by Carolina Mac
“If he ain’t dead, should we be bringing him in, boss?” asked Billy.
“Damned right. He sent a platoon out to get Farrell, and we’ll nail him for that—if he ain’t already dead.”
“He could’ve sent his men to do his dirty work,” said Cody, “while he’s in bed sleeping like a baby.”
“Yeah, the big boss don’t like to risk his own neck when he can risk the necks of those around him,” said Farrell. “That’s a trend in gangs. Maybe we should go roust him right now.”
“Let’s sleep for a couple of hours, then take fresh talent with us,” said Blaine. “Save getting us dead on a Thursday.”
“Copy that,” said Farrell. “It’s almost the weekend.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday, January 19th.
8:00 a.m.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
Day Shift.
BLAINE could barely keep his eyes open at the breakfast meeting. He’d poured three cups of black coffee down his throat and it didn’t help much. Caffeine wasn’t a substitute for sleep.
Farrell had gone to his room saying he’d be setting his alarm for noon, and Blaine liked that idea. As soon as he dispatched the boys, he’d try for three more hours of solid shut eye. There was a lot to do, but in their line of work it was safer to be wide awake when you were doing it.
“Luke and Fletch, keep on Deleon. He should be hissing and stomping this morning about how many of his snakes met their demise in the mall parking lot.”
“I’d like to hear details on that, boss,” said Luke. “When you have a minute.”
Blaine nodded. “We’ll talk later, Lukey.” He pointed his pen at Lil at the other end of the table. “You and Rob work at headquarters on the paperwork. We’re miles behind on reports.”
Lil nodded. “Easy enough.”
Rob wasn’t smiling.
“And check with the morgue. I want ID’s on all the Cobras who tried for Farrell last night.”
Lil made a note.
“And send everything we’ve got on the Flaherty case to Perry Leighton’s office. Let’s get that off our plate.”
“Still no clear cut motive,” boss,” said Lil, “and Mr. Leighton would be happier if there was one. Maybe I should talk to Theriault’s boss and find out what he was focused on.”
Blaine nodded. “Do that, Lil. We’ve got him cold on the murder, but it wouldn’t hurt to know why, and who knows, maybe there should be a shakedown in that whole office.”
“One bad apple,” said Lil. “Like that.”
“I’ll speak to Cat. We’re talking about State funds.”
AFTER the meeting, Blaine filled his mug and was headed to his office when Lexi bounced past him heading for the front door. “Who the hell is here to bother me, now, girl?” He turned around and opened the door. “Travis?”
“Hey, boss, can I talk to you for a couple of minutes?”
Blaine pointed down the hall. “I’m headed for my office.”
Travis plopped down in the leather chair in front of Blaine’s desk and blew out a breath.
Blaine waited then said, “Okay, what happened with Annie?”
“She fired me, boss.”
“And was she in the right?”
Travis nodded and didn’t look Blaine in the eye.
“Now you want to come back to the Agency?”
“If I have a job here, I do,” said Travis. “I need to work.”
“Who is watching Annie now? Or do you even give a shit about that goddam Tyler trying to kill her?”
“Of course, I care.”
“But not enough to do your job?”
“Jesus, boss. You make me sound like a dick.”
“Were you being a dick, Travis? That’s the question, isn’t it? Every time you broke up with Annie in the past, you were being a hot-headed dick for reasons that didn’t even exist.”
“I got pissed and accused her of fooling around with Luc LaFontaine.”
Annie and Luc are close. That might be true.
“So… what if she is? Tyler’s gone and she’s alone. You’re her bodyguard and in charge of her safety. Her personal life is none of your fuckin business.”
“That’s what Annie said.”
“But you were jealous anyway? Is that the reason for all this?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“How many times have we done this, Travis?”
Travis hung his head. “Too many, I guess.”
“This is your last kick at the cow. Report here for work on Monday morning, and if you go near Coulter-Ross one more time, your fuckin ass is fired from the Agency—forever.”
8:15 a.m.
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
TYLER smiled as he sat next to Charity at the breakfast table and fed her small pieces of cornbread. She opened her mouth like a little bird and waited for him to put another piece in.
“You going to work late this morning?” Bobby directed his question to Jesse at the other side of the table.
“No. I told Blacky I wouldn’t be there today. I want to go to Dallas with Ty and talk to his lawyer about the trial date and what we should be doing before then to prepare.”
“I don’t want you to miss work on my account,” said Tyler. “I can manage on my own, and if I need company, Paulie said he’d go with me.”
“I’m going,” said Jesse with finality. “There are questions I need to ask. What time is the appointment?”
“One o’clock.”
8:30 a.m.
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
UPSET from her argument with Travis, and battling another headache, Annie shrugged on a jacket and headed out to the garage to see Mick. She winced as she opened the door, the blaring country music too loud for her aching head this morning.
Mick turned it down as soon as he saw her and pointed to one of the empty stools. “Am I in shit?”
Annie tried to smile. When she came in person to see any of her boys, they always thought the worst. “Nope, I just came to ask you something.”
“Are you gonna ask me about riding with the Vipers without you?”
“Nope. Not that.”
“Good, cause I didn’t mind it when you were there, but I changed my mind. I don’t want to do it.”
“You said that, and I respect your decision. You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Mickey’s left eye twitched like it did when he was nervous. “What else you gonna ask me then?”
“Would you want to be my bodyguard?”
“You’ve got Travis.” Mick’s lip curled in a sneer. “Hot headed Marine, but I guess he can protect you okay. Never seen him fight, but he’s big enough.”
“I fired him.”
Mick raised a dark eyebrow and didn’t say a word. He waited, then when Annie didn’t add anything, he picked up a cloth and polished the chrome on his bike.
Annie stood up and said, “Think about it.” She jogged back to the house and picked up her cell from the island in the kitchen. She’d missed a message.
Travis.
“Sorry, Annie-girl. I was being a dick.”
Men were always being dicks. It was like they had three parts to their brain—the left side—the right side—and somewhere in the middle—the dickmode. When they were in dickmode, that’s when all the stupid stuff happened. They did it or said it and then they were always sorry afterwards—always. The dickmode always fucked them over.
And thinking in that vein, Annie called Powell and Associates and left a message for Warren Radway.
8:45 a.m.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE spent a half hour researching the names Kamps had given Farrell. The guys collecting the girls from the Cobras—and probably from other clubs as well—were loosely associated with the Russian mafia from what Blaine could tell. They were bad dudes in anybody’s book and from a couple of restricted data bases Blaine had searched, their names came up on the watch lists of
several agencies.
Vadim Sokolov.
Alexi Lebedev.
He called the number he used only when there was no other choice. He hated doing it because it usually resulted in more work for him and for the Agency.
“Morning, sir. Got a minute?”
After a lengthy conversation, Blaine had new information and a new directive. A couple hours sleep, and he’d start work on it. He drank the last of his coffee and started up the stairs to his room when his cell rang.
Kim. Shit, I should have called her.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m being a thoughtless dick. I love you.”
Kim giggled. “You are never a thoughtless dick, Blaine. I know you were up all night. I saw you on TV this morning early.”
“I’m sleeping for a couple of hours, then I’ll see if I can take you to dinner someplace nice.”
“Why don’t you just come here when you get a break and I’ll order something.”
“That would help me a lot. It’s the dating thing that’s bogging me down. I don’t have time for a real date, and I feel bad about it.”
“Don’t feel bad, Blaine. Just show up here anytime so we can stay connected. I need that.”
“You’re right, Kim. I need it too.”
9:00 a.m.
Southeast Austin.
LUKE and Fletcher were set up in the dark green surveillance unit a couple blocks from Georgie Deleon’s residence.
“He should be pissed off real good this morning,” said Luke. “His guys are dropping like flies.”
“Why aren’t we bringing him in?” asked Fletch. “Boss knows he tried for Farrell.”
“Hard to prove intent. He wants more.”
Fletch pointed and took off his headset. “He’s awake now and hollering at somebody.”
“Who killed my men? Y’all were there. You seen it.”
“Super killed Ronick. One shot with a Beretta. Saw him do it.”
“Okay, that’s one. Did he kill all the rest?”
“The woman did.”
“What woman? The woman that rides with the night crew?”
“Yep. It was her.”
“One woman killed five of my men?”
“That’s right, boss.”
“You useless assholes. I should cap all of you here and now.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?”
“We got an order for more girls. We’ll hit three different Walmarts tonight at nine.”
“Hear that?” asked Fletch.
“Better tell the boss,” said Luke. He pressed Blaine’s contact number.
“Yeah, Lukey?”
“Did I wake you up, boss?”
“It’s okay. You got something?”
“Tonight, at nine the Cobras are hitting three Walmarts looking for girls.”
“Fuckin maniacs. We’ll be ready for them and we’ll take the whole club down. Good work, guys. Forget about them for now. Go home and sleep. We’ll need everybody tonight.”
“Copy that, boss.”
“What did he say?” asked Fletch.
“Go home and sleep. We’re taking them down tonight.” Luke grinned and Fletch gave him a fist bump.
11:00 a.m.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE set his alarm for eleven and caught two hours of desperately needed sleep. He couldn’t risk sleeping any longer, with all the arrangements that had to be made for the nine o’clock take down at the three Walmart stores.
There were more locations farther out of the city core, but the three closest ones would be all they could tackle with the manpower he’d have to beg, borrow and steal.
After grabbing a muffin and a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen, Blaine’s first call was to the Chief.
He explained his plan, then waited for the Chief to digest the information and comment. “Sounds like a solid plan, son. I’ll get Rocky and June working on it right away and we should have it under control in a few hours. Let’s say we meet here for six o’clock, then get set up at the three parking lot locations plus the clubhouse.”
“Six o’clock. I’ll be there with everybody I’ve got, sir.”
Noon.
Downtown Austin.
FARRELL was up and running when his alarm went off at twelve. After a couple of breakfast tacos Carm had saved him, Farrell swung by and picked up Carlos from home.
Carlos took the address and punched it into the GPS. “This the dude who beat up the Toy?”
“Roy told Kamps his name and Blacky says he’s a high-power tort lawyer making huge bucks suing the asses off people.”
“He must be into the downtown club scene,” said Carlos, “or he wouldn’t even know Roy.”
“He might not be one of Roy’s regular customers,” said Farrell. “Roy might have picked him up in one of the gay bars he hangs around.”
“But still,” said Carlos, “Roy is non-offensive. Why in hell would this lawyer beat up a quiet guy like Roy?”
“Guess we won’t know any details until Roy tells us, and right now he can barely open his mouth. Can’t talk and won’t eat. The nurses are worried.”
“Shit,” said Carlos, “he’s the only male hooker I know, but I like the guy.”
“I’ve got to take Quinn to the hospital to see him. She likes Roy a lot and she’s upset that he’s hurt.”
Farrell slowed down and turned into the parking ramp adjacent to the building. “This is a huge office complex. Might take us a minute to find the dude.”
In the impressive marble and glass lobby, Farrell spoke to a security guard in uniform standing near the bank of elevators and asked for directions to Florin Moffat’s suite of offices.
“Tenth floor is all him,” said the guard. “Good luck getting in to see him.”
“Thanks.”
The elevator doors opened on the tenth floor and Farrell and Carlos were facing a huge glass reception desk with a stone waterfall behind it. Soft music seemed to be coming from high above them, but Farrell couldn’t spot any speakers.
A tall thin young man in a designer suit sat behind the glass desk staring at his computer screen. “May I help you with something?” he asked. “Surely you have an appointment. May I direct you?”
“Yes, you may direct me,” said Farrell. “You may direct me to Mr. Moffatt’s office.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible unless you have an appointment. Mr. Moffatt is an extremely busy man.”
Farrell plunked his creds down on the desk and said, “I’m a busy man myself, kiddo. Show me the way to Mr. Moffatt’s office.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to call security, and have you detained, sir,” said the dude in the thousand dollar suit.
“I’m here to see Mr. Moffatt in an official capacity, sir, and it’s my right to ask him any questions I deem relevant to the case I’m working on. If you impede my investigation, I’ll be forced to charge you with obstruction of justice.”
“My, you are a nasty one, aren’t you?” He stood up and straightened his tie. “I’ll see if he has a moment.”
“You do that,” said Farrell. Carlos grinned.
The receptionist hurried down the long carpeted hallway and Farrell and Carlos followed behind.
The door at the end of the hall opened into a massive office occupying the entire corner of the building. Light poured in from the floor to ceiling windows and reflected off Moffatt’s glass and steel desk. Maybe Moffatt had recently sued a glass factory.
“Mr. Moffatt, these gentlemen are from the police and are insisting on seeing you for a moment.”
“That’s okay, Gabe. Don’t fret, dear one. I always have time for law enforcement. Let them come in.”
Gabe made a sweeping motion with his arm and held the door open.
Florin Moffatt was crouched behind his desk like a roach hiding under the kitchen sink. Dark haired with a pocked complexion and tiny black piggy eyes, he was not a handsome man.
Moffatt stood up, rounded the te
n foot glass slab and offered his hand to Farrell who wasted no time with niceties.
“Mr. Moffatt, you’re under arrest for assault causing grievous bodily harm.”
Carlos whipped out his handcuffs and snapped one on Moffatt’s left wrist. He spun the stocky little litigator around and cuffed his other hand.
“And who am I accused of assaulting?”
Farrell chose not to answer. “Come with us please. We’d like to ask you a few questions at headquarters.”
“I’ll want one of my attorneys with me, sir.”
“You may tell one to accompany you, or call one from DPS,” said Farrell. “You have the right to legal representation.”
“I know my rights,” said Moffatt, “and I’m also an expert in lawsuits. You and your colleagues can expect one from this office shortly.”
“Please spell my name correctly,” said Farrell.
“And what is your name, sir? You didn’t identify yourself.”
“You may want to jot this down—Dead-Eye Donovan.”
Carlos grinned.
1:00 p.m.
Lazzaro, Johnson and Simic. Attorneys at Law. Dallas.
JESSE and Tyler had arrived a little early and the receptionist had been nice enough to get them each a cup of coffee. Jesse was almost finished his when she stood up and called Tyler’s name. She showed them into Simic’s office like she’d done the last time they were here.
“Mr. Simic will be with you momentarily.”
“Thanks,” said Tyler. He slumped down in the leather chair in front of the desk and blew out a big breath. “Guess it’s time to face the music, bro.”
“Guess so,” said Jesse.
Simic came in a couple of minutes later and his face was slightly flushed. “Had a quick lunch with my wife. Sorry to keep y’all waiting.”
“Hey, we all have wives,” said Tyler with a grin.
Immediately, Jesse felt a vibe from his brother that he’d never felt before.
Jesus, what’s up with Tyler?
Simic settled down behind his desk and cleared his throat. “I was advised of your trial date in Santa Fe, Tyler. February seventh is the date on the court calendar.”