Semblance

by Chris E. Saros

  The man was a ghost.

  Boredega was able to function openly because according to most reports and any evidence Drake had gathered, he didn’t exist. There were multiple occasions when all the signs pointed toward a particular person, and in the end, that person would end up dead. But the Boredega cartel lived on.

  Nineteen years ago, the police had finally gotten the drop on a man they believed to be Boredega. They had taken him in, and within moments he’d been hauled away by the federal government. Soon after the agents had walked the man down the police department steps, a sniper had taken out the alleged Boredega. Both agent escorts had also been lost in the attack.

  The sniper had left no trace. Not even shell casings were left behind. All that remained were the three bodies, a single hole in the wall from the one bullet that went through and through, and three fragmented bullets that had absolutely nothing unique about them that could be traced anywhere.

  The precarious situation left the police in a state of disorder, and like with most agencies, it became about saving face rather than finding the bastard behind everything. Boredega was safe to function again behind a smoke screen of bureaucracy.

  The cartel was nothing if not tenacious. And while the feds and the local PD tried, albeit half-assed, to piece together their case and come up with new theories, Boredega struck again. Within the next month, every officer and detective to work on the Boredega case was silenced. Two officers were killed in freak accidents, and a detective lost his life while on duty, while another suffered a massive heart attack. The lead detective was murdered in a home invasion, which also resulted in the death of his wife and daughter, and left his eight-year-old son in a coma for eight months.

  Nothing tied the deaths together except for the fact that each one had been directly involved in the Boredega case. Each had played a vital role in bringing in the alleged Boredega, and they were also the only ones on the case who’d had any direct contact with the man while he was in custody.

  But that coincidence wasn’t enough to run an investigation on. Circumstantial evidence was what the investigators had agreed upon before quickly closing the book on each unfortunate accident. Allowing the Boredega case to fall through the cracks.

  The streets ran rampant with the results of that negligence. The Boredega cartel basically ran the city. More drugs were out than ever before, and with Selecure being so readily available and easy to cook, the death tolls were rising.

  The city was a black lagoon of crime and chaos, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. The cartel had grown so huge in the last decade that it was even more difficult to tell whose money lined whose pockets and where loyalties lay.

  That left people like Drake to do the dirty work.

  Drake paused his pacing in front of his board and eyed a newspaper clipping showing the smiling face of a decorated middle-aged detective. His chest rising as he dragged in a breath of air, he gazed at the smiling face, then exhaled, letting his fingers drag along the edge of the photograph.

  He would do it. He would make his way into the cartel and take it down from the inside. He would continue to earn their trust by doing the despicable tasks expected of him. He would launder money and rough up junkies, and he would use the credence to climb up the ranks, gaining more and more control, all the while covertly dismantling their operations until the bigwigs started to panic. Then as soon as they showed their face, as soon as Boredega made himself known, Drake would end them. Even if it meant he had to go down in the process.

  He had a better motivator than justice. He didn’t want to bust the cartel because it was the right thing.

  Turning his back on the newspaper clipping, he faced the opposite wall and let his eyes settle on a framed photo hung there. He gazed mournfully at a family photo taken at the beach. The sun was hot and bright, casting a solar flare in the top left corner. The family radiated smiles of happiness and content, holding each other close. The detective and his wife each had an arm around a child, pulling them all together. It was the perfect example of a happy family. By looking at the picture, you would never have guessed that only a few months later they would be struck by such tragedy.

  No, Drake wasn’t in it for justice. He could care less about doing the right thing. He was in it for revenge.

  Chapter 5

  “NO, NO, no, don’t flip—” Drake couldn’t help the small smile that came over his face as he listened to Scotty’s frustrated shout over the scrape of chairs along tile floors as his early crew started their day by cleaning up the evidence of last night’s business. Some had found it odd that he used his crew to clean up in the morning rather than the night before, but he found that it worked better for morale if he did it this way. Not to mention it was better if the staff left as soon as the club closed to keep them out of Frankie’s way.

  The resounding crash of shattering glass that followed Scotty’s shout drew a small snicker from Drake as he finished counting the tips from last night and dividing them between the staff on duty. Pausing momentarily, he shot a glance behind him at the bar, where Scotty was very agitatedly swiping a cloth over the counter as Frankie’s new recruit swept the glass into piles.

  “Oh, sorry, Scotty. I really thought I had it that time!”

  Scotty had to take a moment to collect himself before replying. Drake could see the effort behind his deep breath to keep cool. “Jacob, I told you not to try to flair anymore. It takes a long time to learn how to do it. You need to focus on mixing drinks right now.”

  “We’ve been working on mixing drinks for days now. I want to try something new.”

  Drake listened to the conversation as he split the cash into six piles.

  “We’ve only covered half the drink menu at this point. Let’s try focusing on that, shall we?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jacob murmured, obviously not thrilled that his bartending training wasn’t as exciting as what he’d expected.

  “Finish sweeping up that glass, and then make sure there are plenty of glasses prepped for tonight. I’m going to check the stock in the back.” Scotty turned to leave at Jacob’s nod and then turned back to face him, pointing a stern finger in Jacob’s direction. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone, okay?”

  Drake didn’t even try to hide his amusement as Scotty walked out from behind the bar. Scotty shot daggers at Drake as he started to pass him, but then seemed to think better of it and crooked a finger at him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  Drake’s smile broadened. “Yeah, give me a sec.” Scotty’s glare scorched him as he passed, but he couldn’t help the amusement he found in the man’s irritation.

  Drake hadn’t been sure how things would be between him and Scotty after their short make-out session. Much to his surprise, not much had changed. He’d been expecting at least tense awkwardness, but Scotty had continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Of course, that could have had more to do with the fact that Scotty and he had hardly had a moment to talk to each other the last few days, between it being their busy part of the week and Jacob starting without a lick of bartending experience.

  It didn’t help that Drake continued to wallow in guilt and self-pity over the mishap with Willy. The mere thought of the kid sent bile burning in the back of Drake’s throat. He didn’t know what it was about Willy’s death that bugged him as much as it did; he’d been involved in plenty of other people’s “disappearances.” He’d never been so close to getting any of the others out before either. Also, while he had been involved, he had never before played such a direct role. But that was done and over with. Now he had to focus on Jacob and getting the kid to a level where Scotty didn’t want to bash his head in with a broken bottle. That was one death he could definitely prevent.

  Jacob was a piece of work. The kid thought himself pretty big stuff. Both Drake and Frankie had had to give him the lecture before he started that most of the staff was unaware of the business that went on behind the curtain and he had
to keep up appearances by working at the club. It didn’t matter to the bar staff that Tony was his uncle or that his job was just a front. He’d been told that for all intents and purposes, Drake was his boss, and while he was behind the bar he was to listen to Scotty.

  So far, the kid wasn’t doing such a great job of keeping up the charade. In fact, it seemed like he was being intentionally annoying, especially to Scotty, because he had no interest in the pretense of Semblance and was wholeheartedly into the goings-on in the underground of Semblance.

  Unlike other people Frankie or Tony brought in, Jacob was put to work doing some odd jobs here and there right away. Usually they had the new kids work the bar for a while first and become a familiar face around the area before utilizing them for their extracurricular projects. Drake hadn’t a clue what most of the kid’s jobs were, but he could almost taste the relief that came over Scotty when the kid was handed some task that took him from behind the bar.

  Drake picked up the piles of money, keeping them separated in his fingers. He walked to the bar and held out the smallest pile toward Jacob. “Here, this is from last night.”

  Jacob took the small pile of bills with a frown. “Why is mine smaller?”

  “Those broken bottles don’t pay for themselves,” Drake said with a smirk, patting his own pocket.

  The kid glowered but didn’t say anything, returning to sweeping up his mess. It may have been a stupid thing to do to the kid, who had a blood tie to Tony, but when he was behind the bar he was Drake’s employee, and it didn’t matter that the kid had connections to the largest drug cartel in the city. He would get the same treatment as any other employee. Drake chuckled as he put the rest of the cash under the register for the others to grab as they left for the night. Closing the drawer with a tight snick, he turned to go find Scotty.

  He found him in the back room leaning over a shelf, reading the labels on a couple of bottles. Drake took a second to admire the scene, drinking in the long powerful legs and the nice tight ass showcased by the black pair of slacks that pulled snugly in all the right places. It took everything he had in him not to reach out and touch Scotty. The lure to do so was strong, but he squelched his temptation. There wasn’t time for such distractions.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped into the room and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Scotty quickly stood at the sound and picked one of the bottles he had been reading.

  “Yes, my liege?” Drake asked. He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice.

  Scotty’s brow shot up into his hairline. “Are you really going to act like there isn’t a big problem hanging out behind the bar?”

  “Big problem?” Drake said, playing dumb.

  Scotty’s glum look didn’t lighten at all with Drake’s humor but instead darkened a degree. He took a step toward Drake and pointed the bottle at him like a large scolding finger. “That kid shouldn’t be behind the bar! He doesn’t have the first clue about what’s going on. He’s never mixed a drink before in his life, and he thinks he’s Jerry Thomas.”

  “Who?”

  “Jerry Thomas! Blue Blazer? He used to…. No, never mind. It doesn’t matter. The point is, the kid shouldn’t be behind the bar. He should be out waiting tables or something.”

  “Aw, give the kid a shot. He’s only been at it a few days. I’m sure he’ll catch on. Besides, I don’t foresee him staying on the job for a long time.”

  “Great! So he’s another one that I get the pleasure of training and as soon as they start to catch on, they up and leave? Really?”

  Drake shrugged. They always did fine even with Tony’s boys cluttering up space. He made sure to schedule an extra hand while they were working to pick up any slack.

  Scotty sighed at Drake’s shrug. “If you were just going to hire whatever crazy wackadoos that wanted a job, why did you take all the time and effort to interview me?”

  “Wait,” Drake said, holding up a hand, “can we take a minute to appreciate the fact that you used the term ‘wackadoo’ in a sentence?”

  “Drake!”

  “Okay! I’m sorry. I am. But I told Frankie that I would give the kid a shot. Besides, he has been helpful on the busy nights at least busing. He’s only broken about six bottles and four glasses. And I took half his tips to pay for those. So, I’m sure he will start to get the picture.”

  Scotty let out another drawn-out sigh and grabbed another bottle to go with the first.

  “I took so long interviewing you for a couple of reasons, but mostly because I wanted someone who had excellent skills behind the bar and would be able to handle any crazy ‘wackadoos’ that may end up back there with them. I needed someone with both a great disposition and work ethic to handle whatever problems may transpire. You fit the bill. I have faith that you can handle any piece of work that comes trotting into this club.”

  Scotty’s face slowly lost the tight lines creasing his forehead as Drake spoke, his glare lessening into more of a frown than a full-on glower.

  “Fine, I’ll put up with him for a while longer.”

  “Okay, good, because I wasn’t really giving you a choice,” Drake said, a teasing lilt to his voice. He started to head back out front to make sure everything was set for the day but turned when Scotty said his name. “Yes?”

  Scotty was looking down, kicking at a piece of paper or some other speck on the floor. He looked like a small schoolboy playing innocent. After a moment of silence, Scotty lifted his head just enough to peer through his bangs with a face that belied any innocence Drake might have seen in him. The look was pure seduction.

  “Don’t think that I don’t remember about our unfinished business.”

  “Un-uh.” Drake had to clear his throat before continuing. Man, he had the most beautiful eyes. He could get lost in them. Scratch that—he was already lost in them.

  What was going on? Oh, right. “Unfinished business?”

  Walking close enough to put a hand on Drake’s chest, Scotty smiled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You said you had a lot on your plate, so I’m giving you time to work through it, but we’ll finish what we started.”

  Drake’s mouth seemed to fill with cotton. His jaw worked like it was on a hinge, and his tongue was too dry to form any intelligible sound. He tried to say something. He tried to form a snippy comeback—he wanted to say something about how Scotty wasn’t the boss around here—but he couldn’t make the words come out.

  Scotty’s eyes taunted him. He knew exactly what effect he had on Drake, and he was enjoying it. His smile morphed into a confident smirk, and he patted Drake consolingly on his shoulder, dimming Drake’s mind while simultaneously tightening his pants.

  “I’m going to go back to babysitting. But we’ll talk soon.”

  Drake, still unsteady, not really knowing what the hell was going on, could only nod his agreement. At this moment, he would have done anything, agreed to anything Scotty said.

  Blinking rapidly, trying to pull himself out of the mind-numbing haze, he watched Scotty walk back toward the bar.

  His pants, now a very uncomfortable fit, forced him to shift. He would have to stay back in the storeroom for a couple of minutes while his body recouped. Jesus, he was in much more trouble than he had thought if Scotty could effectively pull that reaction out of him with a single look. He needed to get his shit together.

  Priorities, he had to think of his priorities. He wasn’t here for sex or a relationship; he was here to take Boredega and the whole damn cartel down by any means necessary. Even if that meant he had to go down with it. He was on a mission; he had to keep his head in the game and his lower head in his pants or more innocent or misguided people were going to end up dead because of him. The death count was already too high for his liking, and he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it if one of those casualties turned out to be Scotty.

  Chapter 6

  “HEY, BOSS Man, Jacob have time to take a trip to the store tonight?” Frankie aske
d, shoulder propped on Drake’s office doorframe.

  Drake didn’t look up from his inventory list. “A trip to the store” was his way of saying that the kid was going to do some odd task during work hours. “Frankie, there will always be time for Jacob to do anything that doesn’t include working the bar.”

  Frankie snorted a laugh. He was aware that Scotty hadn’t taken a liking to him. Drake was pretty sure that Frankie always asked him to place the new kids behind the bar for that reason. He knew it would get a rise out of Scotty. Apparently, he thought it was fun to get the usually tolerant man riled.

  “Now, he ain’t that bad. Last I saw, last night he was raking in quite a few tips.”

  Drake tapped his pencil on his notepad, marking where he was in his process before finally looking up. It sure was an image, Frankie standing in the doorway. He made a very menacing presence, dressed in a tight white wifebeater and dark jeans. His muscles rippled the fabric in a way that was more about showing the multitude of power underneath rather than the beauty of a built body. Nothing about Frankie was alluring. Sure, women hit on him and liked to run their hands over his taut muscles, but mostly people were wary of him.

  He was definitely someone Drake would have crossed the street to avoid if he saw him coming at him. There wasn’t a warm and fuzzy feeling connected to Frankie in any way. The man had a job to do. He was the muscle of the cartel, and he looked the part.

  “Yeah, sure, he can bring in some good tips with those baby blues of his, but by the way he keeps breaking glasses and bottles, he’s definitely going to be spending more than he’s making. I’m pretty sure Scotty is going to kill him the next time he tries to flip a bottle before mixing the drink.”