The men moved through the parking lot, rounding the building and walking down the alley behind the restaurant and they did it knowing they were not moving outside radar.
Therefore it was no surprise when the door opened before they arrived.
The men inside knew the players therefore the two soldiers at the door didn’t even bother to attempt pat downs.
The surprise came after they moved through the deserted kitchen to the back room. And this surprise was two of Nightingales men, Kai Mason and Vance Crowe, and two of Delgado’s men, Jorge Alvarado and Brett Day, emerging from the shadows of the restaurant and outflanking Lescheva’s men who were bringing up the rear.
The maneuver, once instigated, made the thick air thicker.
“Grigori will not like this,” one of Lescheva’s men warned Tack but Tack ignored him and pushed open the door.
They walked into a room decorated in reds, a large, circular table in the middle. Lescheva and his four closest lieutenants were sitting around it and, even though it was nearing two in the morning, they were eating dinner and drinking vodka.
Busy night. Late dinner.
Seeing Lescheva, Mitch locked it down and held his shit. It took effort but he did it.
The men barely glanced at them when their guests arrived, continuing to eat. Gnats entered the room. Unworthy of their notice.
Stupid.
When Hawk Delgado, Lee Nightingale, Luke Stark and Kane Allen entered a room, you took notice. You didn’t, they’d note that disrespect. They were all major players in Denver. And they had good memories.
But Lescheva wasn’t so dumb. He sat back, eyes on Tack and he smiled.
“Strange bedfellows,” he remarked to Tack.
They were. Mitch knew it. Tack and Chaos Motorcycle Club skidded the edges of the real world and the criminal underworld. He had a knack for it but the balancing act was precarious and it was touch and go, considering there were members of his club who absolutely did not have a knack for it, whether he’d continue to succeed. Delgado and Nightingale were versions of the same but their morals were less dubious though not by much. It wasn’t that they participated in criminal activity. It was that their activities could be construed as criminal. They all knew about each other but, until Hawk’s woman Gwen found trouble a while ago, they had always carefully kept their business separate.
Mitch Lawson and Brock “Slim” Lucas had no business being there. Lescheva was under Federal investigation. They screwed that pooch, they’d lose their jobs.
Lescheva knew this.
“Where are the kids?” Tack replied and that was pure Tack. Everyone knew it. Kane “Tack” Allen didn’t f**k around.
Lescheva’s brows went up. “Kids?”
“We talk deal,” Tack returned and Mitch got tense.
The only deal Grigori Lescheva wanted from Kane Allen and his motorcycle club was for Tack to backtrack from his maneuvers that took his club out of the criminal underworld they inhabited to skidding the edges of it. Chaos used to transport Lescheva’s shit and warehouse it. They’d had a knack for that too. For reasons Mitch did not know but shocked the shit out of everyone on the grid, Tack’s hostile takeover of Chaos meant under his leadership they’d broken a number of alliances. Lescheva was hiding illegal shit in mattresses because Chaos no longer provided safe shipment and storage. It was not a secret Lescheva was not happy with Chaos, primarily Tack.
Slim said Tack was feeling this deep, thought it was his f**k up. That said, they had not discussed him making a deal with Lescheva as part of their play. Kane Allen, however, had a code he lived by, a way of doing things and his moves were often unexpected. If Tack felt this deep enough, the code he lived by, to get Bud and Billie safe, Tack could decide to take his boys back into the game.
And Denver didn’t need that.
This was why Lescheva’s eyes skidded through Mitch and Slim before going back to Tack. Tack intimating he’d talk deal with two cops at his back was also pure Tack.
Unexpected.
“I know nothing of…” Lescheva spoke then hesitated before finishing, “kids.”
This was the wrong answer and Lescheva and his men knew it when two minutes later three were on their backs on the floor, one was against a wall, five of them were disarmed and all of them had guns trained on them.
Except Lescheva who sat opposite Tack at the table, his eyes flaring, pissed.
“That was not smart,” he whispered.
It wasn’t. Delgado, Nightingale, their men and Chaos just bought a shitload of trouble.