Finders Keepers (The Nighthawks MC Book 3)

by Bella Knight

“No guarantee,” she said. “But we’ve got a lot of people looking.”

  “Thanks.”

  She grabbed his foot, “You get yourself better. Pavel will need you more than ever when he gets back.”

  Frenzy nodded. Dimitri had a look crawl across his eyes. Ivy noticed and walked out.

  She sent a text to Lily as she walked out to her bike to find Bella, “Get Daisy Chain on the line,” she said. “I smell a rat. Check out Dimitri and the boy’s parents. Daisy Chain was Lily’s hacker friend.”

  A text came back, “She’s already on the parents. I’ll get her on Dimitri.”

  “Someone raised you right,” she texted back.

  She heard a chuckle from behind her as she shut the door. She nodded to Scorpion, and moved her butt out to her bike. Bella was already there. They clasped hands, then put on their helmets and rode out.

  They headed to the segment of coast facing Lake Pontchartrain, taking the 90 to the 10, then the 610 and out to the causeway. They got off at West Esplanade and made their way towards 6th. They found businesses, hotels, parking garages; all dark and only some with streetlights. They hit a dead end, switched around, and found a way out.

  They stopped in front of an apartment, brick with gray shutters and lights covered with wire. Some of the cars were nice; some were ten years old. They got out and walked, and got a feel for the street. They passed that apartment house and went past another one; this one brick with red balconies. This one was low to the ground, a little seedier.

  They heard a scream, and they were running. They ran down an alley, then came out in a courtyard. They followed the screams to a second floor —a low second floor. Ivy listened at the door, making sure they had the right apartment, and she tried the handle. It was unlocked. She ran in. A man was striking a woman with long, stringy black hair, and terrified eyes. Blood was running from a cut just above her eye, and her arm hung uselessly at her side. The man hitting her had a brown mullet hairdo and dark, blotchy skin. Ivy hit him behind the knee and dropped him.

  “Fuck!” the guy said.

  Ivy grabbed his hair and held his face steady as she broke his nose with her elbow, then got him in the eye. He moaned, grabbing his eye with one hand and his nose with the other. Ivy kneed him in the balls, and he was down on the floor, running out of hands to use to cover his injuries.

  Bella ran in, ran past Ivy to the bedroom, and came back to the living room with a pillowcase. She used it as a sling, tying the woman’s useless arm. The woman gave a shriek, then quieted.

  “Rental car, two blocks back,” said Ivy. It had been the only place open other than the liquor store, its lights bright.

  “On it,” said Bella, running back out of the room.

  “Grace,” said the woman, her voice a sharp moan.

  “Mommy!” said a small voice, from behind the couch.

  “Grace,” said the woman, whistling the name through her teeth. “Go get your things and throw them in your little suitcase, just like Mommy showed you,” she said.

  “Go on, now,” said Ivy, “I’ve got your mama.”

  The guy on the floor was made to stand. Ivy casually kicked him in the stomach with her steel-toed motorcycle boot. He went down, moaning even louder. The girl rushed out, the same black hair of her mother’s flying behind her. She ran into the bedroom and started moving around.

  “Throw Mommy’s purse in there, honey,” said the woman. “Gotta go now, baby, hurry.”

  “Coming, Mommy,” said the girl. “You want your clothes?”

  “Put them in a pillowcase,” said Ivy. “We’ve got to roll.”

  The girl came back out, a backpack on her back, a little pink rolling suitcase, and a bulging pillowcase.

  “You want anything else, Mama? Food?”

  “Honey,” said Ivy, “the way we eat, you’ll never need food again.” She stomped on the guy’s hand, and he howled.

  They went past him, out the door, and down the stairs; the woman gritting her teeth at the pain.

  “Almost there,” said Ivy, getting them down to the street.

  Ivy walked them down the street to her bike. She popped open her saddlebags, almost giddy with joy that she’d taken almost everything out and left the stuff at the hotel. She stuffed in the pillowcase and the little suitcase.

  “We have to ride, but it’s only two blocks.”

  The woman nodded.

  “I’m gonna get you on, then your mama,” she said. “You hold her all the way around to me. Can you do that, Grace?”

  Grace nodded like a bobblehead. Ivy got her up, then her mother, who wrapped her good arm around Ivy and grunted as she jogged her arm.

  “Sorry,” said Ivy.

  They got underway snail-slow, Ivy nearly creeping as she took the corner. She entered the rental car lot. Bella heard the bike and came out, keys in hand. She took the girl out and put her in the back.

  “Even got a child seat,” she said. “How old are you? Maybe eight?”

  “Seven,” said Grace.

  “Excellent,” said Ivy.

  She carried the mom around to the front passenger side. Bella rushed around and opened the door. Ivy put her in carefully and put her in the seat belt.

  “Bella, take them to an urgent care. Pay for her arm and her head to be fixed. Then get her the fuck out of town, Baton Rouge or San Antonio. Get a hotel room and hide these ladies while I find Pavel.”

  Bella nodded.

  “Who’s Pavel?” asked the woman.

  “Our boy, like Grace here is your girl. He’s missing, and we’re going to find him if we have to take this town apart.”

  “Where is he?” asked the woman. “I’m Callie, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Callie. And, we don’t know. The U-Boyz who sell meth has him somewhere by the water.”

  “They sold bad meth,” she said. “I don’t use, but Carlos did, the asshole who was hitting me. I think they’re in a yellow house on sixth, not far from here, on a dead-end street.”

  “That’s great. I’m so sorry, I know you’re hurting, but can you show me the street. Where you turn? Then Bella here will take care of you.”

  “Absolutely,” said Callie.

  Callie directed Bella through the web of straight and dead-end streets to a cross street. Bella stopped, and so did Ivy. Ivy waved, and Bella and her charges drove on.

  “Found them,” texted Ivy. “Come to Mama.”

  She gave the cross streets, and drove off, circling back around to give the Useless Boyz the illusion they were safe.

  Takedown

  G-Pain, real name Odell, sucked on a cherry lollipop loaded with THC, the active ingredient in pot, to kill the pain from his side and face. That little, blue-eyed, white boy had clocked him good, but he’d taken him out with the machete. He even remembered to use the hilt, not the blade. Just like Tanaka in the game who took out his foes, wanting to face them another day. He sat on a broken-down couch in the living room, watching Tigra, real name Tyrell, and Boom, real name Trey, play a ninja soldier game named, “Black Tide.” They killed off more people, with the little throwing stars and other shit they’d accumulated.

  Egypt was in the back with Blade, real name Akon. They had guns on the boy. The little bastard was tied up with duct tape to the bed. He’d already pissed himself twice. G-Pain was gonna have to get his girl Shonda to clean it up. He sucked harder on the pop, took a sip of bourbon, and then went back to watching his boys play. He was pissed, real pissed. No one said nothing about no boy that could fight back, or some crazy Russian that offed Chino. Chino was his man, and now he was dead. He swallowed more bourbon.

  Egypt came out, “Gonna throw the boy in ta showah,” he said. “Put new shorts on ‘em, get um new sheets.”

  G-Pain waved permission, “You do that, I give you some o’ dese pops, for when the boy sleeps.”

  “Word,” said Egypt, and popped his head back in.

  T-Pain scratched his balls, belched, and sucked on his pop. He pushed up t
he do-rag holding back his dirty hair and wiped his hand on his white undershirt. He belched again.

  He heard something, then, a loud bike. He stood, grabbed his gun. He saw them bikes near the hotel, the big ones, nasty bikes. No one tol’ him ‘bout the bike boots on both the boys. He rubbed his shin where the blue-eyed one had kicked him. The bike idled. He moved toward the window, peered out of the curtains that had once been white. They now were gray. The bike roared away. He shambled back to the couch, fell in it. He fingered his skull earring. When he got paid, he’d get some real diamond earrings.

  Gunner, real name DaShaun, came in from in back. He was named for the two pistols crossing each other; one set on each shoulder, not for his shooting prowess. He’d hit a child on his first drive-by, holding the gun on its side like he’d seen in the movies. The kid lived, but they had to get out of their old neighborhood.

  “Runnin’ da wash,” he said. “Trew a sheet on da bed.”

  “Wanna pop?” asked T-Pain.

  “Word,” said Gunner, taking a grape one and popping it into his mouth. He took it back out, “I wanna play.”

  “Inna minute,” said Tigra. “Gettin’ into da mansion, gonna get the samurai’s babe.”

  Gunner fell down on the couch next to T-Pain. Both gangstas groaned. Gunner had been in on the raid too; the boy in the back had clipped him in the knee. Tigra’s ninja character, Tiger Blade, got into the castle and was soundlessly stalking the corridors.

  Some car rolled up across the street, but there were no sirens or blue-and-red lights, so they kept playing.

  Akon ran in the room, his 38 at his side, “That bastard Egypt done stole that white boy,” he said, running out the back door.

  T-Pain looked at Tigra and Boom, the only non-injured ones.

  “Tigra, Boom, go get Egypt back. He can’t get far, that boy done kicked him in the knee.”

  They took their time about saving the game and standing up. T-Pain brandished his gun at them.

  “You heard me! Git!”

  They didn’t have time to go anywhere. There was a bang and a flash of light. T-Pain shot out at the window; he was rewarded with a shot to the head that ended all his pain forever. The others were swarmed by cops wearing black SWAT body armor, black helmets, and gray military uniforms that burst in via both the front and back door.

  Tigra, who had been standing up, got a face full of some sort of gas that made him choke; he fell to his knees and was cuffed first. Boom raised his gun and was shot for his trouble. He fell to the ground, dead. Gunner survived because he stayed on the couch where he was, only realizing after he was cuffed that he’d left the incriminating gun he used to shoot the child and spray the side of a house. The wrong house, in the bedroom in the drawer of the nightstand.

  “Where’s the boy?” someone asked him, some guy with his face covered by some sort of mask.

  “What?” he asked, barely able to hear after the flash-bang.

  “The white boy,” said another one, this one with darker skin. He put a gun to Gunner’s head, “You talk or I shoot.”

  “E—E—Egypt did run away with him.”

  “Clear!” said a voice from the other room.

  “Got guns, drugs, duct tape. They tied the boy up! Got his boxers and shorts in the bathroom!” said another voice.

  “Where did Egypt go with him?” asked the man with the gun pointed at his eye.

  “Dunno,” said Gunner. “His girl done left him, his old girlfriend, she die from some bad meth. Dunno.”

  Gunner heard Tigra babbling the same thing, “Egypt” and “Dunno.”

  “Which direction?”

  “Back,” said Gunner. “Was in bathroom, only way out is back. Went out da winda.”

  “He’s telling the truth, Lou,” said another SWAT team person in back.

  Gunner dimly realized it was a woman, “The boy and the Egypt guy escaped out the bathroom window. It’s a weird house, Sir, and the window is pretty big.”

  “Find them,” said Lou. Two of the SWAT team members ran out the back. “Now!” said Lou.

  He looked at Gunner, “Tell me everything you know about Egypt.”

  “My mama done trew him out, my mama take him, but she kick both o’ us out,” said Gunner.

  “Good to know,” said Lou. “Keep talking.”

  Pursuit

  While Lieutenant Stahl of SWAT was learning more about Egypt, Akon was tracking Egypt and the boy. They were on the Lakefront Trail, past all the rich people’s houses. Akon jogged, and looked into a stand of trees. He found nothing, and jogged some more. He should be able to see Egypt dragging a boy around. Where the fuck is he?

  He made a major mistake when he hit up another group of trees to look for the missing gangbanger and the boy. There was a woman there with yellow hair all in twists. She had his own gun out of his hand and pointed it at his face. He tried rushing her; she hit him in the side of the face with his own gun.

  He fell, clutching his face, “What the fuck?” he said.

  “Where’s the boy?” she said, pointing the gun at his crotch. “Tell me, or you lose your tiny excuse for a penis.”

  “I was trackin’ him, you stupid bitch. Egypt done run out wit dat white boy.”

  “I’ve got this!” said a voice behind and to the left of her. “I’m an Iron Knight.” He materialized out of the dark, all bones and angles and ropy muscles.

  “Take care of this for me,” she said, and then she kicked Akon in the balls.

  It was hard to do, because his wide shorts were lower than his boxers by a large margin, but she managed. He doubled over, barely making a noise.

  “It’s his gun,” she said, handing the gun to the Iron Knight.

  “It will be my genuine pleasure,” he said.

  Ivy was there now, too. The cell on Ivy’s hip buzzed. She checked the message.

  It was from Lily, “Daisy Chain says papa involved; mama prob OK. Both on plane to here. Di. Dimitri gone Darth Vader. Keep all info dark.”

  “Damn,” said Ivy. “We’ve been compromised from within. Is there someplace you can stash this maggot?”

  The man stared at the groaning idiot, “Suppose we could stash him. He won’t survive long in prison, anyway. His boys been selling bad meth too long. Some people died that have relatives in lockup. I’ll send a guy to help you. His name’s Rock. He talks like one.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and they bumped fists. The Iron Knight bent down to get the perp, with the plastic restraint in hand.

  Ivy took off in the opposite direction from the hapless gangbanger. She jogged the trail and was pissed when it split. She used her cell to look around and saw a tiny piece of duct tape on the trail to the right.

  “Good boy, Pavel,” said Ivy.

  She jogged faster. The road became the causeway, leading out to the bridge. Cars whizzed past. Ivy broke into a ground-breaking run. Ahead, she saw a flash of white; a gangbanger’s white undershirt. He was trying to run and limp at the same time. Ahead of her, something flashed red under a streetlight.

  “Pavel!” she screamed. “I’m coming!”

  The gangbanger turned, fumbling for the gun in his pocket. She barreled into him, knocking him down. She banged his head into the ground twice. She reached into his pocket with her motorcycle-gloved hand, and threw the gun off to the side. It clanged against something.

  Pavel streaked toward her, his hands tied with duct tape that he was trying to get off with his teeth.

  “Ivy!” he screamed.

  She kicked the gangbanger in the side to be sure he wasn’t getting up and ran toward the boy. He held out his hands. She went into her boot, took out the knife, and cut through his bonds. He clung to her then.

  “I know you come. Keiran, he okay?”

  Ivy clasped the boy to her with one hand, lifted her foot and leaned to slide the knife back into her boot, then she held onto him with both hands.

  “Everyone is fine, just banged up. Let’s get you out of here.”

>   She couldn’t move, of course. Pavel had attached himself to her like a limpet. A large shape came at them on a Harley Chopper. The bike stopped, and a man wearing black leather hopped off. He checked for a pulse, trussed up the unconscious gangbanger, and tied him to the sissy bar in back, and got on.

  “Thanks, Rock,” said Ivy. He saluted, and rode away.

  “You know all bikers!” said Pavel.

  “I know the good ones,” said Ivy. “A lot of them, anyway.”

  The first light of dawn edged up on the bottom of the causeway.

  “We gotta get off this bridge before someone notices us,” said Ivy. She kept her arm around Pavel. “My bike is back here a way. We have to get lost in the houses, and keep away from the cops,” she said.

  “Why?” said Pavel.

  “We need to keep you hidden,” said Ivy. “We can call off the search, but someone wanted to hurt you. And they may try again.”

  Pavel nodded.

  “Let’s go hide us in a waffle house,” she said. “Thought I saw one…”

  “Over there,” said Pavel, pointing to a distinctive yellow-lettered sign.

  They got off the causeway and found a crossing by a big used car lot. They made it to the yellow letters when Ivy got another text.

  “Hear the search has been called off,” said the text from Henry.

  “Keeping dark,” texted Ivy. “Local players eliminated. Dimitri on dark side.”

  Henry texted back an extremely angry, rude emoticon.

  “Hmm,” said Ivy. “Didn’t know my phone had that icon.”

  She looked down at a very tired Pavel. He wore gym shorts and his red shirt was now battered. His hair was damp.

  “You hungry?” asked Ivy.

  “I could eat,” said Pavel.

  The boy ate three stacks of chocolate chip, dollar-sized pancakes. Then bacon, sausage, and an entire carafe of orange juice. Ivy had one waffle, some bacon and orange juice.

  Ivy’s phone rang. She picked it up.

  “We’re alone,” said Keiran (Frenzy). “Can I talk to him?”

  “Give him a minute. He’s on his last piece of bacon.”

  Pavel inhaled his bacon and snatched the phone from Ivy. The boys talked over each other. Ivy paid and dragged the boy to the bathroom. She took the phone from him.