Blackheart: The Wild Ones (Jokers MC Book 1)

by Jessie Cooke

  “Mornin’, boss.”

  “If I lock a computer down because I try the wrong password, how hard would it be for you to get it restarted?”

  “Hmm, that would depend on the security programs he’s using...if you send me the IP address, I can try to access it from here.”

  “If you can do that, boy, you’re getting a raise.”

  Ty chuckled. “You take good care of me already, boss, but thanks.”

  “Okay,” Blackheart said, looking over the PC, “where the fuck is the IP address?”

  “The only one that would be visible would be the Network IP. I’ll have to hack the provider to try to get the computer IP from there. Look for the modem, boss.” Blackheart saw the thin black box sitting on the small filing cabinet next to the desk. He picked it up and turned it over. There was a black sticker there with several numbers or codes on it.

  “Which one?”

  “It’ll say IPA, or ISP...” Blackheart rattled the number off and Ty said, “Okay, boss, gimme the physical address where you are and name of the company.” Blackheart did that and Ty said, “Great, give me a few and I’ll call you back.” Blackheart put the phone down and, frustrated, tapped his fingers against the desk while he scanned the office once more. There was a fax machine in the corner, which he found odd too. Who used a fax machine anymore? He got up and went over to it and after a few seconds his eyes rested on the confirmation button. On a whim, he pushed it and was almost startled by the sound of the machine ringing. It took several seconds and reminded him how far technology had come in the past few years, but ultimately it spat out a piece of paper. At the top it said “Fax Confirmation” and the phone number on the fax machine. There was a thick line and underneath that it had a name and another number, an international number. It said, “La Boutade.” Reading that sent a chill down Blackheart’s spine and even raised goosebumps on his arms. “La Boutade” was French for Sally. What the fuck is this psycho up to? He was startled again at the sound of his phone. Picking it up he said, “Tell me something good, Ty.”

  “Look at the screen, boss.”

  “Son of a bitch.” The computer had come to life. The log-in screen was gone and the menu was up with icons for dozens of different things. Blackheart had no idea where to start, but since it was only 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning, he at least had time, he hoped. “You’re definitely getting a raise.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Ty said. “What else do you need?”

  “I’m not sure if you can since it’s Sunday but see what you can find out for me about a company or place called La Boutade. All I’ve got is the name and a number, looks like an international number.” He rattled it off and Ty said:

  “I’m on it, boss.” Blackheart thanked him again and when he ended the call he pointed the cursor of the PC at the first file on the desktop and started his search.

  Sally couldn’t go back to sleep after Evan left. She was furious with him and she lay in bed at first, trying to calm herself down. As long as she’d known him, nothing he did should surprise her, but sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder at how much nerve he had. Most of the time she could easily write it off too, but the truth was, she knew, he’d come by it all honestly. While his sweet mother who died way too young of a virus had been one of the most humble people on earth, Jean Luc Babineaux had been just the opposite. Evan’s father had come from some of the poorest people on earth. He’d been born to a Haitian mother and French father who literally lived off the grid and off the land. He’d learned how to fend for himself at a very young age and when he was only sixteen he had started his own fishing business. By the time Evan was born Jean Luc was one of the most successful fishermen in the bayou, and one of the most popular men in all the surrounding parishes, and he never failed to let those around him know it. Jean Luc was full of himself, but with good reason. He built the little house his family lived in with his own two hands. He wrestled alligators and sold them to the highest bidders. He was strong, funny, friendly, and good-looking, but what people loved the most about him was the way he gave back to his community. Sally knew Jean Luc, and she knew he did it out of the goodness of his heart, but at the same time he also craved the recognition it brought him, and he basked in it. It was one thing she’d always been so proud of Evan for...once he was in charge of the Jokers, he’d begun using a big percentage of what they made to help those in need in both the Atchafalaya Swamp and Jefferson Parish. But unlike his father, Evan literally did it behind the scenes. The Cajun people were proud and most of them wouldn’t take handouts. For the most part Evan managed to take care of his community without its looking like a handout, as well as keeping most of his contributions on the down-low. He’d made a lot of government agencies in the two parishes quite popular because of the programs he funded. It was a big reason why his club had been able to thrive for so long, because more often than not, when the Jokers did get caught red-handed, law enforcement had chosen to look the other way. Detective Petit was a prime example of that, but Evan had told Sally about the detective’s new partner...that was going to be interesting.

  Sally realized suddenly that she had gone from wanting to scratch Evan’s pretty eyes out to listing out the ways he was a good man in her head. It was like a sickness with her. She’d tried so many times over the years to walk away from him, and then she’d let all those same things draw her back in.

  Frustrated with herself then, she threw back the covers, put on her robe, and got up to make a pot of coffee. She took it out onto the back porch. It was still dark out, but it was so warm that even the light robe was almost too much. She sipped the coffee and watched the sun come up and her thoughts turned to Pops. Sally had known the old man her entire life, and his Paw Paw had put total faith in everything the old blind man said. Sally had to admit, if only to herself, that she’d personally never known him to be wrong in his analysis of a person. While it still pissed her off that Evan had gone behind her back and asked Pops about Lucien, it also made her wonder...was she so lonely and desperate for company that she’d missed something? She thought about the day before, and the glimpse she’d gotten of something blue outside her window...and then Lucien showing up in the exact same color shirt. She’d told herself she was just being silly the day before, but now she was wondering again, was it just a coincidence? Or, was Lucien watching her? She felt stupid even having that thought. She couldn’t imagine what on earth he would get out of slinking around outside her window when he was going to see her in just a few hours. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and Sally had been the one to initiate the sex. She had to keep asking herself, what did Lucien have to gain? It just didn’t add up.

  He talked to her about his family, his parents and sister and niece and nephew. He told her stories about growing up in Mississippi and even some stories about his four years in the Marines. He talked to her about his work, and most of all she loved the stories he told about his time with her Paw Paw when his family stayed near the basin every summer. She missed her grandfather, and it was nice to be bonding with someone who had known and maybe even loved him too.

  The other thing Evan seemed overly suspicious of was that Lucien’s house didn’t seem to have any personal items in it. Sally had to admit that if it was true, it was odd...but she knew a lot of odd people, Evan included. Being different didn’t make him bad. As a matter of fact, Sally often found that people’s quirks made them more interesting. So, if being so neat and organized it kept him from collecting mementos was his only flaw, she’d take it. Her Paw Paw had always told her that the light or the darkness in a person lived in their eyes. Sally had heard that so many times growing up, that she practiced it often when deciding if she wanted someone in her life or not. In Lucien’s dark blue eyes, all she’d seen was light. She’d seen darkness in people...especially Christoff, whose soul she would swear was as black as night. So if Pops and Evan were right, why didn’t she see it in Lucien?

  Sally knew that no matter how angry she was with Evan, she wouldn
’t be able to get those questions out of her head until she talked to Pops herself. She had never been an impulsive person, but something about Lucien had drawn her in quickly—so quickly that she wondered if maybe that was where her mistake had been. He was the first man she’d met aside from Evan that she’d had so much in common with, and that had made her feel safe. Now she was left wondering about what she’d seen outside her window, and the way they’d “accidentally” met when she was at the cabin. Even more pissed off at Evan, now that she was wondering if he was right, she got up and headed for the shower, and then to Pops. She needed to clear this up before she and Lucien went any further. She’d already had to face off with one psychotic maniac in her life; she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to survive another.

  16

  Blackheart left Lucien’s office with a bunch of copied files. He had faith in himself when it came to a lot of things, but he also knew his own limitations. Big business, the kind with boardrooms and shell corporations, weren’t his forte...but because they used the tricks of the trade themselves at the club sometimes, he had a close friend whose forte it was.

  He rode his bike down the cobblestone streets of a sleepy New Orleans, just waking up on a Sunday morning, getting ready to attend Sunday mass and repent of all the things they’d partaken of the night before. Soon, the French Quarter would ramp up with business as usual, and the freshly repentant sinners would be ready to begin sinning all over again. Blackheart didn’t hold it against them; as a matter of fact he appreciated it. The repentant sinners relieved themselves of their burden and in their newfound lightness, they were free to start spending their money once again in the clubs he owned, the guns he sold, and the other businesses the Jokers had begun to dabble in.

  He drove through the Quarter and into the Garden District where suddenly the bars and cafes disappeared and the streets were lined with one-hundred-year-old Victorian homes. Blackheart parked the bike in front of one of them. It was a two-story that had to have at least five bedrooms and three to four thousand square feet of space. The windows of the big house were trimmed in white and flower boxes, holding dozens of colorful flowers, adorned them. A wrought iron gate on the second story formed a balcony and a table with two chairs sat behind it. The woman he had come to see sat there now with her husband, sipping their morning brew and savoring the beignets that the pretty woman had likely made from scratch herself. Her versatility as a human being never failed to amaze him. The man waved at him and he waved back. The pretty blonde woman smiled and gestured at him to come up. There were stairs around the back of the house that led up to the balcony from the backyard. Blackheart took the steps two at a time and when he got to the balcony he was greeted warmly by the man and woman both.

  After a quick hug and pecks on the cheeks all around, the man gestured at the third chair and said, “What brings you by so early on a Sunday morning?”

  “Non!” his beautiful French wife said. Her name was Elise and she hadn’t learned her French in the swamps the way Blackheart had, and it was evident. She made the word “No” sound like music and when she stood up again, he caught just a hint of her expensive perfume. It was so early that Elise hadn’t dressed yet, but she wore a thin robe over a pale-yellow nightgown and her silky hair was swept back into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she still looked as elegant as if she were headed to a gala. When the sun hit the top of her hair, it almost sparkled underneath the light. “No business until we’ve served our guest,” she chastised her husband. “Evan, coffee?” He smiled at Elise and nodded.

  “Oui, merci, mon ami.” She poured him a cup of coffee into a delicate china cup out of a silver teapot. The community, and Blackheart suspected even the couple’s son Zane, believed Elise came from wealth because of the way the family lived. Her husband worked as a mason and Elise had been a stay-at-home mother while they raised their son. Once he was grown and gone, off to California and joining up with his own MC, the Westside Skulls, she’d continued to stay at home, but was so active in the community that there was hardly a soul in Jefferson Parish that didn’t know her name. Blackheart had discovered Elise’s other talents quite by accident. He’d been quietly funding a program in New Orleans for years...the program that Sally had been working for for years now. He did that through a shell corporation, the way he did anything he didn’t want traced back to him. Sally wouldn’t like it if she knew, especially since he’d stipulated that if Sally ever got let go, the money would stop coming in.

  Nonetheless, pretty Elise had shown up on his doorstep one day and told him that she knew it was him. She’d stuck out like a sore thumb at the club and Blackheart was relieved when she told him her husband knew she was there. He wasn’t afraid of Zane Zimmerman Sr., but he liked and respected him and didn’t want any bad blood. Elise told him next that she wanted to partner with him on it, and some of the other community programs he was quietly funding. They’d become silent partners and over the past decade she’d taught him a lot, and helped him even more. She never asked questions, accepting what he wanted to tell her, and leaving it at that.

  This morning, she insisted he eat one of her beignets and have his coffee before they talked business. He was used to that, and she was such a fantastic cook that he wasn’t going to complain. When he finished, he finally handed her the manila envelope he’d brought with him. Being brief, he told her about Sally’s new “acquaintance” and his fears about Lucien’s true agenda. He also told her about Pops. Elise feared Pops, but she also believed in a lot of the same things the old man had become locally famous for, so Blackheart hadn’t wanted to leave that part out. “I’m sure this is a shell corporation, and I’m sure Lucien owns it...”

  “Because of the name,” Elise said, recognizing what Blackheart had, that the name of the corporation was La Boutade, which in English translated to several different things. One of those things, in certain French dialects, was an obscure way to say “Sally.”

  “Yeah. One of my guys is trying to find out what he can about the actual company...what it is, what it does, where it is, exactly. But if you can try to find out who owns it for me, I’d be dans votre dette.”

  Elise waved a palm at him for saying he’d be “in her debt.” For years she’d refused to take anything from him for her help, telling him that they were helping each other, as long as the community benefited from their collaborations, even if that benefit was in the long run, or personally, like this would be for him and Sally.

  She poured him another cup of coffee and told her husband to take him down to the garage and show him the classic car he’d been working on, while she looked over the paperwork he’d brought her. Blackheart wasn’t known for his patience, but when it came to working with Elise he’d had to learn how to be. She took her time, but in the past she’d never let him down and he wasn’t worried that she would this time. He picked up his coffee and followed Zane Sr. down the back stairs toward the detached garage hoping that soon he’d have something in black and white he could take to Sally to convince her that he wasn’t overreacting. Blackheart trusted his gut, and there was a time in their life, in the not so distant past, that Sally had trusted it as well. He hoped this would be the first step toward her trusting it again.

  “Little Sally Guidry,” Pops said when he pulled open the red door. “It’s been a while since you’ve been at my door.”

  “Hi, Pops. I was hoping you might have a minute for me.”

  As soon as he stepped back to let her in, the smells from the house hit her and for a second her stomach turned. Sally had always been a little fearful of Pops, but mostly she hated the way he, and his home, smelled. He had a room in the tiny abode where it was rumored he did animal sacrifices and voodoo rituals. Sally wasn’t sure about the rituals, but it was hard to hide the smells of fresh blood and rotting corpses. She took one last deep breath of the thick, hot morning air and then followed him inside. She took the seat he offered her but declined the tea. Pops washed his own dishes, so that was good enoug
h reason to not eat or drink off them.

  “You’re here about that man, aren’t you?”

  “Evan tells me you say Lucien is looking to steal my soul, Pops. Is that true?”

  It was hard to look at the old man, but Sally kept her own eyes glued to his white ones and waited. It took him several long seconds before he finally said, “He wants all of you, Sally, even the parts that you’ve already given to Evan.”

  “I don’t understand what that means, Pops.”

  “You sure, Miss Sally? Think back over the years. Remember what you told Evan when you found out you were carrying his baby?”

  Sally shuddered. She hated thinking about that time in her life. At first, even though she and Evan were young, she’d been ecstatic about carrying his baby. She had a whole life pictured in her head for them, and the baby would be icing on the cake she knew they were about to build. She had been a little nervous about telling Evan, but he had been even more ecstatic about it than she was. Evan was always a wild child, but he promised her that day that he would buckle down and get serious about work, and maybe even think about going back to school. In return, Sally told him that no matter where life took either of them from that day forward, the most important parts of her would always belong to him. It was something a silly, romantic young girl would say...and something she’d entirely forgotten about until just then.