by Carolina Mac
NIGHT VIPERS
The Blackmore Agency: Book Twenty
Carolina Mac
Copyright © 2019 by Carolina Mac
NIGHT VIPERS - 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-988850-79-5
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To: The Guardians of the Night
You know, the streets are filled with vipers
Who’ve lost all ray of hope
You know, it ain’t even safe no more
In the palace of the Pope
―BOB DYLAN
FER-DE-LANCE
(Any of several extremely venomous snakes of the viper family)
CHAPTER ONE
Monday, January 9th.
1:00 a.m.
Austin.
SHOTS RANG OUT.
Bang. Bang.
Then the answer.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Passing the Texas State Cemetery, heading west on seventh street, Farrell heard the shots ripping through the night air. A testament to his acute hearing and his innate street savvy, he instantly trigged into the sound of gunfire over the roar of the Harley engine and the howl of the north wind that had come up after midnight. Sounds of the city at night—gunfire, screams of pain, a cry for help, footsteps running down a dark alley.
He cranked the bars to the right and sailed up to the locked graveyard gates. Couldn’t get in that way but he could see shadowy figures running on the other side of the wrought iron fence. Running, chasing, yelling curses—shadows darting between the tombstones in the pitch dark. Shooting at each other every chance they got. Gangers. Had to be. He counted them—eight or ten—maybe more.
No use calling Blacky. By the time his brother woke up, got out of bed, dressed and drove over here, this skirmish would be history.
He’d been saying this for a while now, but they didn’t have the manpower for it. A night squad. The Agency needed a night squad to control the gangers and the drugs in the city. The patrols the regular PD had on the streets weren’t enough and the city didn’t have the budget for more. The taxpayers needed more protection, but they didn’t want to pay for it in their taxes—the high cost of being safe.
The Agency had money. Private money. Blacky and Jesse’s money, but money none the less.
As Farrell drove home he sketched out a rough plan in his head. He’d put it on the table at the morning meeting and make it happen. Yep. Guaranteed. He’d keep on his foster brother until he got what he wanted—a night squad on Harleys, patrolling the city and keeping Austin safe while it’s citizens slept.
7:00 a.m.
The Blackmore Agency.
FARRELL had coffee brewed when Blacky showed up tangle-haired and sleepy-eyed in the monstrous-size kitchen of the renovated Victorian they called home. Farrell had taken pains with the coffee, making sure it was the Panamanian blend Blacky loved and measuring it correctly. His foster brother’s favorite coffee would put him in a good mood for the moves Farrell planned to put on him.
“Why are you up so early?” asked Blaine. “Didn’t I hear you come in late?”
“Yeah, almost two by the time I waited for Quinn to get off work at the Coyote and took her home.”
“And?” Blacky filled a mug, added cream and sat down at the table. “Don’t bullshit me when I’m tired. I can tell when you’re dying to lay something on me.”
“And… I saw shit happening at the cemetery. Ganger shit that goes on in every city at night and I want to put my idea into action,” said Farrell. “It’s way past time and I want to make it happen.”
“Uh huh,” said Blacky. “We’re back to the night squad idea again, aren’t we? You’re like a Pit Bull with a fuckin bone.” Blaine took a long drink from his mug. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. If I had the time, it’s something I wouldn’t mind trying myself. Can’t tell you how much I miss riding my bike.”
Farrell nodded. “I’m not giving up on it, because we could do a lot of good out there in the dark. That’s when all the snakes come out and feed on the innocents.”
“We would need more manpower. I can’t just give you our regular guys, we’re busy with open cases. And besides you can’t recruit just regular qualified guys—they also have to be decent riders and above average marksmen—able to shoot from their rides.”
“Let’s talk it out,” said Farrell. “Where’s your yellow pad?”
“I’m barely fuckin awake. You talk while I finish my first coffee, then I’ll think about making notes.”
“Okay, this is how I see it.” Farrell strode over to the island and refilled his mug. “We’d have to turn the regular cases and the day shift over to Jesse—that’s if you came over to nights. Your call on that one. Plus, you are correct on the manpower situation. I’d need more guys. Have to hire them.”
“How many would you want riding with you?”
“Four minimum. Six would be ideal but more costly. We could make do with five if you crossed over.”
Blaine chuckled. “To the dark side?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“What would be the main focus of the night riders?”
“Gangs. That’s when the gangs are doing their worst. Drugs, robberies, murders, rapes, running girls.”
“Before we waste a lot of breath, let’s run it by Jesse when he gets here,” said Blaine. “He has to be on board, or it won’t fly.”
“Think he’ll veto it?” asked Farrell.
Blaine shook his head, his tangled black hair hanging in his face. “Jesse would never nix a workable idea without a good reason,” said Blaine. “And not if we can afford to operate a squad like that.”
“Can we afford it?” asked Farrell. “Not we, but the Agency?”
“Without checking the budget, I can’t be sure,” said Blaine, “but even if we needed help to maintain it, we can ask Mom if the Foundation can help us. That money is in a trust to help the young bikers get out of gangs and Foundation money earns thousands in interest every minute of the day.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow over an icy blue eye, “You mean we won’t ever run out?”
“Impossible.”
“Good. I don’t want to be poor again.”
Blacky laughed. “You won’t be.”
“I’d want Carlos,” said Farrell. “With all his gang experience in Laredo, he’s my first pick against the gangs.”
Blacky strolled over to the coffee maker, refilled his mug and strolled back to the kitchen table, deep in thought. He sat down and picked up his pen. “Now, I’m ready to write. I’d have to replace Carlos on the regular staff. With Travis AWOL acting as Annie’s bodyguard, we could use two new regular day guys. Let’s say you take Carlos for one, then you need two more.”
“I’ll cr
uise the safe-house and see if any of the boys over there qualify,” said Farrell.
Blacky frowned. “Who you thinking of?”
“Mickey-Jeeter for one.”
“Uh huh, he’d be good. Never a better rider born. Who else?”
“Don’t know. Might have to interview people, and I hate doing that. You could do it for me.”
“Fuck that,” said Blacky, “this is your project. You pick the men. If they suck, it’s all on your stupid ass.”
Farrell laughed. “Like you haven’t picked some jerkwads?”
“I fuckin know it and it still haunts me. That’s why I want you to pick your own losers.”
8:00 a.m.
LEXI, Blaine’s huge black Newfoundlander, barked in the foyer like she did every weekday morning at around eight o’clock, announcing the arrival of the crew.
Lily, Blaine’s personal assistant and right arm, led the way looking wide awake and ready to rock as always. Perfect makeup and not a blonde hair out of place and all before any of the guys thought about looking good. “Morning, boss,” said Lily. “I hope Farrell didn’t make the coffee.”
“Blacky made it.” Farrell blurted out the words before Blaine could answer. “Pretty good too. One of his best pots.”
Blaine smiled.
Rarely late, Carlos, Fletcher and Luke were right behind Lily. The boys headed straight to the coffee maker on the granite island and filled their mugs. Then they glanced at the food prep area on the far side of the kitchen to see if Carmelita was taking anything out of the oven. She spoiled them with muffins or raisin biscuits almost every day.
They were all seated at the kitchen table when Lexi barked again, and Jesse walked in. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. Morning traffic has been killer lately. I need to find a new route to sneak through the city.”
“Guess we’re all here,” said Blaine. “Seems weird without Travis, but he’s at Coulter-Ross until further notice. Let’s get started.”
“If Travis is staying with Annie permanently as her bodyguard,” said Jesse, “we need to think about interviewing to fill his spot.”
“Exactly,” said Blaine, “and on that subject, we have something else to discuss. We might need to hire more than just one man.”
“Oh? What’s up?” asked Jesse.
“I’m sure Farrell has mentioned it a few times, but I think we’re going to forge ahead with his idea—at least give it a trial period—six months’ probation to see if it’s making a difference.”
“What are we talking about?” asked Jesse. “The night shift on bikes?”
“Uh huh. That’s it,” said Blaine, “and of course, you have half the say whether we do it or not.”
“Sounds like you’re in favor, partner, and I’m not against it in any way. A six month trial sounds perfect. By then we’ll have an idea of the effect it’s having, and the costs we’re incurring. We’ll be able to tell if it’s worthwhile after a decent period of time.”
“Okay, that’s affirmative from Jesse,” said Blaine and Farrell grinned. It was his idea, his dream, and he’d wanted it for a long time. “Next topic is Carlos.”
“Me?” asked the big Hispanic. “I’m a topic?” He’d come to the Agency from the gang squad in Laredo, familiar with drugs, gun running, border crossings and all manner of things Farrell deemed important for the squad.
“Farrell wants you on his team,” said Blaine, “but you can refuse and stay with Jesse on days. The night gig is totally voluntary.”
“Haven’t had much time to ride my bike lately, but I can get up to speed.” Carlos grinned and gave Farrell a fist bump. “Happy to go over to the dark side.”
“Okay,” said Blaine. “That’s one. Farrell has someone else in mind at Coulter-Ross and he’ll head out there when we’re finished.” Blaine focused on Lily at the end of the table, “In the meantime, Lil, we need two replacements for days and three for the night squad. If Mickey Jeeter takes Farrell’s offer, he’ll only need two qualified people who are also Harley riders.”
“I’m writing this down,” said Lil. “So… if we need a minimum of four good people we’re going to have to entice at least a couple dozen to apply. I’ll cull out the first round and see what kind of hot dudes we’ve got left.”
“How fast can you get them in here?” asked Farrell.
“You in a big hurry, Dead-Eye?” asked Lil.
“No, but I might have to do some testing and that will take more time. Don’t want any jerkwads on my team.”
“Me neither,” said Carlos. “Being backed up by a jerkwad means nobody is watching your back. That can get you dead.”
10:00 a.m.
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
FARRELL stopped at the ten-foot wrought iron gate at Coulter-Ross and waited for Jose to let him in. Blacky had warned him against going straight to Mickey-Jeeter without talking to Annie first.
She was wildly protective of her boys and didn’t take kindly to anyone interfering in their routine or their well-being. She’d been mothering them since they were juvies and even though most of them were adults now, it made no difference to her. They were her boys.
He found her in the kitchen with Travis getting ready to go her store, Mill Antiques in La Grange.
“I’m glad I caught you before you left, Annie,” said Farrell. “There’s something I want to run by you.”
“Sure, honey. Got time for a coffee while you tell me what’s on your mind?” Without waiting for him to answer, she filled a mug and put it in front of him on the granite island.
Farrell spooned in sugar while he told her about setting up the night squad.
Annie listened without interrupting, then said, “The Foundation can help fund that if you hire any of my boys.”
“I didn’t come for funding, Annie—at least not right off—I was looking for great riders with a lot of street savvy.”
“And the first person you thought of was Mickey-Jeeter?”
“You nailed it,” said Farrell, “but I wouldn’t approach him without you okaying it.”
“He’s been reluctant to work on the outside,” said Annie, “because he has problems socially.”
Farrell nodded. “He hates people.”
Annie giggled. “Yeah, that, and I never force my boys to leave the nest even when their probation is finished and they’re free to go.”
“So… what’s he been doing every day?” asked Farrell.
“Working on the bikes in the garage now that the twins are working at the dealership.”
“How much work is that?” asked Farrell. “That can’t fill up his whole day.”
“Not too much,” said Annie. “All my bikes are in top condition. Mickey has the country station, or the jukebox turned up loud, and he stays in the garage alone. Only comes out to eat and sleep.”
“He in there now?”
Annie shrugged. “He’s always in there. Bull checks on him now and then to see if he’s still breathing.”
“Should I go see him alone, or do you want to come with?”
“I better come,” said Annie.
“I’ll load the truck and wait for you, boss,” said Travis with a nod towards the pile of boxes by the door.
Farrell and Annie hadn’t walked half way to the six bay garage and already they could hear Waylon hollering that he’d always been crazy. Annie smiled as she opened the door.
Mickey-Jeeter turned, saw Annie and immediately reached for the volume control on the jukebox. Tall, slim and dark-complexioned, Mickey was a looker. Long black hair tied back in a blue bandana while he worked. A three-inch jagged scar on the right side of his face and several more hidden under his t-shirt to remind him of the gang he ran from.
“You want me, boss?”
“Nope. Farrell wants to talk to you. I’m just here in case you need me.”
Mick sat down on his rolling stool and he wasn’t smiling. “Go ahead, bro.”
Farrell leaned on the workbench and realized it wasn’t going to
be as easy as he imagined to get Mickey-Jeeter on the other side of the gate. “Me and Blacky are starting a new project and I came to tell you about it.”
“Why me? Nobody tells me nothing, and that’s the way I like it.” He rolled his stool closer to Annie and reached for her hand.
“Will you listen while I tell you what it’s about?” asked Farrell.
Mickey shrugged. “Guess so. I ain’t pressed for time.”
Farrell told him about the forming of the night squad and assured Mickey that there wouldn’t be more than five or six people he’d have to talk to. “You already know me and Blacky and you’ve met Carlos a couple of times.”
“Don’t mind Carlos,” said Mickey. “He don’t talk a lot.”
“Okay, that’s three,” said Farrell, “and the new guys haven’t been hired yet—one, two at the most. If it would encourage you to join us, you could sit in on hiring the new guys—make sure they ain’t assholes and like that.”
“I never hired a person to do a job,” said Mickey-Jeeter. “Don’t know how.”
You’re a stubborn son of a bitch.
Mickey turned his dark head and looked Annie in the eye. “You want me to go be a night cop, Annie?”
“If you want to try, and you’re nervous about it, I’ll ride with you for the first week.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. “Would you, Mom?”
“Sure. Why not? I expect I’ll be training all the new guys on the range anyway.”
“Uh huh. You will.”
“Will I still sleep here and eat here?” asked Mickey. “I’m used to Riley’s cooking.”
Annie nodded. “You can live here at the ranch as long as you want, sugar pop.”
“I’ll think on it, Farrell. Does Blacky want me to do this thing with y’all?”
“He thought it might suit you. Uh huh. He mentioned your name right off.”
“Uh huh.” Micky stared at the garage floor and seemed to be thinking hard. “My bike might need a test run. She ain’t been on the open road in five years.”