Setting up a chop shop wasn't exactly rocket science. Lawson had more than enough cash in the bank to make it happen right now.
But he was a sworn federal agent now. No way was he fronting his own money for an FBI operation. He had to wait for the Bureau to cut the check and sign off.
Even though the funding hadn't hit his account yet, he could still lock down a location early and save himself a ton of headaches later. So he asked Brian to keep an eye out for a decent garage space somewhere around Long Beach.
"I'll keep my eyes open," Brian told him.
Lawson's undercover gig hadn't officially kicked off yet, so it wasn't smart to be seen hanging around Brian too much anyway. After a quick catch-up, he said his goodbyes and rolled out.
For the next few days he waited on the FBI while keeping the women in his life very, very well-fed.
It was brutal work—painfully pleasurable, sure, but still brutal.
By day three he was already carrying a damn thermos around like it was oxygen.
Thank God Blake and Daisy had classes. They couldn't glue themselves to him 24/7.
That left mostly Svafa and Sofia to handle. Without school keeping the other two busy, he wasn't sure he would've survived.
After a few days of absolute madness, Svafa and Sofia finally got their fill of missing him. Lawson could finally slow down on the "public grain deliveries."
He also swung by to check on the rest of his crew, but half of them were already gone.
Dominic had taken Mia, his sister, and the two little brothers down to Mexico for a long vacation.
Eva didn't even need explaining—she'd headed back to Europe before Lawson ever shipped out to Quantico.
Audrey Bonanno had flown back to Twin Peaks once summer ended to finish senior year.
Sofia had promised to fast-track her transfer to a school in LA, but that would take time. Audrey's adoptive father was still alive; they at least had to pretend to consider his opinion.
Donnie had already bounced back to Texas to be with his wife and kids.
The only one still in town was Megan Kelly. Her new show was exploding, so the blonde anchor was swamped. They could only talk on the phone.
At least the worst of the marathon was behind him. With his Iron Man body, Lawson figured he'd bounce back to normal soon enough.
---
"Never thought it'd actually be you, Sean."
The second he got the internal FBI ping, Lawson linked up with his new handler.
Just like he expected, it was Sean Arthur. Jane Banner stood right beside him as his assistant.
Quick note: Jane was now a full Special Agent—one full rank above Lawson's probationary status.
Family pull really did move mountains. She'd only been a probationary agent for less than a year.
Technically Lawson was supposed to call her "ma'am" now whenever they crossed paths.
"Heh! Lawson, you have no idea how hard I fought to get assigned as your handler," Sean said with an easy grin.
Lawson figured the biggest roadblock had been Nathan Neal trying to block him every step of the way.
Neal knew exactly how valuable Lawson was and didn't want Sean riding those coattails straight to a fast promotion.
After finally getting one up on Sean, Neal obviously wanted to enjoy that advantage as long as possible.
"Really? So how'd you pull it off?" Lawson asked.
"Mostly thanks to Jane. She convinced the Director for me."
Lawson's eyes shifted to Jane. The fact that this blonde woman had that kind of pull made him even more curious about her family background.
That stare seemed to make Jane a little self-conscious—her ears turned faintly pink.
"Anyway, Lawson, have you picked your undercover target yet?"
Lawson looked back at Sean.
"Yeah. I reached out to an LAPD undercover I already know. I'm planning to slide into the Byrne Crew through him."
"Byrne Crew? Solid choice. Is that LAPD guy reliable?"
"He's solid, and we've already got a rough plan worked out."
Lawson laid out the chop-shop idea he and Brian had discussed. Sean's eyes lit up immediately.
"Excellent plan! So you need Bureau funding to open the shop?"
Talking to someone sharp was refreshing. With Neal it would have taken forever to explain.
"Of course. You really think I'm gonna bankroll my own undercover op?"
"Obviously not. Lawson, I'll put in the request for the money, but approvals take time.
Here's what we'll do: I'll personally front you some cash to get the shop up and running. Once the Bureau money clears, we'll square up."
Sean was all business—decisive and no-nonsense.
Since it wasn't coming out of Lawson's pocket, he had zero objections.
"Works for me. I'll start making arrangements right away."
"One more thing. For day-to-day contact, go through Jane. It's less likely to get noticed. Hell, you two could even pretend to be a couple—those mob guys would never suspect a thing!"
Jane shot Sean a glare.
"Sir, that joke is not funny."
"Haha! Lighten up, Jane! I'm in a good mood today! Jane, go ahead and give him the gear."
Jane rolled her eyes but stepped forward and handed Lawson a brand-new phone and a SIM card.
"This phone is strictly for contact with me. The SIM is a special encrypted one too—don't use it for anything else. Here's my contact number. The old one was personal. I'll give you the official line and the code phrase now."
Lawson had gone through similar protocols when he was Neal's informant, but the FBI-issued phone was nowhere near as advanced as his Payday future-tech model. He'd keep using his own phone and just swap in the Bureau SIM.
After all, the Bureau card didn't require him to pay for minutes.
They quickly settled on a code phrase, and that wrapped up the meeting.
Before they split, though, Sean gave one last piece of advice.
"Lawson, I know you've got undercover experience, but I still gotta say it: don't trust other undercovers too easily. Whether it's FBI or LAPD, plenty of them flip. You can never be one hundred percent sure."
Other people might worry about flipped assets. Lawson didn't—not with the Hostility Glasses letting him read everyone's true feelings.
But Sean meant well, so Lawson didn't argue.
"I'll keep it in mind."
Sean clapped him on the shoulder.
"Do good work out there! Jane, let's roll."
As soon as Sean and Jane were back in their car, Jane finally asked the question that had been bothering her.
"Sir, why assign me as Lawson's contact?"
"Two reasons. First, you already know him. Second, because Neal fought it tooth and nail."
Jane suspected the second reason was the real one—Sean had basically used her as a shield.
"Jane, keep a close eye on Lawson. I looked into the cases he worked before. His methods… let's just say they're a little outside the lines. Make sure he doesn't go rogue."
"Understood, sir."
"Back to the Field Office."
---
(Jane Banner)
[New Quest: Breaking Bad]
[Difficulty: ☆☆☆]
[Primary Objective: Dismantle Adams Byrne's criminal network]
[Bonus Condition 1: Secure at least thirty million dollars in criminal evidence]
[Bonus Condition 2: Arrest every core member of the Byrne Crew]
[Bonus Condition 3: Arrest Adams Byrne himself]
[Current Status: Preparation Phase]
[Available Intel: 3 pieces]
A brand-new quest.
Lawson hadn't picked up a new job in months, and this one was straight from the FBI.
He wondered if finishing it would boost his FBI reputation.
Time to check the intel.
—$30,000 spent
[Intel 1: Adams Byrne is suffering from terminal lung cancer.]
[Intel 2: Adams Byrne is hiding an intellectually disabled son.]
[Intel 3: Adams Byrne appears to want to retire.]
Holy shit. Each piece of intel was heavier than the last.
So Adams Byrne was a dying old man with terminal lung cancer, a mentally disabled son he kept secret, and plans to step away from the game?
This was nothing like the picture Sean Arthur had painted—ruthless, cunning, vicious.
Lawson remembered Sean's exact words: cruel, treacherous, sly—just like every other dangerous mob boss.
How did that line up with a dying grandfather who wanted to retire and take care of his disabled kid?
Then again, Adams Byrne was already sixty-one. In mob years that was ancient. Retirement age made sense.
Maybe this was the angle he could work.
He'd still need better inside intel on the Byrne Crew. The FBI's stuff was trash compared to what Brian could probably tell him.
---
Meanwhile, across town at the Old White Coffee Shop in Long Beach.
The place sat right in the heart of downtown Long Beach. The décor was upscale and elegant—clearly a high-end spot.
The menu proved it: even the basic latte ran twenty bucks.
Twenty dollars in LA prices was enough for a full meal.
Long Beach was the second-largest city in LA County, but average income was low. Not many locals were dropping that kind of cash on coffee.
The owner clearly didn't care. Even when the shop was dead, the prices never changed.
Today, for once, two customers pushed through the door—both older men.
The staff inside immediately went on alert, watching the pair closely.
"Wow, Byrne. Every time I walk into your place I get this weird feeling. Why is that?"
An old man sitting at a table reading a book answered.
"Maybe you just don't like the atmosphere, Frank."
Frank sniffed the air, then nodded like he'd figured it out.
"Oh! That's it! Frenchie, what do they call this vibe? Right—classy as hell! Guys like me, rough around the edges, just can't get used to it, right, Byrne?"
Frank's words dripped with sarcasm. Adams Byrne's eyebrows drew together. The nearby waitstaff immediately stepped forward with warnings.
"Frank Castro, you'd better show Mr. Byrne some respect!"
"Respect? I've always respected Byrne. Seems like Byrne's the one who doesn't respect me!"
With that, Frank roughly shoved the waiter aside and headed straight for Adams.
The waiter looked ready to swing, but Adams stopped him.
"Kevin, let Mr. Castro through."
Kevin glared at Frank angrily but blocked Frenchie instead.
Adams had only said Frank could come over—he hadn't extended the invitation to Frenchie.
Frenchie was left standing there, staring down Kevin. He didn't have the balls to start something on someone else's turf.
Frank dropped into the chair across from Adams and stared him dead in the eye.
"Adams, why won't you sell me that shipment?"
Adams set his book down and looked up.
"Because someone else already bought it. First come, first served. You know how it works."
"Fuck! But every time I come to you, you say you're out! Then the second I turn around, suddenly you've got product again! What the hell is your problem?"
Frank was practically spitting in Adams' face. Even with a calm temper, Adams started to get irritated.
"Frank, I'm the seller. I decide who gets the product. You can always buy from someone else—I won't stop you!"
Frank's face darkened. Adams never ran out of buyers, but Frank was struggling to find a steady supplier.
A second later Frank forced a smile back on.
"Adams, I was just messing with you earlier. I really need a batch right now. How about doing me a solid?"
Adams shook his head.
"That batch is already promised to Carl Rost. If you want product, you'll have to wait for the next one."
Frank's expression flipped again, clearly on the edge of exploding.
But the guy still held it together. This was Adams' turf, and he'd only brought one guy with him.
For all his unpredictable rage, Frank knew exactly who he could push and who he couldn't.
"Well, that's just great! Adams, I'll wait for your next batch then!"
With that, Frank stood up with a fake smile, motioned to Frenchie, and the two of them left the coffee shop.
Kevin walked over to Adams, looking hesitant.
"Kevin, you got something on your mind?"
"Mr. Byrne, why don't you want to sell to Frank Castro?"
"That lunatic started pushing product at my old school! He's going to drag us all down with him eventually!"
Adams' face showed pure disgust. He'd graduated from Caltech and still had deep ties to his alma mater. Selling drugs straight onto campus was something he could never forgive.
"Mr. Byrne, Frank isn't the type to just take no for an answer. Think he'll cause us trouble?"
"He definitely will. Kevin, stay sharp the next few days."
"Got it."
The second Frank left the coffee shop, his fake smile vanished. He started cursing nonstop—Irish slang flying for a solid five minutes without repeating a single word.
When Frank finally ran out of steam, Frenchie spoke up.
"Mr. Castro, what now? The Caltech supply is already cut off."
"Hold on, let me make a call!"
Frank pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Hey, it's Frank."
"Yeah! Kilian, where you at right now?"
"Black Shark Bar? I'm on my way!"
He hung up and looked at Frenchie.
"Round up a few guys for backup. Kilian isn't as civilized as Adams."
"Understood, Mr. Castro."