The Evil That Men Do | $UICIDEBOY$ | $CRIM

16: Aubudon

Winnie's POV

After a couple days of meeting up with my crew and Scott's crew, we finally had a plan. Obviously, my group and Aristos's crew were the most logical to go to Tampa and Buffalo. The rest were going to the other locations where receipts didn't add up.

It was also the first time in a few months that we were getting to see Ripley. His dad was still in the hospital, and he says that his condition is still slowly getting worse. I feel for him, truly, and the fact it's just a slow burn and a waiting game sucks even more.

Now my group stood in the airport with heavy eyes and exhaustion deeply etched in our features. Nearly all of us were sipping on an iced coffee as we waited to board. The crew didn't have much to say either, which I understood why. It didn't take another hour for us to board the flight, rows and rows of people waited on board, and stared at my group, considering the lot of us were littered with tattoos.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer, fuckface," Glock spat to an elderly woman that stood behind us. I glared back at him, trying to keep our profile low was our main priority, and I didn't want the elderly lady to make a fuss over my subordinate.

Thankfully, she only scoffed, folded her arms over her chest, and looked away. So much for that bitch.

Once on the plane, we stuffed our carry-ons in the cubbies above the seats. We then sat in our two designated rows, and immediately Glock and Mac passed the fuck out once they hit the chair. Scott chuckled at this.

"Of course it's the ones with the most bite that pass out first."

"With as much energy as they exert being stone-cold dickheads sometimes, it makes sense they need a lot of rest to maintain that demeanor," I mumbled back.

"I'm not even asleep, cunt," Mac shot, his one eye opening, but clearly glaring at us. He brought his arms behind his neck, adding support, and then closed his eyes again. "Give me five more minutes, then you can talk your shit."

"Dog's got some bark," Ripley chortled, nudging Mac.

Mac nudged him back harder. "Dog knows how to bite, too. Fuck off, Ripley." The group smiled and chuckles came from a few of us.

After a minute, we settled, and before we knew it, we were heading towards Tampa.

-

"Jesus Christ," Rami groaned as we walked into our rooms. They definitely were the penthouse level, but I guess they didn't meet his standards. "Not even a fuckin' balcony." We decided to rent one in the outter part of the city in case shit hit the fan. It was decent, but definitely not the size we're all used to and the quality. We did go a bit cheaper to stay less conspicuous.

Their guy, Shakewell, busted out laughing. "Mans can't spread eagle and smoke a blunt in the morning. He might die if he goes one whole day without the morning ritual. Poor guy. I give my condolences now."

Scott started cracking the fuck up, and Rami shoved Shakewell. "Man, shut up. I can't have you messin' with my bread and butter. It fucks with my flow."

"'It fucks with my flow, man,'" Scott mocked in a hippie accent. Rami shoved Scott into the couch where he balled up laughing his ass off. My half of the crew was laughing at their idiocracy as well, but the mood shifted, once we settled in our penthouse.

It was time to get down to the nitty-gritty.

I pulled out all my portfolios and folders that kept everything related to the 'case.' We all gathered around the dinning table that was adorned with a vase of assorted flowers and plants, and we all gathered around. I pulled out my laptop as well, having all the routes and directions to each location of the sales.