For Blood and Beast: Tomas, For Blood (Garko Book 1)

by Gia P. Leonne

  I ran towards the back like I had some kind of super shield against bullets. Finding Jengo was my only concern at that moment. He lay on his office floor bleeding.

  “Shit, she shot me.”

  “Who?” I asked not panicking because he was now lifting himself from the floor. His wound could not have been too bad.

  “I’ll deal with her.” Street law again. It warranted you take care of your business without, snitching.

  “Well, is she gone?”

  “I’m sure she is. And running for her life.”

  “What are you going to do about the hole she put in your leg? The hospital will call the police first notice.”

  “I got someone coming. Text him while I was figuring out how to get off the floor. Right before you charged in. Chica, you want Jengo don’t ya.”

  “How, like… Why, would you think that?”

  “Rushing in not knowing what the situation was going to bring you. Like you didn’t care about yourself, only me. I’m just saying what I see.”

  “We've been friends a while now, Jengo. Don’t make me unfriend you.”

  He laughed. Just then Cynthia came into the room. Her hands up in the air.

  “What are you doing that for, Cee Cee?”

  Behind her was Jengo’s shooter, I could only guess she had the gun in Cynthia's back.

  “All you fuckin assholes get in the closet.”

  “What? Gurrrl I thought you loved yourself. You going to get dealt with.”

  “I’ll be out of state by the time you get from that closet. Now get in, all of you.”

  I thought to attack her, wait for my moment, and do what I was trained to do. But I’d downed two chocolate milkshakes, and my stomach was churning a little. This girl wanted us to go into the closet, nothing more.

  “Jengo, open that safe up again. Give me what you fuckin owe me, you oversexed asshole.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Jengo. He was not amused.

  He opened the safe, and into the closet, we all went. She locked it, and we waited to hear her leave.

  “Who has a phone?”

  “Mine is on the floor where I dropped.”

  “I left mine at home.”

  “Well, mine is in the car outside.”

  Shit, three people stuck in the closet said together.

  Two hours later, on the car ride from the club, I feel caged and anxious. “I am going to the gym. Wanna come?”

  “Yeah. I thought your stomach felt funny?”

  “It was gas from the milkshakes.”

  “That was funny as shit when you farted and Jengo started cursing.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, you think he still wants me now.”

  “Are you kidding, my brother would take you if he had to change your adult diapers.” She looked out the window in thought. “I think you care for him too.”

  “We are good friends you know that.”

  “Yes, I do. But the way you ran for him when we heard the gunshots. That was more. Chica.”

  I thought about it, Jengo, Tomas, Tomas, Jengo. It was confusing, Jengo and I had a history. He moved fast and I could never be his trail along girl. When I thought about him, I saw us as those two kids on his basement couch tongue kissing in front of his crew. My first kiss.

  Tomas Garko intrigued me. I had to know more about the man. When I thought about Tomas, I was all woman. Yet, he didn’t know me and had not reached out and found me. I’d dropped by his gym enough to warrant an easy catch.

  I needed to extract both men from my head.

  As I pummel the bag, waiting for my turn to spar

  “Hey Eva, you awake?” It is Evee. I snarled.

  Bop

  Arrgh, she slapped my snarl off. Good grief, pay attention. I hate this particular chick. Why the dislike? Let us begin with the Pepto-Bismol pink she adds to her wardrobe, entirely too much, lipstick, hair bobs, her gloves even. Seriously.

  One day I caught her bullying a lady asking about self-defense classes. She told her she needed to go to the gym around the corner, because “we go hard here sweetheart.” The nervous lady had broken, written all over her. And this whore tore her down for trying to take her life back. Time to make this bitch work for it, and possibly release some tension. As I began to dance around, my mind wanders again, returning to Force.

  The creepy call from my family, letting me know they are watching, fuels my anger. It flows through my pores. All the time I invested trying to impress those fools, wasted, it is unfair.

  Bop.

  Fuck, that stung, she just landed another good hit. Get your head in the game Eva. Concentrate. Forget about him Evee.

  One, two three, jab, stunned she stumbles and shakes her head, giving me a minute to regroup.

  “Beat her ass, Chica,” Cynthia shouts from my corner.

  Bop,

  that bitch caught me again. She begins to talk shit. “You won’t be the first putanna I put on her ass tonight, little girl.”

  She pushes me into the ropes. “I’m gonna fuck up that pretty face of yours. Then go find your man, he loves the way I suck his big cock.”

  I push her off me. “He likes women, not silly little girls.”

  Her end is very near. A burst of energy, maybe its rage, and the image of her servicing Tomas on her knees, or maybe it is because it is the second time in twenty-four hours someone has doubted my adult capabilities.

  Evee, you are too young. Tomas is too much. Yet, who do they call to fix shit. Me. So, that’s what I do, I fix this pink whore. I dig into her like Ali whipping Sonny Liston.

  A stiff jab and she steps back. I use the fragile moment and space to set up two hard rights and a left body kick. She is stunned by the turn in power. I do not let up, stalking her into a corner I pummel her body with jabs until I need a break. She looks like I feel, exhausted. However, adrenaline coursing through me will not allow me to stop. I grab her by the head swing her down to the mat. We fall my bodyweight bringing us down hard. She rolls away, on her knees she crawls to the ropes and rises. I am standing watching her wobble.

  The bell rings, she finds her corner and misses her chair. “Ugly pink bear,” I growl.

  CHAPTER 12

  Politicians

  Tomas

  My God in heaven. Officer Ramos whispered while covering his nose to block the stench. Behind him, he heard his rookie officer stepping into the container. "Come no further, call the …."

  "What did you uncover, captain?"

  "Don't come in here rookie. Call it in, like I told you."

  "What in God's name?" Rookie Anderson heaved and ran as far away from the horrendous scene as he could before his body could no longer hold. He didn't want to compromise the crime scene with his DNA, so off the side of the dock, he knelt, and into the water he expelled the contents of his belly.

  "Oh my God. Help us." he prayed as he was from a religious background. He knew when evil abounded. Whoever is responsible for this scene was the devil himself.

  Breaking News,

  Once again, the New Jersey Senate has passed a measure that would direct the governor to withdraw from the bi-state compact and transfer the commission's oversight responsibilities in New Jersey to the state police. This is the second withdrawal effort although, this one comes on the heels of recent Port violations and murders. A container found just last week with rotting corpses of whom investigators have now identified as twenty Hispanic females aged ten to twenty-five has set New Jersey constituents afire.

  New Jersey State Police responded vehemently, stating it needs more individual power and transparency to deal with its growing problem than the Commission can or has ever granted."

  "What the hell? What are they talking about? We made a deal with important people, murderers even to work this port dilemma out together." Was Jefferson showing his hand with his anxiety? I'm not sure he was this passionate about the deal before. He was my rat now. And rats couldn't be trusted. Yet, I needed inside information to keep my eye out for dissente
rs.

  When a lucrative business is dissolved, legit or otherwise. There were always many contenders who would take advantage, try to rise where they see the opening.

  "That deal no longer serves me well." The mayor spoke.

  "Why is he in this building? We agreed to separate ourselves from his family and their enterprises." The Governor said, shiftier than the last one? I wasn't yet sure.

  "He's standing there ask him." Our very crooked mayor stated.

  "You should not have come here, Santari." The Governor warned.

  "I do not answer to you."

  "Fuck you. Did you or did you not have anything to do with those bodies found at the port. And they know six girls survived and walked from that container, along with men. They tracked footprints to an alley nearby."

  "You are getting sloppy." My rat Jefferson told Santari.

  "Again, I do not answer… to you either of you."

  I was wondering who exactly he did answer to—the mayor? He was known for his calm demeanor and deadly strike. Most never saw it coming.

  "If the missing girls are found we will all have a problem."

  "As the newcomer, I'll politely excuse myself from that consequence and this idiotic incriminating meeting."

  "The only problem here is Garko. You let him back inside. His presence grants men who were afraid to move against me in New Jersey or the Kanun, in New York, false confidence. That container was marked as they have been for six years, now. No problems until, now."

  "Six years. You people called me into this mess because, why?" The Governor asked farther away, he tried to walk out but is pulled back in.

  "Garko is sanctioned by those higher than my pay grade. I cannot touch him." The Mayor expressed.

  "Mr. Santari, does your family understand life is about to change here? If they don't you should shine a bright light to wake them the fuck up. Isn't your job to lead them towards another money scheme. Garko and factions of Government are serious about this Port matter. He's gunning for the Mafia Illyrian. You've had a good run at being the devil. Now a new one has arrived with powerful allies. Why would you not get out of his way?" The Governor wants him gone.

  I could make that happen, but not soon enough. Once I ended the Illyrians stronghold from Port of New York and New Jersey, Santari would not willingly play nice and go on a faraway vacation. He'd see the opening and pounce. I knew he'd rather pay with his life than exit a profitable scene.

  The Waterfront Commission of New York Harbor's entire mission was to investigate, deter, and remedy criminal activity and influence in the port district and also ensure fair hiring and employment practices. Yet organized crime and labor racketeering was the glue that held it together. Had they not been corrupted from conception I would not need to save their ass, now.

  Greed and pride.

  Now three branches of government enforcement and supposedly our new Governor agreed to allow me to fix it.

  One question lingered, why the New Jersey senate supported New Jersey State police in abandoning our original plan? We were to hold force together, while I rooted out the evil center.

  Had they lost faith in the deal before I'd even began to work it out?

  No. Someone was compromised. The New Jersey State Police? Member of the Senate?

  I didn't have time to clean up political squabbles and dissenters. But I knew who did.

  "They're all slimy assholes, cousin. I mean Boss." He smiled at me through the rearview mirror.

  "Tommy, make an extra copy of the recording and send one to...."

  "Sure thing. Santari mentioned you by name. Are we going to take him out." Tommy was eager to fulfill his Garko body count. If my aunt had it her way he'd never see a dead body.

  "We will let Franco Handle Santari. He's not in our territory, yet."

  I check my watch again. Frustrated because I wanted to fly to see my Luca this weekend. Instead, I'm here sitting in an otherwise empty parking lot, waiting for the Doc.

  Who wastes Saturday morning with a client, or patient, I'm not sure what the doc calls me to her coworkers. Spineless quacks, it's because of them, her partners, my sessions have moved to Saturday. One blasted out window, by drive-by during my last visit, which they assume targeted me, and I'm a danger for the other clients. The Doc's late by two minutes, and I'm the unstable one.

  "Tommy, how is that search, going?

  "Hot on her trail boss."

  The lounge vixen, she escaped my trap without exchanging her name. The bartender was willing to confirm she wasn't jailbait, her age, twenty-four, he would not disclose her name. I didn't lean in on him, anticipating the thrill of slow discovery to be much sweeter. She will return. The excitement has me almost off-balance, and it takes a lot to make my 6'6, 290 body drunk. My poor little criminal, young but hopefully resilient, otherwise, she will falter before I fill the need stirring in my gut. I want to know her, how she works, what is motivating the thievery. And of course, now I'm going to fuck her, only if she had not run. Maybe I wouldn't have to chase.

  Tommy interrupts my fun, "She gave Tank and Sylver the slip, yesterday at the sandwich shop. Maybe she thought, 'here come two old fuckers giving me unwanted attention.' Me… I'm going to be a fucking meow to her kitty. She's gonna follow me straight to you, Boss."

  "What the fuck are you talking about, Tommy? You know she's my girl, right?"

  "Fuck yeah, Cousin Tom… I mean, Boss. I'm just saying how the ladiez' don't r—"

  "There is my therapist, shut the fuck up, and keep your cat shit to yourself. Just find her. Got it!"

  As I step from my vehicle, my phone rings, and like an idiot I hope it's her, knowing she doesn't have my number. How clever is my thief? The call is international code." Doc is here I should let the call go to voicemail.

  Nope, I waited for the Doc, now she can wait for me.

  As I disconnect my call, Tommy drives up next to me, good he is learning. He didn't drive away before I made it inside the building. "You going in now, Boss? We can skip the session, go look for the girl together, fuck this Doc, the bitch was late."

  Yet, he is a young idiot, another day, not too long ago, I would have fuckin punched his lights out. Mercy, I have come a long way. He is my blood, his dead mother my cousin, my great aunt Julianna, Ernesto's youngest sister, took him in at age four, he is barely twenty-four, she in her sixties. One semester away from a Bachelor of Science degree in Robotics but suspended upon further notice because they found him selling weight to fraternity houses on campus. He admitted this to some chick he wanted to fuck, who liked to smoke weed and she posted on Facebook, "I fucked the mafia weed man." He has not learned when to keep his thoughts to himself.

  I walk into the building waving him off; sometimes he makes me think I need a vasectomy.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Doc Has Secrets

  Tomas

  "Forgive my lateness, Mr. Garko. Saturdays are hectic at home; I've never actually tried to come into the office on the weekend. I saw your vehicle as I rode by, you've been here waiting. Again, I apologize."

  "I understand," I say but I don't.

  "Let us get right into the session, "I asked you before if you believed, therapy could help you in any way. If you will… respond today."

  Help me, should I spin the "My chaotic life wheel" see where it settles.

  What if it lands on fucked up shit like, I get confused more and more, Force—my Beast... Tomas—my Blood ... talking to myself about myself in the third person. Are my intentions set to exist for Blood or Beast? Time lost, like hours. My mind is too active and convoluted to keep the egos inside me separate. Or will they merge? Is it an inevitable event one may exist without the other?

  Does the doc honestly want to know this shit? Her Birkenstock loafers and alligator button-up assure me she'd eat that shit up, but not today.

  Maybe I'll ask her about my dead Bisnonna, haunting my dreams, though.

  "I detect an accent, southern." She shifts in her seat. She
thought she'd rid herself of certain identifying monikers.

  "I'm not from the Confederacy. Mr. Garko."

  "I wasn't referring to the southern United States, Mrs. Gregor. Or are you going by Miss. since the separation.

  She winces. She's an exquisite woman withdrawn and melancholy, not what I would expect from a therapist.

  She's very quiet, no she knows how to be still. There is a difference.

  Every movement silent, fluid.

  Distracted, I imagine her as the soldier they call in to disassemble timed bombs, under duress, only two minutes, before the world ends, a massive bomb. Improbable, but hey it's my scenario. And while I've been typecasting, I notice she's still turning the ring she no longer wears. Deep sadness casts the regal bones of her face. I recognized her loneliness in our first meeting.

  "Did he pass, recently—she nods—my condolences."

  "Ah yes… thanks… and it's Miss Gregor, very perceptive of you, Mr. Garko."

  Gently she turns pages of a file, my file, no doubt the prison entrance and exit assessments. Not that she needs to study them, it's a replica of what was leaked to the papers after Beast went full throttle behind penitentiary walls. His actions created panic and mayhem instigating the inmates into a riot. Which someone also, leaked live footage of on the Internet? The major networks headlined the disaster for weeks. The same networks who upon my arrival to the southern states instigated the mayhem,

  "At least eleven tornadoes have been confirmed by National Weather Service surveyors, thus far, in Louisiana and Mississippi as part of a storm system which has now moved across the region since Wednesday night."

  I happened to arrive in Louisiana that specific Wednesday morning for an intake evaluation. The sensational headlines had read,

  The Beast rides in on a Storm.

  The next month, transferred to Mississippi State Penitentiary, the storm had moved with me,

  "A pair of twisters with top winds of 115 mph (185 kph) hit the northern border of Sunflower County was rated EF-2 on the Enhanced Fujita scale. In Mississippi, seven tornadoes have been confirmed in Adams County. Heavy damage was reported in and around Natchez.