Billy Hargrove Car Novels & Stories

Sienna whispered behind me, “That was suspiciously easy.” She then squeezed my arm. “I’ll be right here.” I followed the woman down the hall. Victor Hargrove stood when I walked in. He looked to be around his late sixties. Silver hair. Suit that fit well enough to be expensive. A watch worn loose on his wrist in the specific way of men who want you to notice it without seeming like they want you to notice it. And a smile, the kind that immediately made my skin itch. His eyes moved over me slowly. Too slowly. The full, unhurried sweep of a man who had decided he had the upper hand before I opened my mouth.

Hargrove sat in the back, facing the door. He didn’t waste time. “Dr. Judge is clean,” he said. “Boring, even. No scandal. No mistress. No gambling. He’s got some family money, but he keeps his life tight.” Lily exhaled, unimpressed. “And Arlington?” Hargrove’s eyes flicked around the café as if the walls might be listening. He leaned forward. “Arlington isn’t who he says he is.” Lily’s pulse jumped. “Explain.”

I step off the plane into the kind of drizzle that doesn't commit to being rain, and the air hits my dulled senses like everything else—present but muted, a signal received through static. The car takes me to Hargrove's office. Forty-minute meeting that stretches to ninety because Douglas Hargrove is the kind of man who treats business negotiations like campfire storytelling. He circles, digresses, reminisces about supply routes his father ran in the seventies. I let him talk. The deal needs his trust more than his efficiency. Toward the end, he leans back. Looks at me the way old men look at young men they're deciding whether to respect. "You know what my father told me when I took over?"

Hargrove didn’t go to the club that Friday. He didn’t meet Voss. Instead, he stayed home. Nervous. Paranoid. Checking over his shoulder constantly. The pattern had broken. And Voss would notice. By Monday, Hargrove did something even better. He made a call. A long one. To a number registered under a shell company Vince immediately recognized. Voss. Tiana’s pulse raced. “He’s reporting it.” Vince’s eyes gleamed. “And Voss is asking questions.” Questions Hargrove couldn’t answer.

“Please tell me you have something.” “I traced the shell company.” He didn’t waste time, and I appreciated that. “It’s owned by Vic Hargrove.” My eyes snapped open. “He’s opposition. “Yes.” “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would he send money to Alfred?” Vic Hargrove was a man I knew well enough from television and debates, someone who hated Alfred publicly, a man who had never once supported Alfred in the open. I listened quietly while Sam explained that Hargrove was likely trying to fund Alfred discreetly for his own reasons, maybe a future exchange or some political favor nothing suspicious on paper. Nothing we could use. Nothing that cracked open the story I needed.

A calculation ran behind Hargrove’s eyes, visible for a moment before his social manner reasserted itself. “A pleasure,” Hargrove said, extending his hand toward Dave with a smile that was warm and assessing in equal measure. “James Hargrove. I sit on the eastern development board with Ryan. Among other ventures.” He said the last three words with a particular weight that suggested the other ventures were the point. Dave shook his hand. “Dave Sun.” Something moved across Hargrove’s face at the name. Small and quickly contained, but present. Dave filed it without reacting. “Sun,” Hargrove repeated pleasantly. “Are you in business in Kings City, Mr Sun?”

Hargrove shook his head, “I don’t know about you, but I smell foul play.” I didn’t say anything about that because I didn’t want my opinions to reach any wrong ears. I just smiled wryly and moved the topic towards the newest contract Mr. Hargrove would be signing with me. After we’d on terms and conditions, Mr. Hargrove motioned the server for the bill. “Let me settle this quickly. I have an appointment in twenty.” As he opened his wallet, a card caught the light. Black. Metallic sheen. A tiny crest in the upper corner, almost invisible unless you knew where to look.

Hargrove had hit the emergency escape button and was scrambling out through the hidden passageway. "I want them surrounded, dead or alive!" Mr. Hargrove's hysterical roar echoed from the tunnel. Half an hour later, dozens of armored vehicles had completely surrounded the Hargrove residence. Rows of heavily armed special police and riot squads were outside, their dark gun barrels locked tightly onto the main entrance.

Theo’s voice was shaky, thin with a terror he was trying to hide for our sake. "There," Hargrove smiled, pocketing the phone. "He’s fine, for now. Now, I believe you have some wiring to fix.” I swallowed hard and forced my voice to stay steady. “We’ll finish the job. For Theo. But if anything happens to him even if a strand of hair on his head is touched, I swear you won't like the outcome.” Hargrove’s smile widened, at that point he looked satisfied. “Smart choice. I’ll be back in a few hours to check on your progress. Do it right, and the boy comes home tonight, simple.”