Beyond the Badge: Fletch
- Book info
- Author updates
Shane Fletcher loves his job as a state trooper. Even more so when he gets to work undercover.
When the DEA creates a task force to stop the trafficking of meth into Pennsylvania by the Deadly Demons, an outlaw MC, Fletch jumps on the chance to be involved.
The Tri-State Federal Drug Task Force is not only made up of some of his own MC brotherhood, but with law enforcement from other agencies.
Including Nova Wilder, a special agent with the FBI. A kick-ass, no-nonsense woman whose specialty is fighting organized crime.
When Fletch and Nova go undercover with the Dirty Angels MC, they’re forced to work as partners, share an apartment and pretend they’re a couple.
Only, living in close proximity and acting like a biker and his ol’ lady ends up being the easy part. What proves to be the most difficult is trying to resist each other for the sake of not screwing up the assignment.
As it turns out, the Demons aren’t the only problem they have to deal with. Unbeknownst to them, a much more powerful threat is lurking and ready to strike.
Note: It’s highly recommended to read this six-book action/adventure MC series in order due to the continuing story arcs (subplots). However, each book has no cheating and focuses on a different couple who gets their HEA (no relationship cliffhanger).
Release date: November 5, 2022
Publisher: Double-J Romance, Inc.
Content advisory: None
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Beyond the Badge: Fletch
Jeanne St. James
“This is all we can get after doing all those damn fundraisers?” Shane Fletcher, vice president of the Blue Avengers MC, squinted up at the three-story red brick building.
From the looks of it, the windows on every floor had been boarded up years ago. Graffiti decorated the rotting plywood, the brick, the front entrance, and even the sidewalk out front. Weeds sprouted out of every crack in the concrete walkway, too.
The place was a depressing dump. The industrial area surrounding the building didn’t look much better.
“What the hell did you expect? A damn castle?” Axel Jamison asked sharply.
“Not this. It’s a pile of fucking dog shit!” Fletch bitched, because what they stood in front of was worth complaining about. It looked like more of a headache than a potential new home for their law enforcement MC.
“Dog shit that will polish up into a shiny piece of dog shit,” Rez grumbled.
“Look, assholes. What’s important is it has good bones.” Jamison opened up his hands, extended them out in front of him and swept them across the building’s façade in an imagine this motion. “Think of it as a blank canvas. We can create whatever we want out of this. We can make it our own.”
Fletch shook his head. “Jesus Christ. We could do the town a service and burn it to the fucking ground.”
Beside him, Crew barked out a sharp laugh. “Agreed. Then when the firefighters show up we can play a prank on those fuckers. At least that would make this place worthwhile.”
“Yeah, just like they like to screw with us,” Nox grumbled. “Payback’s a fucking bitch.”
“When I arrived on scene at a brush fire the other day, they had a donut dangling from a hook on a fishing rod.” Aiden Cross shook his head.
“Did you bite?” Fletch asked him.
The ongoing, good-natured “rivalry” between his brothers in blue and the hose jockeys had existed as long as he could remember. And he’d been a state trooper ever since turning twenty-one fourteen years ago.
The old joke was, men who couldn’t become cops became firefighters.
Cross answered with a shrug, “Of course I did. It was a glazed cruller. Even better, it was fresh.”
“Bet it wasn’t as good as those filled cupcakes Jamison’s ol’ lady makes,” said Mike Miller, the club treasurer and a sergeant with the Pittsburgh PD.
“Fuck yeah. Did you bring any of those, Jamison?”
Ignoring Finn’s question, the current president of the BAMC sighed. “Can we get back to business and not talk about my wife’s cupcakes?”
Owen Decker leaned into Fletch. “He likes to lick her filling.”
With a twisted grin, Jamison said, “I won’t argue that.”
Decker clapped his hands together. “All right. Rule number one if we buy this shit-hole… We need a constant supply of baked goods from Sophie’s Sweet Treats. Make it happen, Jamison.”
“There is no try, only do,” Decker announced.
“If you’re going to quote Yoda, at least get it right,” Miller complained.
“He doesn’t give a fuck about Yoda, only filled cupcakes,” Antonio Alvarez, Rez for short, told Miller.
Decker shrugged with a grin.
“We might have to put that in the bylaws,” Cross suggested. “Because I agree, their shit can’t be beat.”
“I’ll bring it up at our next meeting for a vote,” Decker said next.
“No, you won’t. And we’re not here to talk about stuffing your fucking faces. We’re here to see if this place will work for our club’s church.” Jamison tried to get the group back on track.
Too bad he didn’t bring his gavel along to slam it on the table. That usually got the executive committee’s focus back on the subject at hand.
Miller pointed to the front door. “I’d say that’s a sign right there.”
The group got quiet—for once—and stared at the large anarchy symbol spray-painted in red.
“That’s bad juju,” Rez pointed out.
“No it isn’t,” Jamison assured him, “and we can paint over it.”
Rez shook his head. “Hell no. Even if you paint over it, it’ll still be there, only hidden beneath a layer of paint. The door needs to be replaced.”
“Some dumb punk spray-painted a symbol they don’t even understand. It doesn’t mean shit,” Fletch said. “Don’t be a superstitious pussy.”
Rez cocked an eyebrow. “Says you, who does a whole routine before every Steelers game.”
“Do you want them to lose?” Fletch wasn’t going take the blame when his favorite football team lost because he was too lazy or embarrassed to do it. The whole ritual only took thirty seconds. If that.
He fucked himself the day the guys caught him doing it. Now they rode his ass about it every damn time they watched a game together. Being September, football season was finally in full swing.
If they finally got their own clubhouse, they’d be watching a hell of a lot more games together. He’d have to do his “good luck” routine before the game either outside in the parking lot or while hiding in the bathroom.
“Just think. If we get a huge flat screen with surround sound, we can watch all the games here uninterrupted by wives or kids… or,” Finn glanced over at Cross, “others.”
Next to Fletch, Crew snorted. “Jamison, are we just going to stand out here and gawk at the building or are we breaking in so we can check out the inside, too? We can’t make a solid decision without seeing it all.”
The BAMC president dug deep into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a set of keys and held them up. “We don’t need to break in.”
“How the fuck did you get the keys?” Crew planted his hands on his hips and pointed his mirrored sunglasses at Jamison. “Since when does anyone get to inspect a property before it goes up in a forfeiture auction?”
“Since today,” Jamison answered with a half-shrug. “I had a connection at the county.”
“We all have connections at the county. Must be an extra special one.” Crew, a DEA senior special agent, probably had the most connections out of any of the BAMC members.
Jamison shook his head and went to the windowless metal door. It had a “no trespassing” sign tacked to it, along with the county’s auction notice. The forfeiture sale was only three days away, so a decision would need to be made quickly.
Fletch was surprised the place didn’t have a “condemned” sticker, too. But because it didn’t, it gave him hope that the inside was better than the outside.
After Jamison unlocked and opened the door, no one moved to enter.
“Who’s going in first?” Rez whispered.
“The prez,” Miller suggested. “This was his idea and he’s our leader. He goes in first.”
That sounded like a solid plan to Fletch.
“Anyone have a Maglite on them?” Jamison asked.
“Yeah, I keep one right in my back pocket.” Miller’s words dripped with sarcasm.
“I’ve got my Fenix on me,” Crew announced, digging into his Blue Avengers cut.
They all wore their colors today since they’d been on a run earlier. After breaking for lunch, Jamison had told them he had a surprise and once they left the diner, he’d taken the lead from Finn, the club’s road captain. The BAMC president led them directly to this run-down building located on the edge of Rockvale.
“I’ve got my Fenix on me, too,” Cross announced, holding up a compact, but powerful, flashlight law enforcement liked to carry.
Nox shook his head. “The rest of us that failed Boy Scouts will have to use the flashlight app on our phones like normal bipeds.”
Fletch could imagine his eyes rolling behind those dark-tinted aviators.
“Normal people don’t call humans bipeds, brother,” Miller informed Nox.
“Well, there you go. Since when is Bradley Licks-Windows Lennox normal?” Fletch planted a hand on Jamison’s back and shoved him inside. “We’ll follow you.”
“You act like it’s haunted or something,” came from the dark interior. Jamison released a high-pitched, hair-raising scream and everyone froze mid-step. A second later he laughed. “Just fucking with you! Now get the hell in here so we can get this tour over with before the cops come along and charge us with unlawful trespassing.”
“Has anyone told him we are the cops?” Finn stage-whispered. With the sun setting behind him, Daniel Finnegan’s red hair appeared to be on fire.
Fletch wondered if women were into gingers. Maybe, since Finn never seemed to have a problem with snagging pussy. But then, none of the single BAMC members did. The badges they wore or carried tended to be pussy magnets.
Law enforcement had groupies similar to rock stars. Only instead of groupies, they were labeled badge bunnies or holster sniffers.
The problem with hooking up with one of them, even in a pinch, was they were clingy as fuck because they wanted a lot more than a quick bang or to give a blowjob.
They wanted the whole shebang. The ring, the white picket fence and the two-point-five kids. Then when they were sick of being married to a cop—because it was never a picnic—it turned into the same old horror story.
Crew was a good example of that since he lost over half of everything he worked for over the past twenty years. His dreams of retiring any time soon had vanished along with his home, his SUV and more than half of his pension.
“Well, some of us are real cops,” Fletch answered. “The rest are questionable.”
“I only play one on TV,” Finn announced.
“Truth is, you’d make more dough playing the role of a cop as an actor than actually being one,” Nox said.
“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Rez muttered.
“Who’s next?” Fletch asked. It sure as fuck wasn’t going to be him. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he also wasn’t stupid.
Yeah, screw that, he wasn’t taking any risks. If the building was haunted, then let everyone else figure it out first.
Nox answered with, “The sergeant at arms should be next. He should be in there protecting our president.”
“From what, spirits? Fuck that. If something happens to him, we can easily replace him,” Rez said with a shrug. “It only takes a vote.”
“I don’t think he’s kidding,” Finn said.
“Because I’m not,” Rez answered.
“I heard that!” came from inside the building. “As your prez, I’m ordering all your asses inside!”
Jamison didn’t get the response he wanted, instead he got laughter.
Crew sighed and glanced around the group. “I’ll go in. I’m not a pussy like the rest of you.”
“At your age, you’re closer to death than the rest of us, too!” Decker yelled at Crew’s back as he disappeared inside.
“Fuck you. I’m only forty-one. I’m in my prime and not close to being six-feet under,” came from inside the door.
“Prime?” Decker released a loud hoot. “I bet your ex-wife would prefer you just lay down and take that eternal rest.”
“That’s why I refuse to die until I’m at least a hundred. Just to bug the shit out of her. And after that I plan on haunting her for eternity.”
Fletch laughed. “Living that long will only mean decades more of you paying alimony.” He glanced at everyone else still standing on the sidewalk. “C’mon. Let’s go in before Jamison has a fucking meltdown.” Since he was second in command, he needed to assist their fearless leader like a good VP would. “Plus, we’re standing out here wearing our damn cuts like sitting ducks.”
Finn’s head turned on a swivel. “Then, it makes sense why Axel chose this particular location over a more populated area.”
Finn was right. The building was off the beaten path with no retail stores or residences nearby. It would be a quiet location since most of the industry previously in the area had moved or shut down. They wouldn’t catch much attention going in and out with their bikes and cuts, or even with the occasional cruiser or unmarked unit.
Jamison might be smarter than Fletch gave him credit for. “Let’s get in there before we lose daylight.”
“The windows are boarded up, genius, daylight isn’t going to do shit,” Rez said.
Fletch slapped his back with, “If we open the doors, it’ll help, genius.”
Yanking off his sunglasses, he stopped short the second he stepped inside. Once his eyes adjusted, he could start to make out basic shapes. Like his club brothers and more solid items that might crack a shin. He only hoped the floors would hold their weight.
After folding up his wrap-around sport sunglasses he wore when riding, he tucked them into the neckline of his shirt and pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He turned on the flashlight app as did anyone else coming in behind him and not carrying a flashlight.
With phone in hand, Fletch turned in a circle, taking in everything he could see in his immediate radius.
For fuck’s sake, the interior was even worse than the outside. And as dark as it was inside, he was afraid of what it would look like once the building had power and they could actually see the details.
Jamison appeared from the shadows. “I went through and propped open every door I could find to give us a little more light.”
“How many doors are there besides the front?” Fletch asked.
Jamison counted them off on his fingers. “One out back that leads to a brick patio that’s completely enclosed with a six-foot wood privacy fence. I found a second door along the side that leads out to stairs that’ll take us to the second and third floors.”
“Is that the only way up?”
Jamison nodded. “The exterior metal stairway seems to be the only way to access upstairs.”
Rez spoke up next. “We’d have to enclose them.”
“Would we?” Decker asked.
Crew stepped up next to Jamison. “It would be smart if we want this place to be on the D.L. Do we really want to advertise that this is our church?”
“Fuck no,” Rez answered. “We should avoid any signs at all. In fact, I’d leave the exterior exactly how it looks now so, at first glance, the place looks abandoned. We should fence off the parking area, too. Not only to protect our bikes but keep it under wraps who we are and how many of us are here.”
Nox joined them wearing his typical scowl. “Are you that fucking paranoid?”
“It would be stupid not to be cautious, brother,” Rez said.
“I agree,” Jamison said. “That’s why when I got the call about this place and heard some of the details, I figured it would be perfect.”
“This place is far from perfect,” Fletch muttered.
“You know what I mean. You also know how long I’ve been looking for the right spot.”
Not only the right spot but one at the right price.
Fletch walked to what seemed like the center of the first floor. With one hand on his hip and his phone held out in front of him, he turned in a circle again, this time letting out a low whistle.
Thick dust covered everything he could see. Cobwebs hung like ghosts in the corners. The cheap drop ceiling had missing panels and what remained was either falling down or badly stained. Cracks and holes decorated every wall. The floor was full of missing and broken tiles. Any furniture within his circle of light appeared broken and no better than firewood.
With his mouth still turned downward, Nox scratched the back of his neck after seeing the same disaster as Fletch. “Did this used to be a bar?”
“Sure was,” Jamison answered, “but an underground one. PLCB busted it about three years ago, shut it down, the state seized it and it’s now finally coming up on the auction block.”
“Damn. A modern day speakeasy. Was Frasier a part of the bust?”
Timothy Frasier was both a BAMC member and a liquor enforcement officer. Since he was in the middle of working on a case, he couldn’t join them on today’s run or the tour. Not that he needed one, since Fletch assumed he’d been in the bar when it was up and running. However, he most likely hadn’t seen its current condition.
Though, Fletch was pretty damn sure the bar hadn’t been much better then. Illegal bars usually were a hole in the wall, especially since they didn’t follow any laws or standards that regulated bars did.
“Yeah, I got the heads up about this place from him. He let me know about it finally coming up for auction. It’s been stuck in red tape for the past three years.”
“Or… hear me out, Axel,” Cross started, “We could raid and take over your brother’s clubhouse. I guarantee their church wouldn’t take as much work as this.”
“Oh yeah, sure. You want to do that just to chap Diesel’s ass. And while I’m all for fucking with my wife’s asshole cousin as much as possible, I need to consider how that would go over at holiday dinners with the family. You know, since most of my blood belongs to the Dirty Angels. You know, since my granddad was one of the founders. Anyway, as we all know, SVPD would need a valid reason to raid their MC. And lastly, you know as well as I do, Cross, they’ve been keeping their noses clean.”
Of course Cross was well aware of that since a few years ago he married Nash, one of the DAMC members. Them hooking up caused a lot of issues on both sides of the fence. To the point where Cross was banned from the MC’s property—or any club activities—until he no longer wore a badge. Until then, Cross did whatever he could to get under the club enforcer’s skin. “Sure they are. They simply outsource their bad behavior by getting the Shadows to do their dirty work. This way, at the surface, their hands look clean.”
“They all have families now,” Jamison mumbled.
“So does the fucking Mafia.” Crew clapped his hands together loudly. “Okay, well, I’m ready for a beer. Or two. Can we get this nickel tour over with so I can go put my boots up, suck down a few cold brews before Sunday Night Football?”
“You don’t have your kids?” Miller asked.
Crew shook his head. “Not my weekend. Outside the court-appointed schedule, she only leaves them with me when they get on her last nerve or she has a dick date.”
“A dick date? You mean when her date’s a dick, or she’s getting some dick?”
“A, B or even C, which would be both. I don’t give a fuck who she’s doing. I only give a fuck about my kids. I love them, I just don’t love the vagina they came out of.”
“You had to at one point,” Miller said.
“Yeah, a really low point,” Crew admitted. “Worst mistake of my life.”
“You’ll be paying for that mistake for the rest of your life, too. Unlike Fletch who escaped before getting trapped two times.”
“Can we get on with this tour?” Fletch asked impatiently. He was not in the mood to talk about his failed engagements. Lesson learned. “I also need a beer.”
Finn’s cough sounded an awful lot like, “Deflection.”
Fletch shoved Finn so hard and unexpectedly, his brother laughed and had to catch his balance. “I don’t know, Jamison, I’m sticking to my opinion that this seems like too much fucking work.”
“It may be, Fletch, but I’m hoping that’s why we’ll be able to get it for a low bid. All it’ll take is a little bit of sweat and elbow grease.”
Rez turned to Jamison with a cocked eyebrow. “Are you fucking serious? It’ll take major dedication of time and physical labor to get this place to the point it’s even usable. Like months of back- and knuckle-breaking work.”
The BAMC president shrugged. “Okay? Think of it this way… In the meantime, we’ll be able to do another fundraiser or two to gather more money to fix up this place. It might not look like anything now but it’ll be nice to have a place for us to chill. Instead of me struggling to find an available back room in some restaurant, we’ll have our own space for our monthly meetings out of the public eye. Even better, it can be a gathering spot before our runs and, if we do it right, a man cave when we need a break from the fam or work.”
“Don’t let Monty hear you call it a man cave,” Decker warned.
Dani Montgomery was a corrections officer at SCI Greene and the only female BAMC member. However, she was tough as nails and, luckily, not easily offended. She was treated as one of the guys.
“It would be even better, if we turned it into a place to stay when our wives are pissed and we’re sent to the doghouse.”
“Speak for yourself,” Cross mumbled to Miller.
“Oh, right, can’t forget about you, Cross,” Miller continued. “But just because you don’t like pussy doesn’t mean you can’t get your ass in a jam, too.”
“Literally,” Crew said under his breath.
“Wait, aren’t you the female in the relationship?” Nox asked the only gay BAMC member.
“Fuck off,” Cross growled.
“I think they switch out and take turns,” Miller said next, adding offensive hand gestures to demonstrate two men switching during sex. “What’s that called, Cross? ‘Criss Cross, I’m going to fill up Nash with my applesauce?’”
“Christ almighty! Knock it the fuck off,” Jamison yelled, a muscle jumping in his clean-shaven cheek. “Look,” he sighed, “in the tradition of MCs, we need a clubhouse. Even if it’s only to hang, unwind and socialize. It’ll give us more time to bond with our brotherhood than only during our monthly runs. We’re supposed to be brothers and it’s hard to be that when we’re only getting together once a month. I get that not everyone will appreciate this place—”
“We’re not a traditional club, Jamison,” Nox interrupted him. “We don’t follow those old school MC traditions, remember? For one, we don’t have prospects.”
“But we’re all law enforcement and we’ve all suffered through some sort of academy whether we’re a cop or a deputy.” Jamison jerked his chin at Crew. “Or even DEA. Our members might not have to prospect, but in a way, going through a law enforcement academy is the initiation.”
“What’s really bringing this on, Axel?” Cross asked.
Since Cross and Jamison were close due to who they were each married to, Fletch figured Cross knew exactly what was bringing this on. He was simply making a point.
“Because back in 1974 my granddad founded a club that’s still strong as hell to this day. Loyal. Close. Family. Blood or not. I want that for us, too.”
“And your grandfather’s club had a whole bunch of money behind it because of illegal activities. Now that your brother’s in charge, the legit businesses they own help support it. We don’t have any of that. Do you think our minimal dues and our occasional fundraisers will be able to finance this?” Finn asked. “I’m not talking about the initial cost of the real estate. I’m talking about the ongoing shit. Like utilities and property taxes.”
Everyone groaned at the dreaded T word.
“Dues will be increasing,” Jamison announced.
“Not without a vote,” Finn reminded him.
“We’ll vote on it,” Jamison assured him. “It’s been dirt cheap since we didn’t have our own church and had minimal expenses. Now we will. I was also thinking that we could turn the second floor into an apartment and rent it out to help with those costs. We can keep the third floor to ourselves. For storage or whatever we need it for.”
“Or make the third floor an apartment and keep the second floor as our space and it’ll be a sound buffer for when we get too loud down here,” Fletch suggested. Despite it being a shit-hole, the idea of having their own clubhouse was growing on him. He had a say in it since he was VP. However, the building they were currently standing in might not be the best option.
“Who the fuck would want to live in an area that’s zoned industrial?” Miller asked.
“Someone who needs a place to live. And think of how damn safe that apartment will be with us coming and going downstairs,” Jamison answered.
“If the renter’s a single woman, she might not be safe with Fletch around. He’s always on the prowl for his next fiancée.” Rez snarled like a tiger and clawed the air with both hands.
“Speak for yourself, Alvarez. At least I don’t need an app to get laid.”
Rez’s expression twisted. “I don’t need an app. All I have to do is flash my badge and the ladies’ clothes fall off.”
Snorts and laughter filled the first floor.
“Hate to tell you, Rez,” Crew started, “that works for all of us. Except Cross and Monty. But if Monty ever decides to pinch-hit for the other team, it might work for her, too.”
“How do you think I have four freaking kids?” Miller asked. “If I walk in the door wearing my uniform, those clothes fall right off.”
“You could get snipped,” Cross suggested, “then you don’t have to worry about having any more rug-rats.”
“Okay, we’re wasting time here,” Jamison said, impatience coloring his tone. “We haven’t finished exploring the first floor yet and there are two more to show you.”
Cross wandered back to the windows at the front of the building. “I don’t think it’s smart to have all this glass. Nash told me about the time the Shadow Warriors shot up The Iron Horse Roadhouse during their Christmas party. You were even there during that mess, Ax, remember? They ended up reinforcing that whole place to practically make it bulletproof.” He rapped a knuckle on the dirty glass of one of the large windows. “This isn’t even close to being bulletproof. You know what this is?”
“Shrapnel,” Nox grumbled. “If we’re inside, a few blasts will kill us all. If not by the bullets, then by getting our arteries sliced from flying glass.”
“Jesus, Nox. Shut the fuck up,” Miller groaned. “It’s bad enough we’re targets while on duty but having to watch our backs off-duty, too?” He shook his head.
Jamison shrugged. “Then like Rez said, we leave the plywood up to disguise this place, and since the windows will be useless, we’ll reinforce them from the inside. Or we remove the glass completely and brick them closed.”
“Good idea. Even though we might not have any rivals now, we’re still a brotherhood and other clubs might see us as a potential threat.” Rez’s gaze sliced between Jamison and Cross. “Just us being an MC might not make us hated by them, but what we all do for a living could.”
“Who doesn’t hate us?” Crew asked, slapping Rez on the chest. “Remember, it’s the badge not the bike.”
“Hey, if we’re doing this, we need a karaoke machine, too,” Finn shouted from over near what formerly might have been the bar.
From what Fletch could see, someone must have taken a hatchet to it, turning it into chunks of wood and splinters. That would need to be ripped out and replaced.
“Oh no we don’t, brother,” Fletch told Finn. “Nobody wants to hear your drunken crooning.” The man loved to sing but it was always off-key.
“Women love it.”
“The women who pretend to love it are probably badge bunnies trying to get under your shield… I mean sheets.”
“Speaking of drunken crooning… What about booze?” Rez asked.
Jamison shrugged. “As long as we aren’t selling it, shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll stock the bar ourselves using club funds or, hell, make it BYOB.”
“Or make everyone donate a case of beer or a bottle as part of our monthly dues,” Fletch suggested.
“I like that suggestion,” Jamison said. “And we can get our members to donate used shit, like couches, TVs, tables. We all have stuff lying around we’d like to unload, right? Everything else can be obtained by curb surfing or second hand stores.”
“I guess.” Decker ran his fingers back and forth over his buzzed hair. “I mean, with the mother club breaking down into six regions to make it more manageable, it does make sense to establish a clubhouse… But, I don’t know… Even after we get this place up to snuff, the cost of upkeep, the taxes...”
“We’ll figure it out,” the BAMC president assured him. “We first need to get the details together and present it to the rest of the members. If there isn’t a majority, the whole point of this might be moot.”
“But the executive committee needs to vote on it first before we present it to everyone else,” Fletch reminded Jamison.
“That’s the plan and why I called you all here as well as everyone else available today. I wanted to make sure more than the board members got to see it to make a decision.”
“One of us should use our phones to do a virtual tour for everyone who couldn’t make it,” Rez suggested.
“Before we bring this to vote…” Fletch turned to Jamison. “Are you sure we can’t afford anything better?”
“With the way you all hate fundraising? Do you actually need me to answer that?” Jamison asked with a shake of his head.
Fletch sighed. “Then I guess we might be stuck with this shit-hole. Let’s go see the rest of it before the sun goes down and three-pound rats come scurrying out.”
“Now there’s a good reason for us to get a barbecue grill,” Miller threw over his shoulder as he disappeared into the dark toward the rear of the building.
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...