That One Ride

18. Walks In The Park

"Okay, I get it. No stops on the way. Jeesh, you're worse than Mark sometimes." Clark comments over the radio, finally ending the ten minute long dispute between him and Luke.

Hunter rolls his eyes, checking his watch and seeing that it's noon. He pulls the shift out of neutral, pushing his foot on the gas. The van pulls out of the shop, the newly painted logo of the company for which they were delivering for glistening under the sun. The radio goes silent as the others see him pull out, and he is grateful for that because his head was killing him. Having to work on a Sunday wasn't something he enjoyed. There isn't much traffic, for obvious reasons, but he keeps his eyes and ears open. The talk with Mark was still fresh in his mind, and the chance of the rival gang to attack wasn't so little. Mark comes on the radio, informing him that he pulled out of the shop.

"Okay. Don't drive too fast. Give me some time to talk with the owner." Hunter says, Mark just responding with a quick yes.

He takes a left turn, pulling up at the backdoor of the bakery. A worker comes out, wiping his hands on the apron, leaving flour over it.

"Can I help you?" he asks as Hunter comes out of the van, fixing his cap. He insisted they all wear caps and black shirts just to make their appearance more believable.

"I need to talk to the boss." The guy nods his head, and the women he talked to a few days ago comes out a minute later.

"Ms. Jensen." He tips his head, the older women offering a kind smile, though the slight tremor in her step is easy to notice.

"This is my sugar I presume?" she asks and he nods.

"Yeah, but not all of it. The other three trucks will be here in a few. Which reminds me, we should start unloading it. Got any help?"

"Of course. I'll be a moment." She leaves and a few guys come to help him just as he unlock the doors of the truck. They've unloaded ten boxes when Mark arrives, parking next to him. It's slow work, but they pile it all up next to the door which leads to the basement. By the time Luke parks his van, Hunter's truck is empty and Mark's is halfway done.

"Mark." He calls the broad shouldered brother, walking over to him. "I need to leave, get some other things done. You finish things here, and make sure every box is in that basement. You know what to do with the trucks when you're done." He nods, and Hunter climbs into the van.

He heads out of town, driving up that cursed mountain. He finds the man he's looking for as soon as he enters the house.

"Hunter, what are you doing here? I thought you were overlooking the transport?" Alvin asks, Hunter suppressing his reaction to the sound of his voice.

"Mark's taking care of it. I need to talk to you." Alvin nods, motioning with his hand to the sofa on the other side of the table. He sits, putting his phone on the table, the recorder already on.

"I need to know what to do with the rival gang. We can't just keep killing them when they cross over on our territory. At some point, it will stop working." Alvin thinks it over and Hunter watches him intently, already knowing that Alvin would ask him what he would do.

"What do you think?" he contains his smirk as he answers, "Maybe we shouldn't fight them."

He frowns, his eyebrows creating a monobrow as he leans closer over the table.

"And if we're not going to fight them, what should we? They're not opposing and stealing from some smalltime smuggler, this is me they're stealing from. I'm not a very generous person."

He chuckles, pulling out a paper out of his pocket and putting it on the table. Alvin looks over it briefly, his stare demanding an explanation.

"This is our standard monthly income," He takes a pen and writes down another number, "and this is what we offer them."