[h3]The Things We Leave Behind, Part II…[/h3]
[i]Businessmen, They Drink My Wine…[/i]

>2100…///

The brakes quietly came to a stop at the restaurant Gary Bruster and Donnelley had arranged to meet at, The Chophouse. An upscale steakhouse Charleston, and Donnelley did have to admit he was craving a thick slab of bloody meat. To cut down on their profile, he and Queen had been ordering from drive thrus and quick gas station cuisine, and even the most hardened killers couldn’t go on like that for long. Ghost was fucking prostitutes while Donnelley and Queen were going rogue. Donnelley made sure to slip the black budget offshore account credit card into his wallet before they’d left, one part tradecraft, one part frugality. He didn’t want to be spending his own money, Holly’d be pestering his grave for child support if he died out here.

They’d replaced their ties and suits with more business casual fare, Donnelley dressed in black slacks, brown leather oxfords that matched his belt, and a dark Navy blue polo. He ran a hand down his beard to smooth out the hairs, “You ready, pardner?”

Checking his hair in the drop down mirror, he smoothed out a few locks that tried to fall forward and then ran a hand over his short beard. “Contractor ready, beard and tats, check,” he said, flexing his lean biceps in the black and white polo shirt. He wore similar black slacks and had his prized ASP subcompact pistol tucked in his waistband under the shirt, the small size made it easily concealed even on his lithe frame. 

“Hold up,” he said, flipping up the mirror then glanced at Donnelley, a little light in his eyes gleaming. He took a small vial of coke out of his pocket and tapped out a small bump on the back of his hand, leaning down and holding one nostril closed as he snorted sharply. Queen blinked and rubbed his nose, pinching the bridge, “Hot damn. Want some? This ain’t that bullshit I found in Alaska.”

Donnelley eyed the baggy for a moment, deciding whether or not to indulge. Of course, they were playing rich, well-to-do, arrogant contractor pricks. Best commit, he decided, “Hell yeah, motherfucker.” He took the offered bag and tapped out just a small bump onto his hand, “Oh, it’s been too long.”

He plugged one nostrils and ripped the line, letting his head fall back against the seat’s rest and rubbed his nostrils. He groaned as he felt it take hold slowly at first, and then vigorously shook his head when it picked up, “[i]Woo[/i], yeah!” He laughed, knocking his fist against the steering wheel, “Now I’m ready.”

Queen grinned, biting his lower lip slightly, the numb tingling spreading through his face. “Goddamn right. It’s been too long for a lotta things.” 

He gave Tex that look, the one they shared so many times when others weren’t paying them any mind, smoldering and full of promise. Queen stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He strolled into the steak house, giving the dark haired hostess a once over then grinned. She was young and pretty, window dressing for the restaurant but he saw a peek of ink on her tricep under her blouse when she reached up to tuck her pen in her hair.

“Hi, welcome to Chop House. Gotta reservation?” she asked, reaching up to toy with the pen behind her ear. 

“Only about the wine menu,” Queen quipped and the girl blinked.

“Sure, we do,” he added, “Under Lee.” 

“I don’t see any Underly,” the hostess said, taking her pen out and tapping her lips with it. 

Queen sniffed lightly, then chuckled, “Frank Lee.” 

“Uh..oh!” she exclaimed, dimples appearing as she smiled and she giggled, her eyes dancing. “I see you here, follow me.” 

Queen watched her turn around then glanced at Donnelley, a hint of a smile. They walked through the restaurant and found their table. He looked up at the hostess and her name tag, “Emily, we have a friend joining us, name is Bruster. Can you make sure he finds us?”

“Sure thing, don’t y’all worry,” she said, “Enjoy your steaks.” 

Queen watched her walk away and let Donnelley take the booth facing the entry and he watched the kitchen doors. “That girl likes to party,” he said almost off hand. “Hey, you think Sally gives Bruster head in his office while he’s wheeling and dealing for white America? It’s gonna be fun to ruin his night.” 

Donnelley snorted as he scanned the restaurant, “You kiddin’ me? You saw her when we walked in fixin’ herself up.” He chuckled, “Pretty sure Gary was balls deep.”

Still scanning the restaurant, Donnelley spotted Gary Bruster arriving. Which was good. Except for the fact that he was flanked by two men who looked like they’d stepped out of an MMA studio and into a couple of suits. Donnelley could see one’s cauliflower ears from orbit, and he looked back to Queen, “Check it out, asshole’s here.” Donnelley nodded to the front door, “With a fuckin’ entourage.”

Queen raised his brows at that, then looked at Donnelley, "Someone's nervous. Too bad we have a booth, looks like one of them is gonna be out on his own. Let's just make sure we ain't trapped."

He stood up and turned as if to make for the restroom as Emily the hostess was bringing Bruster and his plus two. 

"Did you want me to bring y'all another chair?" She asked, glancing at the muscle that had not been mentioned being expected.

“Oh, no. It’ll be fine, can you find my two friends here an empty table?” Gary asked the hostess.

“Of course! I’ll find them a table in no time, your guys’ server will be with you in a moment.” And with that, the hostess buzzed off like a worker bee to assist some of the other patrons of the restaurant.

Gary smiled at Donnelley as he sat down in the booth, scooting to take the side adjacent to him, “I’m glad we picked this place. You ever been here before?”

“Don’t believe I have, I’ve spent a lot of time in Turkey on behalf of VISCO. You ever make it out that way, I can show you some places to eat.” Donnelley smiled at Gary as if they were good friends, a practiced way of lying, “So, uh, no. I haven’t, but judging by the looks of this place, has to be good.”

“It is, man. I wouldn’t take you anywhere I wouldn’t eat myself. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, I treat my brothers [i]good.[/i]” Gary chuckled, patting Donnelley on the shoulder.

Queen slid back into the booth across from Donnelley, a slight smile on his face when he talked about Turkey. “I wouldn’t drink the water there, though.”

He clasped his hands and rested them on the table as the waitress approached for their drink orders. He ordered sweet iced tea and once she was done, Queen turned back to face Bruster and Donnelley, “I always envied that Ranger scroll. I was in the Navy doing nerdy Navy things while this guy was jumping outta planes and shooting hajji in the face.” 

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley chuckled, “No mission without the intel.”

“Damn straight, us doorkickers love our nerds.” Greg chuckled, looking at Queen, “So, we talked a little bit about your guys’ company. Big government contractor.”

Donnelley nodded, “I’d say more mid-sized in the government. We tend more towards private sector entities, just like you and yours, my man.” Donnelley winked, “So, I told you [i]everything[/i] we do for [i]everyone,[/i] but what can we do for [i]you.[/i]”

Gary nodded, looking away from Queen and Donnelley and at his hands folded on the table. He looked like he was thinking, and more than that, mulling things over. Donnelley knew there were things rattling around in Gary Bruster’s head. The death of his best friend, Vera Corp, and his ties to Big Clem and Clovers O’Grady. “There’s some people that I know.” Gary looked up from his hands and stared at Queen, then Donnelley, “You said something about being a private NSA and FBI rolled up into one, right?”

Donnelley glanced at Queen sidelong, then back at Gary, “Sure.”

“Your investigative services. I cut ties with these people to go legitimate, you know, old life.” Gary cleared his throat, “I need to know if they’ve got anything that might hurt me, or the Appalachian Sons Club. We’ve got a rally coming up, and any kind of bad news that could come out about-“

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Donnelley turned a bit more serious, “We aren’t formally under contract, I can’t go any further into this without a signature granting us the ability to carry out whatever you need carried out under your authority.”

“Frank, what do you think we should do? How much do you think an investigative action and public image engineering like this would cost?” Donnelley asked. Any arbitrary number would do, really, and he was hoping Queen would milk this asshole for whatever they could get away with.

Queen raised his brows slightly and looked at Bruster, leaning in just a bit to show his interest and the comradery of conspiracy. What Bruster did not see was the small recording device, the good old wire as it was still called, that silently captured whatever the man was going to tell them. “It’s the one thing that can destroy everything you worked for, that’s for sure. Someone with a grudge, some pissed off ex girlfriend or old runnin’ buddy. Not something you wanna skimp on. Sometimes you don’t even know what they might know or who they might have told. One thing I learned in the Navy, we don’t leave it for guessing.” 

Gary nodded vigorously, clearing his throat and taking a gulp of his ice water, “Listen, I’m willing to pay. I’m willing to sign whatever you need me to sign.” He said, “For something like this, I can give you… twenty-thousand.”

“On short notice? I can only assume we’ll be working in earnest A-S-A-P, am I correct?” Donnelley’s brows rose. “Because if that’s the case, we’re the only ones on deck for you right now. I can assure you that Mister Lee and I are fully trained investigators. So?”

“Well,” Gary looked away, “Thirty.”

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, “Base price is thirty-thousand, cash. Anything else is a ten percent charge. Depending on what needs covering up and the intensity of this operation…”

“Okay, I get it. So, where do I sign?” Gary asked.

Donnelley pulled out his phone, tapping and sliding his finger, “I’ve got an electronic document here for just such an occasion.” He offered the screen to Gary, “Just sign here on the dotted line, and your problems go poof. Sleep like a baby tonight.”

Gary wasted no time in putting his name on the line, “Thank you. I didn’t know you VISCO folk worked on such short notice.”

Queen grinned slightly at that and glanced at Bruster, “When there’s a fire it needs to be put out. We’re your 911.” 

He unclasped his hands and shifted his gaze to the waitress approaching with their drinks and ready to take orders. 

“Steak, medium rare with the sauteed mushrooms and red potatoes, thanks,” Queen said, still feeling a little giddy at fifteen thousand dollars that would soon be in his bank account. “And the green beans, those are fresh ones right? Not the canned?”

“Right, fresh ones with garlic and butter,” she turned to Donnelley and smiled at Bruster, “Well, hey there Gary, the usual?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Rare.” Gary smiled, weighed down by the loss of thirty large, but happy that he’d soon be worry free on behalf of VISCO’s incredible service.

“And for you, sir?” She looked to Donnelley.

He licked his teeth, “Let me get the filet mignon, rare. Garlic mash, asparagus spears.” Donnelley rolled his jaw and smirked, “And a round of shots. Johnny Walker Blue, we’ve got somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Alright!” The waitress chuckled, offering her hand out for their menus, “You want the shots first, or are they coming out with the food?”

“First, please.” Donnelley smiled, handing over his menu.

The waitress turned on her heel and marched off towards the kitchen, leaving them alone once again. Donnelley turned back to his two friends at the table after giving the waitress’s ample hips an audience as they swayed her away, “Well, now that we’ve got an agreement settled, we need to establish some information. Whatever you can give us on these people you think might be gunnin’ for your career.” Donnelley inclined his head to Gary, “And leave nothin’ out. We need every detail, see if we need to bring any other personnel on.”

Gary looked to the two of them, “It’s a long story. And we’re going to need some privacy.” Gary lowered his voice conspiratorially, “We can meet at my office after dinner.”

Donnelley nodded slow, the plan coming together far more easily than he thought. They didn’t even have to bring out the rohypnol. “Sounds real good, Mister Bruster.”

>…///

Donnelley was laughing as he closed the car door, watching Gary Bruster leave the Chop House’s parking lot. He clapped his hands and drummed them on the steering wheel, “Fifteen-fuckin’-thousand!” Donnelley laughed, “He just paid us fifteen-fuckin’-[i]thousand[/i] to grab him by the balls and squeeze.”

He reeled himself in and pressed the ignition button on the Ford, hearing it rumble to life, “We take this on the road and we can make some fuckin’ bank, Queen, my boy.”

“Never been offered that much for it,” Queen chuckled, pleased with their well paid ruse. “Much better than having to use your tool bag. More profitable.”

“Good talking, Tex. You got him going. Of course it’s lucky he was a Ranger. Y’all raw meat eatin’ fuckers,” he said, then pulled up his shirt, checking the charge on the small recording device. He plugged it into the power bank and let it charge while they drove. “It’s always nice when they do the work for you, I’ll just verify what he gives us and we’ll go on. Make a copy of all his incriminating statements, which by the way we need him to say names so don’t let him slide on that.”

Queen paused then said, “It ain’t a criminal case but wouldn’t that make him sweat to know we’d go to the men he’s naming?” 

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ bankin’ on it. We need some leverage, we’re on our own out here and we need every bit of protection we can get.” Donnelley tried to remember the turns they needed to take to get to Bruster’s office. “We’ll squeeze everythin’ we can and get to work. If he acts up, we give him a taste of how fucked he is.”

“Those Tapout wearin’ McGregor wannabes ain’t goin’ to be able to save his ass when we’re done.” Donnelley pulled into a parking space on the street outside of Bruster’s office. His two goons were posted outside the front door and Donnelley eyed them, “You got one in the chamber in that cute little Barbie pistol of yours?” Donnelley asked, “If he tries to double-cross us, we take those two down and disappear with Gary. Liquidate ‘em in the sticks and leave ‘em for the rats.”

“One way or another, we’re gettin’ dirt on Gary and his friends, force ‘em to tell us who they sold the drugs to. Or who they know sold the drugs.” Donnelley pulled his handgun and gave it a quick push check before holstering it again, “You ready, pardner?”

“Barbie pistol? I don’t need to compensate for anything,” he grinned, then nodded. He held the compact 9mm in his hand, the clear plastic on the grip showed a full magazine was loaded. He slid it back in his waist band then tucked his shirt over it,  “Yep, it's ready to go. So am I.”

He sniffed, rubbing his thumb against his nose after snorting a little bit more powder, just to keep the edge. “Fuck it feels good to be a gangsta.” 

“Alright,” Donnelley took a breath, “Let’s do this.”

Donnelley opened his door and threw on his fleece coat to cover his IWB holster, walking up to the door of Bruster’s office before his goons stepped in front of it, “No weapons.” One of them said, Cauliflower Ear.

Donnelley looked to Queen and then back to Cauliflower Ear, “You get to keep yours?”

Cauliflower shrugged, “Rules.”

Donnelley paused, staring Cauliflower in the eye for a few long moments. Cauliflower’s friend unfolded his arms and then Donnelley smiled, “Okay.”

The two of them commenced the pat down on Donnelley and then gave him a thumbs up after he handed them his gun. The two converged on Queen.

“Fellas,” he raised his hands, locking his fingers behind his head but kept his legs closer together. In his pants pocket he had a utility folding knife and his keys, “I’m just the intel guy, but have at it.” 

Cauliflower commenced the pat down, making doubly sure he had no chance of brushing Queen’s junk. Donnelley could tell from his own patdown that these guys had to be lowest bidder. They didn’t find the punch dagger Donnelley kept by his balls. Donnelley chuckled watching Cauliflower go around Queen searching for weapons like he was afraid something in Queen’s pockets would awaken something in him. He pulled Queen’s ASP free from his waistband and dangled it in his face like they’d done a good job, “Alright, [i]Intel Guy.[/i]”

Cauliflower slapped Queen’s shoulder a bit harder than needed and then opened the door for the two to step inside. Waiting for them in the main room, leaning on the receptionist desk was Gary. “Friends. Come on,” he waved them on and led them to his office, “Have a seat, we can get to business.”

Queen tried not to roll his eyes, only gave the goon a tight smile, “I want it back when we’re done, it’s a collector’s piece. Don’t go breaking it in those big hands now.” 

He dropped his arms and tucked his shirt back in as he followed Donnelley into the office. Dropping into the seat and breathed out, seeming to find the chairs comfortable but it was more of a relief. They had found his gun but not the recorder and it was running at full charge, the flat small device taped to the center of his chest under the navy portion of his polo shirt. 

“I’m sorry about all that,” Gary said, nodding to his door, “I can’t be too careful nowadays. If you can’t tell… I’m kind of desperate.”

Gary smiled sheepishly before it disappeared, “The people that want me gone… old friends. Associates, more like. I went to prison on drug charges some time ago, my reputation went very downhill and they introduced me to a man named Jay. Jackson Mitterick.” Gary rested his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled in front of his face, “Jackson actually had my position with the Club before… well, we pride ourselves on abstaining from illegal substances. When it came to light that Jackson died of an overdose, his family’s reputation was dragged through the mud.”

“And then I applied. They took me in, knew that a story of the Club helping to reform a former criminal and put his name back into glory as a veteran? A hero?” Gary chuckled, albeit humorlessly, “They couldn’t pass it up. It was the Club’s name on the line too. They couldn’t have one of their office heads being known to have died of a drug overdose and it was just the story they needed to overshadow Jackson’s death.”

“There’s two men that know about what I once was-“

“And what is that?” Donnelley interrupted, “I need to know everything.”

“I was Jay’s enforcer. I taught his guys to shoot, how to move, everything the Rangers taught me. Jay had two others besides me, and that’s who I’m afraid wants to cut me down.” Gary frowned, looking down at his desk and letting his hands down to rest, “Clemence Jackson handles the drugs for Jay’s Aryan Brotherhood, they call him Big Clem. Hubert O’Grady runs guns. Clovers.”

“Clovers?” Donnelley asked.

“His nickname.” Gary paused, then took a deep breath, “I lied. Last time you were here. Fedor and Viktor, those two Russians. Fedor runs the mines. Viktor is the local Bratva head.”

“They want me to go back to what I was doing before I got my head on straight. The Brotherhood, the Bratva, the mines. You have to understand, it’s not just my career on the line,” Gary shook his head, slow, “It’s my [i]fucking[/i] life.”

Queen listened closely, attentive to their client and getting it all recorded. He whistled softly then raised an eyebrow, “You’re not kidding. Bratva and the ABs, I know their game. You said they wanted y’all to rally the workers at the mines, give them the whole pep talk for workin’ hard for God and country. Are they striking? What’s going on there that they’re looking for outside help?” 

“You’d have to ask Fedor. I haven’t been to Blackriver for a bit,” Gary shrugged, “I know about the rumors of that place. About David Dulane, the devils in the mines. I don’t know if they’re true, but if I was a miner, I’d be pretty fucking hesitant to go down there again after that shit.”

“Okay, okay.” Donnelley leaned back and scratched at his chin, then began to stroke his beard, “I need everythin’ you have on Hubert and Clem. We can start investigatin’ them after we get addresses and spots where they spend a lot of time.”

Donnelley looked back up at Gary, “As for the Russians. The [i]Bratva,[/i]” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “That costs. Brotherhood is one thing, international criminal organizations is another.”

“I need [i]everything[/i] taken care of.” Gary said, “If the Appalachian Sons want seats on the State Legislature, and start helping put some sense into this country… I need everything taken care of. Not just for me, but the country.”

“Uh huh.” Donnelley said, a little less enthusiastic in his facade of camaraderie with Gary, “Goin’ toe to toe with the Russians is an extra ten. Forty thousand. Half now, half later, and we’ll get to work.”

Gary frowned, rubbing at his eyes and then nodded, looking away from Donnelley and Queen until he spoke, “Fine.”

“We can accompany whoever the Club sends to the Vera Corp mines, gather some Intel on Fedor if we can. Anythin’ to help you level the playing field.” Donnelley rose his brows, “Sound good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, please, get this done quietly.” Gary pleaded, “I can send you the addresses to Hubert and Clem’s houses, and anywhere they hang out at. Thank you, again.”

Gary rose from his seat and thrust his hand out for them to shake. Donnelley took Gary’s hand first, “Don’t thank me. Thank the Military-Industrial Complex for makin’ me and VISCO.”

>MOTEL 6
>0200…///

Donnelley sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless and dressed in shorts now that they didn’t have to keep up appearances. His laptop was sitting next to him and he’d refresh the page every once in a while, waiting for the forty-four thousand to show up in the Black Budget account. He had a smile on his lips, and a cigarette too, smoked down to only half the stogie. It smoldered there until Donnelley took another drag, taking it with forefinger and thumb and blowing the smoke out. “Come on, hurry the fuck up, Gary.” Donnelley muttered.

It took a few more refreshes until the amount in the account ticked up those thousands of dollars. When it did, Donnelley let out a hearty laugh. Twenty-two thousand, Donnelley and Queen splitting it down the middle and making like bandits in the chaos that seemed to be West Virginia. The only downside was that they’d have to do the real work come tomorrow. Casing Clem and Hubert, then waiting on the call from Gary so that they could go to the Vera Corp mines and find out what a Russian mining company was doing in Alaska, a desolate archipelago, and West Virginia. He pulled up his secure emails linked to the Agency and typed up a request to Smitty for a deep-dive into Vexel Rare Earth and Radko Minerals, as well as Red Dog Mine, and Pyramiden. Hopefully it’d come within a few days. He shut his laptop and then rose from the bed, knocking on the bathroom door, “Hey, fucker, are you hoggin’ the coke?”

Queen finished the quick shower and stood in the cheap motel towel, cutting lines on the small hand mirror. Fucking over twenty grand because his best friend was smart and desperate rich people were willing to throw money at their problems without thinking too hard about it. At the knock he laughed, reaching over to open the door. 

“I was just prepping it for you,” Queen said, stepping back and looking over Donnelley in his shorts. “Damn you been beefin’ up haven’t you.”

He passed him the short straw and leaned against the sink, watching him get down on the thin neat lines he had cut. His own body was leaner than he had been five years ago, strong but wiry, without the bulk that he once had. The tattoos distracted from the lack of mass, emphasising the ripple of muscles just under his skin. He put his hand on his hip, the tattooed pistol just below the v-line, pointing towards the target under the towel. 

“Suck it up, get it all,” Queen teased. “Gotta celebrate tonight,”

Donnelley stood straight again after ripping a line off the mirror Queen had set up, wiping his nose off on his forearm and mouthing a swear, “Good god[i]damn.[/i]” Donnelley screwed his eyes shut as he pinched his nostrils, “This shit really is good. What asshole you confiscate this from this time?”

He laughed, giving a little shrug. “I got my sources. Miami is great for good coke,” Queen said, leaning in and bending to take his turn. He blinked hard and rubbed his nose, then checked his hand, making sure he wasn’t bleeding again. “You outta see the penthouse I’m [i]renting[/i], gotta view of the ocean.” 

Queen closed his eyes then rolled his shoulders, then opened them looking directly at Donnelley.  The pale blue green color twinkled with mischief and he gave him a crooked grin. “I gotta admit, I was fucking impressed how you played Bruster. Thanks for spitting even, you always got me.” 

He stepped forward, searching Donnelley’s face before closing the distance, pushing him towards the doorway. Queen reached up and cupped the back of his head, going in for a rough, hungry kiss. 

Donnelley was taken by surprise as Queen roughly grabbed him. His back collided with a wall, the only thing keeping him from tripping up and falling. As Queen’s lips met his, and the coke was in full swing through his system, he simply melted into it. And then pushed himself into it just as hungrily as Queen, the two of them letting out soft groans. He’d wanted this since he’d seen Queen shirtless the first time in this hotel room, and couldn’t help himself. As he led Queen to the bed, he pushed him onto it and followed him on, leaning over him, but stopping just short of their lips meeting.

He pulled back, ashamed. How would Laine feel if she could see him now. What would his daughter think, knowing her father was snorting drugs and cheating on the woman he loved. He’d told Holly that he was better now, but was he really?

“Fuck.” Donnelley rose from the bed to sit on the edge, cradling his head in his hands, “Fuck, fuck, [i]fuck.[/i]”

Queen hit the bed, his towel bravely hanging on and he was reaching down to change that when Donnelley pulled back. He opened his eyes, furrowing his brow as he saw him pulling back to sit at the edge of the bed. Queen pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at him, “What’s wrong? Joey?” 

Ever since the time in the basement in Alaska Donnelley had been standoffish. It had been fine on the ship after snatching Carlisle and something changed in that time. “Talk to me.” 

“Billy, I have to tell you something.” Donnelley said, still not looking at Queen, his back turned to him and the only thing discernible of his mood was the tone of his voice and subtle rising and falling of his shoulders with his breathing. “I can’t do that. Not anymore.”

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, down his face and beard, “I’m involved with Laine. The FBI Psychologist on my team.” Donnelley shook his head, “I should’ve told you sooner, but we’ve been involved for a while.”

Queen held his breath, then nodded even though Donnelley had his back to him. Ever since the time in the basement he knew something was different and the idle speculation among THUNDER guessed at it. He felt a rising ache and frustration as he stared at Donnelley’s freckled back. 

“I know who she is,” Queen said, then rose off the bed so he could walk around and face Donnelley, holding the towel closed with one hand on his hip, “It’s what you want? She makes you happy?” 

Donnelley looked up at Queen, searching his face. It felt like ripping a piece of himself away and giving it back to the man who’d revealed it had been there all along. There was a strong bond with Queen that he had, but he had to face the truth one day. Looking at Queen now versus when they first met, he was skinny in the ways he’d seen addicts become, and he knew the man had seen a lot. They’d seen a good amount of it together, faced it down and come out on the other side in one piece. Kept each other from falling over the edge more than once. But he knew his friend was closer than he’d ever been, and he wasn’t sure he could save him from going over next time.

He swallowed hard, looking away from Queen. He nodded, forcing himself to speak what he needed to, “Yeah.” He said, “She does.”

Queen bit the inside of his lip and nodded again, staying quiet for a beat before he looked down at Donnelley, “I take it she doesn’t know about you...about us.”

“I’ve never told anyone, Billy.” Donnelley looked back up at Queen with misty eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but only croaked out a pitiful little sound he masked by clearing nothing out of his throat. He shook his head, breathily muttering out, “I’m still scared.”

“You and I both know how it is… how it [i]still[/i] is for men like us.” Donnelley frowned, “She doesn’t know. About me, about us. Nobody does, but you and me.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” Queen said, the pain flickering in his sea-colored eyes. “I know why. It kinda just has to be that way for us. Had to. I guess...”

He tried to crack a smile but it faltered as he said, “I guess it makes it easier, we don’t have to explain to anyone. It uh...”

Queen swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing under the trimmed beard. “At least you don’t have to hide her, you can be proud. She’s hot and smart...someone you can actually be with.”

He breathed out forcefully then glanced down at himself in his towel. Queen chuckled, then groaned a little, “Well fuck I guess. It was fun while it lasted.”

Queen turned and started back towards the bathroom. Donnelley let out a hollow chuckle, more just a lifeless breath from a mouth that couldn’t smile, “Yeah, it was.” His mouth closed tight in a frown and he cleared his throat again, speaking hoarsely, “I, um, I think I left somethin’… in the car.”

He stood up from the bed and turned away from Queen again as his best friend and the man he once loved, still loved, went for the bathroom. He wiped at his eyes before grabbing his pack of cigarettes and going for the door outside. He closed the door behind him as his head hung low, descending the stairs down to the parking lot and over to the car. He unlocked the driver side door and slipped inside, leaving the door open as he shoved a cigarette between his lips.

He lifted his lighter, but took the cigarette from his mouth to cover his eyes as his lip quivered.

[h3]The Things We Leave Behind, Part III…[/h3]
[i]No Reason to Get Excited…[/i]

>DATE TBD
>0700…///

Queen was awake before Donnelley, he had slept little and spent most of the night focusing on his racing heart rather than the man in the bed next to his. He had finished off the lines of coke that had been left on the mirror, drowning his sorrow the only way he had left. He lay there in the dark hovering on the edge, wondering if his heart would burst from too much coke or from loss.

He was dressed now in dark jeans and an undershirt, he had made coffee which he had no appetite for but left it for Donnelley and stepped out to smoke one of his Kools and watch the sun come up over the trees and powerlines that lined the parking lot of the motel. 

Donnelley woke up soon after, opening his eyes to the popcorn ceiling of the cheap room. He took a breath once he realized last night had not been a bad dream, and the emotions only slightly blunted by time. He reached over to where he’d left his American Spirits and put one in his mouth, looking to the big window to the outside, seeing the silhouette of Queen on the walkway outside. He sighed, knowing that avoiding Queen was impossible, and put the case in jeopardy anyway.

He put his feelings aside and got up to standing from the bed, walking outside and leaning on the rail next to Queen after lighting his cigarette. It was quiet between the two for a few long moments, but Donnelley decided to break the tension, “How do we want to approach this thing with Clem and Clovers?”

Queen heard the door open and he took a deep drag from the menthol cigarette. He pushed the pain back down and shifted mental gears, he was Queen now. Billy would have to wait until this rogue mission was over. 

"Well, they're scumbag hillbilly drug dealers so I figured I'd give them a scumbag hillbilly drug buyer," Queen said, not looking at Donnelley but out at the parking lot, "I can probably talk my way in, I know enough about their organization and how they do shit. Gonna see if they want a new opportunity to make some cash without Russian involvement. You be my backup in case shit goes sideways. What do you think, Mr. Spy?”

Donnelley nodded, taking another drag off his cigarette, “Sounds good. I just stand there and look pretty, got it.” Donnelley smirked, looking sidelong at Queen for a moment then looked back down at the parking lot, “I’ve been around a few gunrunners, I know the deal. Might even score a drop gun off him to thicken the lie if we can butter ‘em up enough.”

Queen glanced at him, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “I figured I’d go in alone, do like I do with the DEA and have you standby and listen and be ready if I need help.” 

He finished the cigarette as he nodded, “But you’re right you got that gunrunner experience and a two for one will be more tempting. So we go in together, tag team ‘em.” 

Queen snuffed the butt of the cigarette and palmed it, a sly smile coming to his face. “Hell if you can get these assholes to drop a buncha guns and drugs I’ll bl...buy you a beer.” 

His smile faltered but he turned away, “Guess we need to dress the part and get something to eat, junkies never start their day this early.” 

“We diggin’ the bikes out?” Donnelley quirked his brow, at least a little bit of a mood lift to be back on his Indian.

Queen glanced back and took a deep breath then said, “Hell yeah we are, dirty white boys ride bikes. Professional PIs drive sedans. Let’s talk about loadout and I was thinking about what we know about Jay that might be hard for Big Clem and Clovers to look into quickly.” 

“Well,” Donnelley frowned, shrugging as he took a deep drag off his cigarette, “We know he’s a former office head for the Appalachian Sons Club. He had enough money and pull to make the Park Police turn their heads to the Sinaloa, and then the Russians.”

“He had a Park Police Officer by the name of Billy Britt killed in… uh, Charleston, here for threatenin’ to blow the lid off his operation.” Donnelley looked at Queen, “And sick some hillbilly mercenaries from… Georgia, I think, on the Feds that came knockin’.”

“Meanin’ me and UMBRA.” Donnelley looked at Queen, “Not much else.”

Queen clicked his teeth together thinking it over, “Mercs from Georgia, it’s possible but we don’t know much about them. Good chance of fucking it up. These guys do time with Jay? Hell we just act like he met us in a bar and we got chatty and he gave us his contact information for a deal but he died before we could make contact. It’s asking them to trust strangers but...”

He grinned but it did not touch his eyes, “We’re good at that.” 

Donnelley huffed a chuckle through his nostrils before he grew quiet, his smirk fading as he looked out at the sunrise. The moment grew quiet until Donnelley spoke, “Jay, Vera Corp, the Bratva, GRU. Blackriver Killers and David Dulane.” He shook his head slow as slow, “Billy Britt and Frank Wilkins. Clyde Baughman and Maria Vasquez. [i]Blackriver.[/i]”

“Everythin’s rotted out in this [i]fuckin’ place.[/i]” Donnelley spat.

“Yep,” Queen agreed, “Like gangrene, just creeping steadily and rotting everything it touches. Something worse than just the grinding poverty and poisoned water, something darker.” 

His gaze was unfocused, somewhere miles from where they stood and he absently lifted his hand as if to smoke but remembered he had finished the cigarette. Queen dropped his hand then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The depth of the rot had not been measured yet but here they were, the two of them about to stick their hands right in. 

“Let’s get ready then, time to save another piece of the world,” Queen turned and went into the motel room holding the door for Donnelley so he would not have to swipe his card. 

Donnelley pinched his cherry out, but kept the cigarette butt out of habit, “Or burn it all down if we have to.”

>1100…///

The air had been thick between them at breakfast. Hardly a word other than the scheming on how to fulfill the hollow contract they’d signed with Gary Bruster. Maybe it was better that way, focus on the goal and nothing else. But it felt like his throat closed up every time they met eyes, knowing he’d never kiss him again, and he had his regrets for not at least going the whole way with him last night. It would’ve just made the pain worse for Donnelley, betraying Laine’s trust. He’d done it once in Vegas, he promised to never do it again. Maybe he was better at not letting people down, but then why did it feel like he was dying?

He nipped off his flask as he threw the Ford into park in front of the storage garage he’d rented. He climbed out of the driver seat and made his way to the door, unlocking it and lifting it open on its track to reveal the two bikes resting there like they’d left them. He and Queen had dressed the part of gunrunning, drug trafficking criminals from out of town. Donnelley had left his vest, instead only wearing the worn leather jacket over a plain black tee and black jeans. His aviators were up on his forehead and he lit the cigarette between his lips while he got back into the Ford. He let Queen get his bike while he pulled out his phone and got Gary on the line. Once he heard him pick up, he spoke, “Chris with VISCO. I need somethin’ to get us in with Clem and Hubert.”

“What? I thought you would just surveil them-“

“We’re hands on. You wanted this done right or done sloppy?” Donnelley asked, his tone all business and barren in friendliness, “The longer we wait, the longer they’ll have time to plot.”

There was a pause, silence filtering in on the other end of the call with that quiet hiss, “Okay.” Gary muttered, “You’re right. Uh, us and Jay always had a password set up with everyone who worked with us.”

“And that is?”

“Gott mitt uns.” Bruster said, “Nazi German Army thing. Birth of a Nation was a favorite with our boys, so we’d say our job was to protect the Southern Country.”

Donnelley rolled his eyes and silently wore his disgust on his face, “Okay. We’ll have this handled, Gary.”

“Good, thank you.”

Donnelley hung up the phone, slipped it back in his pocket and took a long drag off his cigarette, then another nip off his flask, “You know, you ever told me I’d be doin’ favors for Klansmen and Nazis, I’d knock the head off your shoulders.” Donnelley shook his head and hocked a gob of phlegm into the lot, “Gonna feel so good when we pull it out from under ‘em.”

Queen had not eaten much at breakfast, toast and coffee leaving most of the food on his plate. It hurt to look at Donnelley and he held that in, there was a job to do. A big one that might get him killed all over again and no chance for a mulligan like the last one. The coke binge the night before left him still wired but in an exhausted way and he had no appetite. Once they left and got to the storage unit, he felt a little better as they were doing things rather than sitting there trying to evade anything personal. 

It felt strange and the tension in his stomach and chest would not relax. Queen wanted to tell him how much he would miss him, that he stayed alive in the eyes of the Program for him. Without their connection he would have been lost long ago but he knew anything said about that would just make Donnelley feel guilty then maybe resentful. He had to find his new equilibrium, the new boundary he had to keep in mind when there used to be none. It would take time which they sorely lacked. 

Queen glanced up at him and nodded, “Well, gotta lay with dogs sometimes.”

He ran his hand over the Harley Sportster and thought about Easy and Goat, the other friends he had among Hell’s Highest. Correction. The friends Hollywood had, not Queen and certainly not Agent Billy Patrick. 

Queen dressed like biker scum, just short of wearing the colors but he would not go representing the club without them. He wore a worn leather jacket without patches instead over another t-shirt, this one bearing a vintage logo of the Charlie Daniel’s band proclaiming "The South's Gonna Do It" with a confederate battle flag flying behind the letters. 

“Jay sure got his,” Queen said, forcing himself to sound chipper so he would not be a fucking downer. No one liked that. “Ol’ boy got it nice and easy. Hell of a way to go if I do say so myself.” 

“That’s the best part ain’t it? Setting these fuckers up and knocking them down, getting ours at the same time,” he said, then dug into the pocket of the tight jeans. He put a couple of the pills he dug out into his mouth, dry swallowing them, taking them to even out his unstable emotions. “So you got like the secret clubhouse password? No [i]negroes[/i] allowed or something?” 

He rolled the hated word off his tongue with a surly southern drawl, one he had heard enough growing up in northern Florida. Queen disliked it but if he showed hesitation saying the things that would have been natural to assholes like Jay it would cause suspicion. 

“Separate but Equal.” Donnelley snorted, then shook his head, “Gott mitt uns. God is with us, or some bullshit. Gary said Jay and them would say it was their job to protect the Southern Country.”

“Slip that in somewhere. You sure you want to go in alone while I wait outside?” He asked.

“Got mittens? What kinda shit is that? Oh right, Nat-zis,” Queen said, the country in his drawl thickening. 

Queen glanced at Donnelley, a petulant part of him wanted to say yes to show he didn’t need him, that this was the sort of thing he handled for the DEA before. But despite his hurt, Donnelley was someone he would always trust at his side. “I can handle it,” he said, adjusting the side mirror on the arched handle bars, “But I mean, if you wanted to try and get that gun drop, that’s sorta your thing, spook.”

Donnelley dragged off his cigarette and took a moment to think. Whether or not to go in with Queen, or let him do his thing. He trusted him, but he didn’t trust those two Nazis not to blast Queen in the face if they even sensed something was up. But he had to trust him. He looked back at Queen and nodded, “Break a leg, motherfucker. I’ll be outside.” Donnelley put his aviators over his eyes and gave the gas pedal a couple pushes to make the engine roar, and gave Queen a wink, “Gott mitt uns.”

And Donnelley was off toward the storage facility gate.

>1140…///

Queen’s Harley rumbled through the mostly empty streets on the outskirts of Charleston, Donnelley following two cars down in the SHO, trunk full of tac gear and speakers bumping a FEAR song. Low income neighborhoods they called these, but Donnelley had grown up in one and trudged through more than a few from Texas to Baghdad to know that shithole was a more apt description. Most here would agree. They stopped at a red light and Donnelley scanned the road and sidewalks with hard eyes behind his aviators. A man caked in street dirt was sleeping in front of a convenience store, a pack of youths was on the other side of the street and were eyeing him and Queen. Whites and Hispanics.

Donnelley only snorted and shook his head as he looked away. Time was, any one of those kids could’ve been him. And it was like he could see their thoughts, a violence barely hidden for all the world outside these streets. The light turned green and Donnelley accelerated down the road, letting the sad scenes pass him on their way to Clem and Hubert’s drug house. When they got into the neighborhoods and away from the storefronts and strip malls, he knew they were in the right place. Boards in windows, hollowed out houses covered in graffiti.

Queen turned up the dead-end street that in a nicer neighborhood would be called a cul-de-sac. His gaze shifted from behind his sunglasses, he saw the house described by Donnelley. It was similar to the house they raided, Jay’s mother’s house. That had been a shit show and his gut tightened, he was not wearing his vest, it was in the trunk of the Ford along with his Scorpion. He rolled to a stop in front of the rundown house and immediately the dark hole of the open door caught his attention. 

“Shit,” he muttered, picking up his phone. “Hey, looks like we’re late to the party.” 

Queen kept an eye on the house as Donnelley closed the few blocks and pulled beside him. 

“Cops already raid this place?” Donnelley asked, cutting his engine and looking at Queen, “Might mean trouble for our client if they talk.”

“Maybe,” Queen said, leaning on the handlebars, resting his boot against the street, “Whoever did it knows how to kick a door. Wanna take a peek? See what we can find.” 

He scanned the area, looking for anyone that might be hanging out watching the house. Dismounting from the bike, he pulled the helmet off and hung it from the handlebars. Queen checked his weapons, the small hand gun secured in the small of his back. 

“Wanna take the fun guns?” he asked, stepping around his bike to move to the back of the car to get into the trunk. Inside were their soft vests like he wore on plain clothes raids and more firepower.

Donnelley popped the trunk, revealing the arsenal in the large compartment, “Already ahead of you.” He smirked as he pushed aside his Serbu shotgun to get to the AK, “I brought my shotgun, but it looks like we don’t have to blow the hinges. I’m point.”

Donnelley shut the Ford’s door and looked both ways down the street for anyone watching. Knowing places like this, no one would tell even if there was a big, damn firefight. Maybe there already was, but Donnelley couldn’t see any holes in the walls as he and Queen made their approach. The lawn outside was brown and dead, the whole area was quiet, which made Donnelley’s hairs stand on end. It was a small house, so not much to clear, but Donnelley and Queen would have to be fast and violent if there was anyone still in there. After they stacked, Donnelley kept his TP9 at low ready, waiting for Queen to give him the ready-go squeeze on his shoulder.

When he did, they both rushed in, focusing on their halves of the room. The house opened into a living room and dining room, a television that looked too good for this area  was on the floor, screen off and broken, the two folding chairs in front of it were on the ground as if whoever was in them had gotten up in a hurry. The dining room, the table was smashed in half and a table leg was left embedded in some poor fool’s face laying between the two halves of the destroyed table. The kitchen was similarly empty, and further into the house were the bedrooms and bathroom. Donnelley couldn’t hear anything else in the house, “Hallway, front.” Donnelley muttered out to Queen, doors on either side of the hallway, but staggered enough they wouldn’t have to worry about crossfire. Donnelley moved on the first door on the left side of the hallway, “Making entry.”

Donnelley turned the knob and threw the door open as he rushed in to find a small bathroom, empty, “Small room,” Donnelley called to Queen outside, moving the shower curtain away to see the shower, “Clear.”

“Second door, you’re point.” Donnelley said.

Queen moved forward, the folding stock of the CZ Scorpion he picked up from Kid tucked against him and raised up, the body left on the table told them it was not cops that raided this house. No time to see how long he might have been there, Queen followed Donnelley as he cleared the room then shifted up in front of him to take the next room. Likely a bedroom, based on the layout of the small suburban houses he had been in, and not the main bedroom. 

He reached for the knob and flung the door open when Donnelley gave him the ready-go tap on the shoulder and faced the corner of the room keeping watch to the right as he side-stepped to the left. There was a twin bed there against the wall, the bedding was spare, a cheap fleece blanket and a pillow and the carpet muffling their steps was that colorless beige all rentals seemed to have. Along the wall was the flimsy accordion door to a closet and Queen trained the pistol on it as Donnelley took his position.

Donnelley’s eyes were trained on the closet, just waiting for rounds to come through it. He wasted no time in moving on the closet as Queen held security on the doorway. Donnelley opened the closet to find it empty, not even clothes on hangers to obscure anyone inside, “Room clear. Move to second bedroom, I’m point.”

They left the room and Donnelley took point on the door, throwing it open when Queen tapped his shoulder. Before he could take his first step in, a voice called out, “Friendly! Friendly!”

“Hands! Hands!” Donnelley shouted as he moved inside the room, weapon trained on a man about his height. The man inside the room immediately dropped to his knees and stuck his hands high in the air. Dressed in a fleece jacket, white tee, jeans and Adidas, he didn’t quite look the type to hang around Aryan Brotherhood drug houses. Short black hair and long stubble, the two held gazes while Queen moved to secure him.

Queen kept his gun pointed at the man, his heart pounding at the surprise not just finding someone but that they surrendered, his finger slowly lightening on the trigger as he moved around him. He tucked the gun against his arm as he used a free hand to do a brief frisk, running under his arms and around his waist band, tossing aside a small Glock. 

He slung the Scorpion back, letting it hang from his strap as he reached for flex cuffs in his back pocket and took one of the man’s wrists, ‘Behind your back, let’s go.”

He zipped them on, checking to see if they were secure and proceeded to check the man’s ankles under his jeans and the pockets of his jacket and jeans. “Am I gonna find anything else other than your squirt pistol?” 

“No, my friend.” The man spoke with a soft accent, and Donnelley thought about where he came from, racking his brain.

“Russian?” Donnelley asked as Queen frisked the man.

“Yes! But not bad guy. I have seen you,” The man said, struggling to lift his head from the floor and look at Donnelley. Despite his current situation, he was smiling. “You are with American agency? Program! I know the one named Laine!”

Donnelley stepped forward, his finger on the trigger of his gun as he trained it on the man’s head, “How?” Donnelley growled out with beared teeth and narrowed eyes.

“Renko! I am Renko! I gave them tracker and helped them with the girl!” The man named Renko pleaded, “I am not enemy.”

“Easy, Tex,” Queen said when saw the flash of danger in his blue eyes. He looked down at the man he had heard mentioned by Laine and Ava. Glancing up at Donnelley, he asked, “You know about that?” 

“Where’s Clem and Hubert?” Donnelley asked, no warmth or camaraderie in his voice.

“Clem is outside.” Renko said.

“Where?”

“You didn’t see him?” Renko asked, his voice genuinely confused, “On table?”

“That was Clem?” Donnelley glanced at Queen for a second, “You did that?”

“No! The man who did it is going after Hubert!” Renko said. “I can take you to him before he dies!”

“No deal.” Donnelley said, getting to one knee beside Renko and placing a rough hand on the back of his neck, squeezing hard for a moment and making Renko wince, “Renko, how good of friends are we?”

“We have just met, but-“

“Exactly. How do I know I can trust you?” Donnelley asked, “You and I, we’re spies. You and I, we both know faith is bullshit and trust is built by bein’ useful. So, be useful to me or I’ll let you find out how bad I can be.”

He leaned closer to Renko, “Because, I’m not Laine.” He patted his TP9 to punctuate his statement. “Somebody puts a gun to your head, tell them where Hubert is or soak the carpet with your brain? Which one, quick.”

“Club Sanguin! He runs security at Club Sanguin!” Renko raised his voice, his eyes screwed shut, “I am telling you, I am not enemy! Do not shoot me!”

Donnelley was quiet for a few long moments, staring down at Renko. Take him with them or not? Trust him or not? Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Why are you here?”

“GRU tells me to save Clem, I try. GRU tells me to save Hubert, I am trying too. If you need Hubert alive, I give him to you, tell GRU I fail.” Renko bargained, trying to look up at Donnelley again with one eye open, “But I need something from you. Both of us useful to each other, I give tracker and girl, what do you give me?”

“What does the GRU want with Hubert?” Donnelley asked.

“The GRU wants Hubert alive. Hubert gives Bratva guns, Bratva does does not work for GRU, does not like Propavsheye. GRU does not like this, Propavsheye come for Hubert to kill him, GRU does not like this either. Hubert is meeting with Police Sergeant McCune.” Renko said, “I give you both men, I will have debt to you. But too much debt and no repayment, the GRU will know what I am doing for you!”

“Who the fuck is Propavsheye?” Donnelley asked, then looked to Queen, “Who the fuck is Propavsheye?”

“Ukraine mafia! Like Bratva, but different. Still mean, but works for GRU sometime!” Renko said, “Like attack dog for GRU.”

“Okay, so we get Hubert [i]and[/i] McCune out of this?” Donnelley asked, grinning now, “Two-fer. I like it, thank you, Renko.”

“No bullet?” Renko smiled up at Donnelley, face still in the carpet.

“For now.” Donnelley shrugged.