by Louis Scott
“Is that how you arrived in Chicago?”
“Honestly?” Alex laughed, “Pike spotted a four-leaf clover on a ship we were searching in Moline. I guess we’d been so focused on the hunt that Saint Paddy’s Day slipped my mind. Where better to cause chaos, than down by a green Chicago River?”
“Well wasn’t that lucky?” Justice kept an eye on the closed door behind her.
He reached over to a dusty bookshelf and snatched up two tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. Alex hated sitting with her back to the door, but there weren’t any other options. A chill snaked across her skin. She grasped both arms of the chair and shoved it against the door.
“Sometimes being lucky is better than being good,” she offered, and raised her glass to toast before she touched the whiskey to her lips.
“Being prepared is better than either. You don’t seem too prepared, Alex. What’s got you off your game?” His solid chin rocked back as he gulped the full glass down.
“Speaking of prepared, how the hell did a CIA agent end up as president of an outlaw motorcycle gang?” She swirled the brownish liquid around the glass—uneasy, her eyes never left him.
“Club. It’s not a gang—it’s a club.” He smirked.
More whiskey gurgled into his bourbon-coated glass.
“Sorry, my mistake—club.”
“It’s easy. I love this country, but I hate the government. I killed to defend it—wasn’t anyone better at it. With the exception of you, my dear. But politicians stuck their fingers in my business and tried to screw my work with threats of cutbacks and reassignments to positions that would expose my cover. They knew it’d mean my death, but said I was their property–expendable.”
Justice’s face pinched into sinister lines and the vibrant inked colors exploded to life across his arms. The images embedded within the bold, dark tattoos spoke of evil and pain.
“I understand,” Alex’s words hitched in her chest. “If you’ve seen my file, then you knew what our government did to me.”
Her eyes averted his glare. Memories would always ride the surface of this topic.
“I needed the rush, and the freedom I had working undercover ops. How the crud would I mold into their bureaucratic cubicles back stateside? This here is the life, sister. Too bad you ain’t a dude, you’d love it.” Justice’s eyes grew wide with excitement. Even his full, genuine smile looked menacing.
“No thanks, but I can see the attraction. What put you over the edge?” She sensed it wasn’t the culmination of a career of getting screwed over. There had to be a final straw.
“I’d worked with the Mossad to rid Israel of Khalid Mishal. The Hamas were gaining power and the Jews knew they’d become a threat if not stopped. We’d prepared for a straight sniper shot, but in the end, politicians said it’d be too messy. They wanted 007 stuff by blowing poison in his ear and let him sleep to his death. Total screw up,” Justice’s lip curled at the edge. “Mishal’s protection detail captured two of Mossad’s agents and the gig was up. President Wild Bill threw us under the bus—even offered my identity to save a peace treaty with Jordan. Screw that, and them. I went off the grid.”
Alex noticed strands of hair stuck against his forehead, while moisture beaded his upper lip and the bridge of his nose. He looked like he’d just relived the entire ordeal.
“I hate them too,” she mouthed as her hand extended to touch his.
He nodded.
“Now that we’ve shared sad stories, what’s the plan?” His expression flattened.
“I’m expecting comms from HQ anytime. We’ve less than twenty-four hours until St. Patrick’s Day, and I have to believe they’ll use the Chicago River to deliver their attack.”
“Didn’t you say y’all had a description of the transport van? I’ll have my men run the city until we find it. At the least, it’ll keep them busy and away from wanting to kill y’all.”
“Hate us do-gooders that bad, huh?” She chuckled.
“Yep, I could lose my position within the gang if this blows up on us.”
“Gang? Don’t you mean club?” Alex smiled.
“Yeah, you right sis,” he said with a grin.
His broad fist swung toward her to bump knuckles.
“I’m in the same boat. The Senate oversight committee doesn’t know we’re still running covert ops, and we didn’t bothered calling the Chicago PD. If it goes bad, I may be calling to join your club.”
“Just stick to the promise,” Justice demanded. “Don’t let your team get distracted by what they see or hear. I’ve got a business to run and I can’t order a shut down because your own government screwed you. I’m trusting you, Alex Vaughn.”
His brown eyes blinked, softer than they’d appeared earlier. His potshots at intimidating FORCE’s agents had stopped, and she felt she could trust him too. After all, they were both patriots who’d paid more than most.
“Your brother is a good man, Justice. You really should call him,” Alex said before walking out to take a phone call.
Chapter Thirteen
The bed and breakfast was another of Alex’s network resources. She knew every moment of comfort the team experienced, the more it’d pay off when the chips were down. The Victorian style resort sat on the outskirts of the city, and the quiet neighborhood hadn’t a clue what the band of vagabonds was doing to save their very lives.
Pike was roused from a decent sleep made possible by pure exhaustion. Voodoo stroked his head to sooth him. He jerked from beneath her touch—a defensive response.
“Baby, why you pulling away from me?” Her voice was singsong and sincere.
“I’m not sure what’s up with you, and I’ve gotta keep my head clear right now.”
“Dwight, not this again. I’m doing my best undercover acting to keep Justice moving in the direction we need. He might look like a freakish devil to you, but he’s Justice Joseph Boudreaux to me.”
She smoothed his hair down against the back of his head and he forced himself to remain still.
“Maybe you’re too good of an actress. I’ve never felt jealousy before—don’t like the way it makes me feel. Every time he puts his hands on you, it drives me mad,” he confessed.
She leaned over his ribcage, careful to avoid his aching shoulder, and kissed him.
“Is my baby feeling threatened by the big bad wolf?” Her hands roamed over him, and he feigned a struggle to defend himself.
“Enough, or this animal is going to devour you,” he grumbled.
His beard had continued to thicken over the weeks, and his usually spiked blonde hair was longer than preferred.
Failing to heed his warning, Voodoo continued to taunt him with a baby-talk voice that excited him. He kissed her, but she kissed him back harder. His head tilted and his eyes locked into hers. Consumed with the underlying intensity of adrenaline, Pike pulled her body close to his. She jerked at him to come even closer.
“Feeling frisky?” she taunted.
“Don’t tease me,” he warned, teeth nipping against her golden brown skin.
Her head rolled back and she moaned. He saw her skin bloom with chill bumps as he feather-caressed her body. Pike hated the feelings of jealousy, but he also knew it meant he cared for her. He’d do anything to please her.
[SWAT up. Brief n 10] Alex texted the team.
Pike’s pulse quickened as he read Alex’s message. He tossed the secure cell over to Voodoo. It landed on her rock-hard abs, and made a ping sound as the metal casing bounced off her belly button ring.
“I wonder what news broke? It’s been fun and all, but I’m ready to head back to Biloxi and finish our weekend.” Voodoo swooned over Pike’s physique.
“Not sure, but I’m with you on that one. Seems there’s a video floating around that reminds me of what we were up to when we got roused off the Beau Rivage rooftop,” Pike said as he tugged his tactical uniform over a pair of gym shorts and UnderArmor shirt. “Gotta get moving, baby. No keeping Alex waiting when it’s go time.”
Voodoo laughed as she was up and dressed before Pike returned from the bathroom. He lingered in a kiss before they left the room, but his buzzing cell phone signaled that Alex cared nothing about one more smooch.
They met the rest of FORCE outside, and loaded into vehicles for an undisclosed location.
Tires crunched gravel and cement as the SUV swung across the vacant parking lot behind an abandoned barroom at West 59th near Central Park Avenue. The Hog’s Wart Saloon looked like it had seen more deviant days. With boarded up windows and metal doors locked tight, only the Fire Marshal’s notice stapled to the wall appeared recent.
“Eyes up,” Jim sneered as they rounded the east side toward ten Harley Davidson motorcycles backed into a straight-line formation. The HOGs ranged from piecemeal rat bikes to showroom-floor pristine.
“All probably stolen,” Ellie added.
“Not our problem. Don’t mention anything other than the mission. I could care less if they had a full-blown meth lab inside—our job is to stop Bonny. Understood?”
Alex’s unusual recital didn’t set well with Pike. The expressions on the others’ faces showed the same.
Jonas pulled the vehicle around until it was situated with the driver’s door away from the barroom. He also intentionally pulled the extended SUV parallel with the building, thus blocking the motorcycles in between the bar and vehicle. Pike reached over the seat to pat him on the shoulder—Jonas was always thinking three or four steps ahead.
“There were supposed to be eleven at their clubhouse, but only ten bikes,” Jim said.
“Maybe one’s riding bitch,” Voodoo said.
“Doubt these devils ride bitch. They’d kill you and steal your bike before asking for a ride on it,” Jim said.
“Keep your eyes open and mouths closed. I’m sure this’ll still run out in a power play once they arm themselves. They don’t need anymore info than necessary. I trust Justice, but not the others,” Alex instructed.
At the admission, Jonas’s head snapped toward Alex. Pike assumed it was the casual way she'd announced her trust for the leader of these vile criminals.
“It’ll be okay—these guys can be trusted if Justice says so.”
Voodoo’s warm green eyes burned with an excited energy. Pike wished her smile wasn’t so eager, but then she glanced at him and blew a silent kiss. He patted his right hand over his heart—he wasn’t so sure about this scenario.
“Get out of the car and show us your hands.” In a tactical maneuver as swift and slick as FORCE had ever executed, nine bearded, potbellied, over-the-hill outlaw bikers had surrounded their heavily armed SUV.
I wish she’d stop smiling.
Chapter Fourteen
The abandoned barroom smelled like the last night it had been open. Beer, urine and sex saturated the atmosphere. Cobwebs dominated the once heavy-metal décor. Pieces of wooden chairs lay strewn throughout the building.
“How’d you folks like the show? The boys wanted you to see they still got it.” Justice, who’d waited inside the bar while his brothers assaulted the SUV, looked pleased.
“Nice. Where’s the eleventh?” Alex asked.
“Couldn’t promise me he wouldn’t try killing you,” he said in a matter of fact tone.
“I respect his honesty,” Alex retorted.
The direct threat of death didn’t faze her. She’d been there before.
“He and the boys got a gun deal going down later—he’s needed back at the clubhouse.”
Pike’s eyes adjusted, peering in the gloom to examine the other bikers. Semi-propped against a wobbly barstool, and still tender from the physical episode with Voodoo, Pike forced thoughts of her from his mind so he could remain focused on the bikers.
“Here’s the latest. FORCE HQ decoded more of Bonny’s diary, but what we learned is what we already know. They’ll assault the Chicago River during the festival. Best guess is the bio-chem concoction of fentanyl and an unknown nerve agent. A couple of drops in the river and its potency lasts about thirty minutes. Touching it gets you blistered but treatable. Inhaled, and it’s goodnight Irene. Lungs singe until the nervous system collapses—death in three to four minutes tops. Not a pretty way to go.”
The corner of Alex's mouth twisted as she scanned the latest top-secret report sent to her e-tablet reader.
“You got antidote cocktails for everyone?” Justice asked.
His index finger sandpapered exposed skin between his bottom lip and beard.
“As opposed to just my team? I even had one for the guy who cared more about killing me than saving his country. Narcan and atropine will do the trick.” Alex sneered.
She set the box on the pool table as eager grease-covered hands jerked away at the packages.
“So what’re we supposed to do?" Justice asked. "They got less than a day and a half before go-time. That truck’s got to be somewhere close to the river. I’ve got almost two hundred and fifty men looking for a Hart’s Hauler, but nothing so far. I assume that’s changed and why we’re here.” His tattered Savage Souls’ t-shirt strained against the kind of muscular bulk stacked from manual labor and illegal steroids.
“Seems Bonny and Fats can’t stay away from each other,” Alex said. “They play a naughty cat and mouse game, and Fats is missing his mouse. She sparked up her cell phone this morning. Sent Fats a series of questionable pics.”
Alex wheeled the laptop around and flipped the lid open.
“He gives her orders, and she photographs herself acting them out,” she said, but her words were drowned out by the bikers’ howls and catcalls. Alex shot glaring looks at the rowdy bunch.
“Where’s this location?” He asked.
Justice brushed his hand across the screen and most of them quieted. He leaned forward, studying carefully, his face sunk into thick padded palms. He released a massive shot of air.
“That’s inside the Maxwell Complex.” A biker named Viper offered.
“You sure?” Justice asked.
“Heck yeah—we ripped off some copper leads stashed in there about three months ago.”
The biker's slight frame was covered in sinewy muscle and prematurely wrinkled skin. Heavy ink embedded across his forearms was strewn with military service images. Pike noticed the Marine’s Devil Dog and rolled his eyes for Jim to take a peek.
“You recall the address?” Jim barked in a tone that only another marine wouldn’t take offense to.
“No, sir, but I know how to get there. That’s the place all right. See that window in the background? Right where I jimmied through,” he said with a nod of accomplishment.
“Let's load up and check it out,” Alex commanded.
“You mean haul tail and kill anyone still there, don’t you?” Justice licked his bottom lip.
He stood over his crew with arms folded tight across his chest—he had ideas beyond asking questions.
“No matter what happens, we can’t go in like a pack of wild animals,” Alex warned. “The freaking feds and CPD would eat us alive if they caught wind.”
“What about CIA?” Justice asked.
“The CIA leaks like a cheap diaper,” she grumbled.
“Don’t forget the stash of chemical weapons. One bad bullet and the entire place goes up in a death ball.” Jonas said.
He’d remained quiet most of the time while calculating a less forceful option.
Pike moved closer to Jonas in anticipation of his strategy drawing opposition from an adrenaline-fueled crew of cowboys.
"I say we establish surveillance and wait for more diary decodes or phone calls to Fats,” Jonas suggested. “We might luck out and see the van or even Bonny. St. Paddy’s Day is still over a day out and I doubt they’ll move the barrels until the morning of.”
“Forget waiting,” Viper spoke up. “That’s what caught us hell in Helmand province—I ain’t waiting. We know where the terrorists are. Longer we sit here playing briefcase bureaucrats, the more chance they got to escape.”
&nb
sp; Viper leapt to his feet. He waved his hands for approval from his brothers.
“We’re not even sure the bio-chem is there, or whether they have it in multiple locations. We’re glad to work together with a bunch of kickass veterans, but lets not risk a bad move by bum rushing the wrong warehouse.” Pike countered.
Pike caught Jim’s glare at Viper but he also sensed the swelling tide of an immediate call to action. These killers didn’t get into the pits because they thought things through.
“Leatherneck, he’s right you know,” Jim called out.
“We lost one war with the terrorists because we listened to D.C. suits,” Viper snarled. “It ain’t gotta be that way now. We control this battle, not you federal agents.”
Viper’s words riled up the other Savage Soul brothers.
Justice took a long time rising to his feet. “Boys, you volunteered for this mission, and I can’t order you to listen to them, but I trust them and ask that you do too. Wait on the intel.” Justice stared across the silent room at hard faces showing nothing but contempt for his words.
Thick animosity clouded the air.
“Justice, you right—we volunteered. I un-volunteer, and say it’s time to move if we gonna kill these extremists.” Viper stood up to face Justice.
No one showed fear. These were hard-core criminals who’d faced death in combat and returned home to find there was no place for them. So, they'd made their own—a place without fear or rules.
“Savage Soul forever brother.” Justice extended his hand.
“Savage Soul forever.” Viper gripped it and hugged him close.
He walked out with six others in tow. Pike looked at the other FORCE operatives—there was no surprise in their faces, except for Voodoo. She looked to Justice with her hands up as if to ask what the heck?
“Well, that didn’t go like it should’ve,” Alex said.