiting room, fake plants in the corners and gray furniture among white walls and carpet. There was a Keurig on a table as well as a water cooler, and across from that was an empty receptionist desk. It looked more like a high end stylist’s place more than a den of thinly veiled racist sentiment. This was how they legitimized, Donnelley thought, let the friendly faces do the marketing and sweet talking. And when they buried themselves into local governments like ticks, there weren’t any stopping the less friendly faces from whipping up an American Kristallnacht. He turned his lip up in contentment at this place.

There was a bell with a note next to it, ‘ring for service.’ Donnelley did just that, and a few moments later, the receptionist appeared from out behind a hallway as she smoothed her skirt down. Didn’t do anything to fix her hair though, and Donnelley knew then what kind of man Gary Bruster was.

“Hi, can I help you gentlemen?” The receptionist chirped, a blue eyed brunette with pretty and delicate features, skin almost like porcelain and nails done up.

Queen glanced at him with a sly smile and entered the door, making an observation of the office as they waited on the receptionist. She was pretty as expected, what buttered a red blooded man’s bun like an example of Aryan womanhood. He smiled slightly, giving her a once over but held her eyes, resisting the cleavage she was showing in the scoop neck blouse. 

“My buddy and I are in town on some business and we’re looking into your organization,” he said, reaching up to brush his trimmed beard, ‘We’re looking into donating and speaking to Mr. Bruster, I believe his name was? We’re interested in the organization as we both come from states where we have a large amount of like minded individuals facing the same fight. Would he be available now?” 


“Oh, I’ll have to check,” The receptionist beamed, “He does love seeing like-minded people, but there’s just so much of them, you know? He’s got a busy schedule.”

“Oh, we understand. We’ve got a schedule of our own to keep, so hopefully he’s got something today.” Donnelley smiled.

“Oh, of course, of course. It looks like the last slot today is in an hour, but maybe if he sees your contributions as particularly enticing he may invite you for dinner!” The receptionist giggled, “He’s fond of showing new friends just how well our white, conservative community is still doing.”

“Oh, [i]I’m sure.[/i]” Donnelley replied, mouth full of unappreciated sarcasm. “Well, we’ll be more than happy waiting for him.”

The door opened and two men stepped in, one of them broad and big enough to give Ghost a run for his money. The other one had a face gaunt with age, and even from under his sunglasses, Donnelley could tell his gaze was boring into the two of them, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you two before.” A slight Russian accent buried in his words that one could’ve missed, “I am Fedor, this is Viktor.”

“Oh,” Donnelley seemed almost taken aback, and had it not been for the weight of his Glock drop gun at his waist, he’d have been more nervous, “Hello, gentleman. My name is Christian O’Neill, and this is my business partner… Franklin.”

Donnelley offered his hand out with a small, friendly smile, but Fedor simply stared impassively, “Franklin…?” He asked, expectantly.

“Lee,” Queen responded in his best Virginia drawl, “Franklin Lee, nice to meet y’all.” 

Queen did not offer his hand, flexing his fingers so the tattoos on his fingers flashed and neck ink belied  the well groomed appearance. He looked the pair over, the Russian accent sending a warning jolt through him. So soon and so blatant, he thought though it did not show on his pleasant expression. “How y’all enjoying West Virginia? Even I gotta admit the scenery here is something special.” 

It was small talk but it kept him from staring too hard at the gaunt man with sunglasses though the big Viktor was more the physical threat. “Why we went over that bridge on the New River Gorge, hell of a view. A wonder of American engineering.” 

The accent he used had a touch of the tidewater drawl but not enough to sound like he was putting on airs but enough to show he was not from the mountains, at least originally. He put his hands on his narrow hips, making a show of glancing over at the receptionist. “Truly wonderful views.” 

“Ain’t they?” The receptionist beamed up from her computer, “Oh, gentlemen, Gary is ready to see you!”

“Thank you.” Fedor did not smile at the receptionist, though his tone seemed like it was as pleasant as it ever got, “I hope you two have a nice day. I’ll remember those names, Misters Lee and O’Neill.”

Donnelley nodded to Fedor as he passed, and having Viktor walk past them was like watching a shark drift just an arm’s length past. He wondered for a bit how Ghost would take the man apart, if he could. The two disappeared behind the hallway and the sound of Gary greeting them at his office door could be heard. He turned to Queen, nodding outside, “Let’s find a place to while the time away, Mister Lee.”

“Laury’s Restaurant on MacCorkle is a [i]great[/i] place. One of Mister Bruster’s favorites!” The receptionist said, “I’m sorry, you two probably already know the place, but I went there just yesterday. French cuisine, and it’s [i]so quaint.[/i]”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be sure to keep that one in mind.” Donnelley smiled and then headed for the door. He leaned on the reception desk and slid one of many fake business cards that were tied to one of the Program’s shell companies over to her before turning for the door, “Number’s there, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” Queen said as he followed Donnelley out the door. He was already hunting in his blazer for his Kools as he went to the car. 

Once he and Queen were inside the car, Donnelley blew out a breath that puffed his cheeks out, “Did you see that fucker and his giant-ass Igor?”

Donnelley snorted, “Should’ve taken a picture and sent it to Ghost.”

“Can’t let those racists see me smoking menthols,” Queen said as he lit a cigarette then grinned, “I bet Ghost would growl at it like a dog seeing its reflection.” 

“Probably book a flight right then to come flex his nuts.” Donnelley snorted, the anxiety of the hasty encounter still dissipating, “Can’t take that fucker anywhere. Remember that time with the drunk Armenians at the Bellagio?”

Donnelley shook his head, “Weren’t even talkin’ to us. Next thing we know there’s three unconscious fat old cologne soaked bastards with broken orbitals and I got a broken nose and bruised knuckles.” Donnelley found his cigarettes and lit one, “Still got the scars when I punched a car window tryin’ to get that fucker in the face. Good times.”

Queen laughed at the memory, it was a haze of cocaine and overpriced champagne but then all of their trips to Vegas with Ghost were recalled through that lens. “Fuck those Armenians and their unibrows.”

He flicked the ash out the half rolled down window and said, “He’s there now, Ghost that is. Took his leave to [i]his[/i] town. Poor bastards don’t have us as a buffer.” 

Queen huffed a chuckle, “Remember the last time we were there? Goddamn triple teamed that escort, she was a trooper. She earned that extra tip.” 

“Made her airtight.” Donnelley chuckled, “Almost kinda felt bad. Almost.”

Donnelley pressed the start button on their car and paused, “I’m sure we’ll be very charming for Mister Bruster the White Nationalist, you think we should check out that French place or wait for him to inevitably extend the invitation to us two handsome representatives of… uh,” Donnelley reached down into his blazer’s inner pocket and pulled free one of the business cards, “Representatives of VISCO, Virginia Intelligence Solutions Company.”

He took a card and looked at it, testing the thickness of the stock and asked, “Is that ‘Silian Rail’?”

Queen grinned a little, tapping his finger on the fonts and then tucked the card into his front pocket. “I think we should just hang out, I’d like to see these Russians when they leave.” 

He scanned the parking lot to guess which car was theirs. “Maybe after, I don’t want this guy to squirm away if he senses anything off.” 

“Good thinking.” Donnelley was scanning the street too, looking for any other personal protection detail for Fedor that seemed to be watching for anything, and finding none, “Looks like Viktor is Fedor’s only PPD. Makes it easy for us.”

Donnelley left the parking space and circled the block, paying special attention to any cars that seemed to be following them. At one point, he went around a roundabout twice only to turn back down the road they’d just come from. He went back to the street Gary Bruster’s office was on, parking in a space further down the street from his front door. “Should be a camera in the back. Snap some when they come out.”

“Yessir,” Queen acknowledged as he twisted in his seat and turned around, reaching back for the camera in its soft case and found it wedged under the seat. With a grunt he grabbed the strap and pulled it up, almost elbowing Donnelley in the head as he turned back to drop into his seat. “Whoops, almost got you there.”

He removed the camera and played with it until he felt comfortable, snapping a few shots of the building and the cars, zooming on their plates. Queen turned and put the camera on Donnelley, “Say dick cheese!” 

Donnelley laughed and took another drag of his cigarette, giving Queen his middle finger. It’d be another hour of surveillance on Bruster’s office, but by far not the longest time he and Queen had spent casing someone and their place before they went in and did their thing. Memories of Johannesburg in South Africa and El Paso, Texas came to mind.

“You know, it’s a federal offense to photograph me.” Donnelley smirked, “Of course for a couple hundred bucks and a handy…”

He snorted, nodding down the street to Bruster’s office, “Just keep it trained down there, you swamp chomp-wrasslin’ motherfucker.”

>1HR LATER…///

Like most times spent surveilling a target or their known associates, Queen and Donnelley passed the time with reminiscing, or shit-talking, or what they’d do with their time off. Mostly a combination of all three, and Donnelley was mid-laugh and trying not to get piss all over his pant legs while relieving himself into a water jug when the door of Bruster’s office opened and out stepped Fedor and his big bodyguard, Viktor.

Donnelley’s attention snapped to the two and he urged Queen, “Stop lookin’ at my hog and get those motherfuckers in frame, quick.” Donnelley said, twisting the cap of the jug back on and putting himself away, “Glamor shots, motherfucker, show us your best angle.”

“I told you let me hold it -” Queen started to joke but his attention was quickly diverted and he pulled up the camera, sinking down to get a better angle out the window. The settings at least were still in place for that distance and he braced his elbows as he zoomed in to keep it steady. “Fuck this fuckers sunglasses,” he muttered taking several shots of Fedor. “Dracula looking ass.” 

He shifted to take a few of Fedor, catching a clean profile and three quarter view when he turned to open the car door. Once they were in, the temptation to follow was strong and he snapped one last photo of the rear of the vehicle and the license plate. “Wonder where they’ll be off to now?” 

Queen set the camera in his lap and went back through the photos, there were some clean decent images and he saved them.  

“Given if they didn’t give us their own aliases, we can maybe look them up later. Not many Russians walkin’ around Charleston, I’d think.” Donnelley shook his head, eyes tracking the car as it rolled off down the road and then disappeared with a left turn, “Fucker’s got a bodyguard. Gotta be important, and he just implicated at least Bruster, if not all the fuckin’ West Virginia Appalachian Sons Club with colluding with our best friends the Russians.”

“Whether it’s Nikolai Gorochev’s Bratva or the GRU, I can’t tell.” He clucked his tongue, “At this point, I’m startin’ to think they’re one and the same. Wouldn’t surprise me if the GRU were usin’ the Bratva to do their wetwork stateside.”

Donnelley’s phone began to buzz, and he answered, knowing it had to be that cheery receptionist. “Christian O’Neill, VISCO Intel.”

“Hello, Mister O’Neill! Mister Bruster is ready for you, but I’m afraid you won’t have the full hour. Some pressing business with some partners of his needs addressing,” the receptionist said, her voice the very essence of manufactured professional apology, “But Mister Bruster is very interested in a short meet and greet, plus a dinner meeting at a later time!”

“Well, lucky us! I’ll thank him in person, he won’t regret this. I believe our company can offer a lot to your organization.” Donnelley said through an equally manufactured smile and excitement. “We’ll be just a second, see you when we get there.”

“Sure thing, Mister O’Neill, buh-bye!” And Donnelley ended the call. He replaced his phone and rubbed his hands together, “Fuckin’ [i]showtime.[/i] Let’s put on our winning smiles and placate this fuckin’ dick before I push sewing needles in his fingers in a basement.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re working together,” Queen agreed, “Too much of a coincidence they seem to be always up each other's asses coming after us.” 

He slid out of the car and straightened his jacket with a quick snap. Queen ran his hand over his hair and glanced at Donnelley, “Let’s do it, my white brother. I’m just getting in character. They should be on their knees for our DNA, a ginger and blonde? Shit.” 

Strolling forward he added, “I’m gonna let you take the lead but we should corroborate our stories. Ex military, of course. How long we been in business? How many employees we got? Where have we operated? How many times we’ve taken vacations to a Sandals resort on the company dime?” 

“Former military. We’ll say the 90s. We’ll say, uh, eighteen-hundred,” Donnelley spoke as he followed Queen down the sidewalk, “Obviously we’ve seen time in the Mid East, DoD money’s damn good. South America, because god knows that place don’t have enough shitheads.”

He looked at Queen, “And vacations aplenty, the hell we look like, public servants? We’re contractors, baby, our dicks’re too big to not swing ‘em.” He whistled, facetiously spouting, “Goddamn, it’s a good day to be a white boy.”

Donnelley tugged on his jacket and smoothed his hair back, “Lucky for us, I’ve got the role of arrogant prick down [i]pat.[/i]” Donnelley smirked sidelong at Queen, “You, you were [i]born[/i] for it.”

He reached over and opened the door to Bruster’s office, “You first, buddy.”

Queen nodded at the details as he committed them to memory, then chuckled, “I like your arrogant prick.” 

He flashed him a sly smile before shifting his expression to an earnest and very straight young white man trying to make America great again. Queen stepped through the door and smiled at the pretty receptionist but his focus was on the office door. 

“Thanks, brother,” he said, resisting the urge for a cheeky grin. Queen stepped into the office and recognized the face from the photos. The office was neat and clean like the reception area, with minimalist decoration including framed photos of a smiling blonde wife and kids sitting on the porch where an American flag was mounted. A family man, even the dog was a blonde labrador. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Bruster,” he said in the soft Virginian accent, “Heard a lot about you and your organization. Thanks for taking your time.” 

“Of course, anything for upstanding Americans like you.” Gary Bruster smiled, the words and gesture making Donnelley’s skin crawl already, “I’m told that you two would like to make a donation and talk business.”

“Yes, sir. We believe VISCO has a few things that we can do for your organization.” Donnelley said, then placed his hand on the back of one of two chairs on their side of Bruster’s desk, “May I?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Donnelley sat down in the chair with a smile and a nod, “Anyway, like I was saying, VISCO has a few capabilities and services that you and your organization might be [i]very[/i] interested in.”

“Do you now?” Gary Bruster pursed his lips and nodded, “What exactly [i]is[/i] VISCO. I haven’t had time to research your company between my last meeting and now.”

“Right,” Donnelley said, “Well, Mister Lee and I are representatives out of the Virginia offices of VISCO, or Virginia Intelligence Solutions Company. Virginia Intel for short.”

“Now, since the early 90’s, VISCO has been fulfilling consultant positions, hands-on contract work, and more for the Department of Defense and the Department of Justice in conflict areas around the globe with the Army, the CIA, Homeland Security, and more.” Donnelley smiled, knowing authoritarians absolutely loved any mention of the military or law enforcement, “We also do a lot of bulk data analysis and business intelligence for entities within the Private sector, I’m talkin’ Microsoft, Apple, and the big boys like Goldman-Sachs.”

Donnelley winked at Bruster, who was curious with a big damn smile, before continuing, “And everyone is [i]very[/i] pleased with our work. We haven’t lost a single contract in all of our years of operation.” Donnelley grinned, “Now, as for what we can do for you, we’ve got a lot of pull with a lot of people in DC, and even State and County level in some places.”

“We deal with public image manufacturing,” Donnelley began counting on his fingers, “Threat analysis, cybersecurity, and- my friend and I’s [i]specialty[/i]- investigative services and interrogation.”

“Like your very own NSA and FBI rolled into one small package.” Donnelley spread his arms and sat back, “I’m sure you and yours would love that. And, I’d like to invite you out for dinner after your time here in the office today. I understand you have pressing matters to attend to on account of your last guests.”

Gary Bruster listened with rapt attention, surely thinking how all this could be too good to be true. It was, but he didn’t need to know that yet. At the mention of his last meeting, he made a subtle twitch of the face that Donnelley picked up on, before he sighed, “Yeah, those guys. You know, I want to keep this nonprofit as American as possible.” Gary shook his head and leaned back in his chair, “And those Russkies are cramping my goddamn style.”

“Russkies, huh?” Donnelley quirked a brow, “Our competition?”

“Only if you folk do mining too. They want a couple of our boys in public outreach to come rally their workers and uplift morale.” Gary shrugged, “American Dream and all that. Hard work and bootstraps. I’m all for it, except for when it comes to that shit. I’ve been in West Virginia all my life when I wasn’t with the Rangers.”

“A Ranger? Hot damn, I was with the Rangers back in the early-2000s.” Donnelley leaked a little bit of truth into the lie he’d spun about his persona and who he represented, “Always good to meet a fellow vet.”

“A fellow [i]patriot.[/i] And like a patriot, I can’t disingenuously send some folks over to Blackriver to whip up some cheer for America when America let this happen to them.” Gary Bruster sighed and shook his head, “Bad taste. I’ve heard about Blackriver, been through at one point… anyhow! You boys got me rambling when I don’t have time to.”

“One last thing, you said mining?” Donnelley latched onto that.

“Yeah, Vera Corp Mineral & Rare Earth. Bought the MacOnie mines way back, they own almost all the land out there.” Gary shrugged, “Of course, I think somebody needs to tell them that land is still [i]America.[/i]”

“I heard you though, and I’m impressed. If I may, I know a few good places around here we can sit and talk without a time limit.” Gary smiled, standing and sticking his hand out for a shake, “I’ve got your number, I’ll have Sally out there call you and set things up. Let’s hope for later tonight, but I can definitely promise sometime tomorrow.”

“Sounds amazin’, thank you for hearin’ us out, Mister Bruster.” Donnelley reached over and shook Gary’s hand, turning for the door. Donnelley waved his goodbyes at Sally the receptionist as he passed and they went straight for the car.

He shut the door and nodded, “I remember bein’ told that Sly Bruster was Jay’s top gun. Baddest shooter. Seems to have risen into a better position after you clipped Jay’s wings.” Donnelley snorted, “Doesn’t seem too sad his friend died of an overdose. Maybe this is what Jay was doin’, how he networked and washed his money, maybe.”

"I doubt he was broken up about it," Queen agreed, "I'm interested that fella just told us he doesn't like the Russians, now we know why. He's a [I]patriot[/I]. Probably, the bratvas have established ways of washing money and likely getting some other locals mixed up in it. But what I'm really curious about is this Vera Corp. And what they're doing with the Russians, are they a Russian based company?"

As if to answer his own question, he took out his phone to Google them. After a few minutes he put his phone against his chest and turned to Donnelley, "You gonna love this. Guess who as of recently owns the Red Dog Mines in good ol' Noatak. They also got some mines on a bumfuck frozen island called Svalbard."

Queen made a drum roll by slapping his thighs, his phone sliding to his lap. "Vera Corp is a joint American and Russian owned conglomerate. It's...not much of a surprise."

He picked his phone back up and tapped the screen, then scrolled down. "Hey, what was that fucker's name? The head of the bratva operating around here."

“Nikolai Gorochev?” Donnelley answered.

"Huh, well the man listed as the owner shares that last name," Queen replied. "Ivgeniy Gorochev. What are the odds? Is that a common last name or just sharing DNA."

He went back to the browser and checked the last name. "Seems it's extremely rare, this particular spelling at least. It's a very good chance considering everything that they're related. [I]Vor v zakone[/I] indeed."

“Well then.” Donnelley frowned, “I guess I know where we’re goin’ after havin’ dinner with our gracious host.”