On the Run (Big Mike and Minnie Book 1)

by Kelly, Susan Amanda

  “What direction were they heading in?” Big Mike said.

  “Northwest. They’re probably holding him somewhere wooded and remote.”

  “So we can rule out their city hangouts,” Big Mike said.

  A memory teased at Minnie. “I heard something… years ago. From Daddy. TDR has a clubhouse in an abandoned railway depot somewhere outside the city. It’s on an island in a river. I remember hearing Daddy talking about it years ago. He was envious about the location,” she said.

  “A place like that would be easy to defend,” Big Mike said. “You can guard the entry points. It’s probably a single bridge in and out. Any idea where it is?”

  Minnie shook her head. “Daddy didn’t know the specific location.”

  “We’ll find it,” Rocco said.

  Big Mike spoke into his cellphone again, “Rocco, anything from the cameras?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “We can’t wait any longer,” Big Mike said. “Rocco, find the railway depot. We’ll assume he’s there and hit it hard.”

  Minnie listened, dazed, as they talked about a helicopter and some kind of armed team. Big Mike was going to go directly to Rocco’s tower block. There was a helicopter pad on the roof.

  The men ended their call. Big Mike looked at her, his face consciously neutral. He knew she could read him and he was controlling his reactions. That could only mean one thing. He was expecting the worst. The likelihood they would find Crash on time was diminishing.

  Big Mike moved so his head was next to hers. His loose belt buckle clinked. Minnie looked down at the quilt, her hair swinging forward to hide her face.

  He lifted it back with a gentle hand and leaned in to kiss a spot just below her ear but he didn’t offer her any empty words of comfort.

  “Crash has always been… different,” she said. “But he’s the only brother I have.” She picked at a loose thread on the quilt. “I love him.”

  He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I know you do, Minnie.”

  He was dressed and gone within ten minutes, parting with a hurried promise to call her as soon as anything changed.

  Minnie waited for him to leave, waited another five minutes after that and then dressed. She was going to do what she had to do, to save her brother.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It took work to look this cheap, Minnie thought. Her jeans were snug and she had cut up her red spangly dress to make a barely-there top that left her back and midriff bare. She wore the same red heels she had worn to dinner with Fable.

  The night air was cold on her bare skin. She needed Big Mike to volunteer his leather jacket to keep her warm. She squashed the stray thought. The street was lined with bikes, the chrome reflecting the light. They were beautiful, fast, dangerous machines. There were a couple of wannabe bikers lounging on two of the bikes. Keeping an eye on the bikes was a job reserved for boys who wanted to be bikers.

  The Oasis looked different at night. She was sure the body at the side of the club had been dealt with by now. That seemed a lifetime ago. She had to stop thinking about Big Mike. She wasn’t going to be able to execute her brilliant plan if she worried about how angry he was going to be with her.

  One of the bike-guards straightened and whistled as she approached. The other biker was bolder. He stepped in front of her. He was all jaw and bulging muscles. They were young, lacking the edge that Big Mike, her father and brother had.

  “Hey Baby,” he said. “Want to party?”

  She sidestepped him. “I’m here for Voodoo.” Voodoo was a TDR lieutenant and ultimately this youth’s boss.

  The man waved her past with a flourish and a knowing smile. He was assuming she was one of the girls who hung out at biker clubs looking for a walk on the wild side. From what Crash had told her, Voodoo could supply that. He had a reputation as a ladykiller. Rumor was that he got his name either because he was magic with the ladies or because he had stuck pins into a man’s eyes. She hoped it was the former. Minnie hoiked her breasts up a little higher in her ragged halter-top and sashayed into the club.

  It was smoky and dark, stinking of beer-brined wood and stale cigarettes. There were bodies everywhere. It could be almost be cocktail hour in a swishy Manhattan bar if you screwed up your eyes and squinted. And if yuppies wore denim, leather and guns. She sidled past a woman in a denim mini and a matching waistcoat. Her breasts were spilling out of her waistcoat, the top button open, the second button under significant strain. Denim top and bottom was a brave fashion choice. Minnie kept moving. If she stood still, one of the men who eyed her with interest would assume she was alone and looking for company. Bikers generally weren’t shy and retiring.

  She’d never seen Voodoo before but there was a likely candidate seated alone, with his back to the wall, at a nearby table. Two men stood beside him. There was something about their manner that told her they were talking to their boss. Clubs were hierarchical. The seated man looked like a man with problems. No wonder. One of his crew was missing, and another had been dumped, and set on fire, outside his club.

  Minnie made it to his table, unmolested. He looked up and past her but then his head jerked back to her. He didn’t recognize her as the woman he had been trying to kidnap. No, his reaction was the tiresome reaction she often got from men.

  “I believe you’re looking for me,” she said to Voodoo, taking the seat opposite him. He had a full glass of dark amber beer in front of him. Ring stains, from hundreds of glasses, marked the wooden tabletop.

  He grinned. “Damn right, Baby. All my life.”

  He had great bones, with mocha skin and light blue eyes. He was wearing a leather waistcoat that left his chest bare. Freud on line one. Hypermasculine, much? His one-percenter tattoo was a lot newer than Big Mike’s. It was still black and sharply delineated.

  Minnie smiled.

  Voodoo dismissed his men with a jerk of his head. She turned-

  “Wait!” she said. “Don’t go.” The men stopped dead. Both were sporting black eyes. Big Mike had told Rocco to check hospitals for men who looked as if they had been beaten. Crash’s talent, bless him. The two bruised men looked at her expectantly. “You should try arnica on those bruises,” she said, stalling. They could lead her to her brother. She had stumbled over a clue. She had to find a clever, indirect way to find out where they were today. Nothing came to mind. “Didn’t I see you outside the city today? Northwestish?” she said.

  “No,” both of them said. They left.

  Minnie frowned. That had had the ring of truth.

  Voodoo slapped his hands on his lap. “Come and sit here, Baby.”

  “I’m Minerva Coolidge,” she said.

  “You’re Minerva Coolidge,” Voodoo repeated.

  “Snake Coolidge’s daughter. I can see why you’re in charge of this think tank,” Minnie said. She picked up his beer and took a deep drink. She set the glass down and wiped her mouth. “Mostly I don’t allow myself to eat or drink carbs but I figure this is a special occasion. New friends and all.” She included the entire vermin-ridden club in an expansive sweeping gesture.

  “You’re here alone,” Voodoo said. It was almost a question.

  “Ten points to the contestant in chair number one. Now, would you like to buy a vowel?”

  Voodoo started to laugh. “Damn, but I’ve always liked crazy.”

  She reached into her pocket. He twitched. “Don’t worry. These jeans are too tight to pack anything lethal in them. To tell you the truth, they’re so tight I’ve lost all feeling in my hoohoo,” she said.

  He relaxed. “Maybe I can help you with that little problem?”

  She punched a number into the phone and spoke. “Daddy, TDR has got me in their clutches. I’m going to hand you over to Voodoo. Make a deal for me and Crash.” She could hear her father, talking fast and loud, as she offered the phone to Voodoo.

  Voodoo gaped.

  “Do you want to do this or not?” she hissed, thrusting the phone at him.

  H
e took it. “Snake Coolidge?” he said. He seemed to remember his lines, “We have your daughter. We’ll be in touch.”

  He set her phone down on the table.

  “You didn’t ask for anything,” Minnie said. “I didn’t think you would.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “You could ask my father for money — he’d give it to you. You could ask for one of the shipments of illegal goods that comes into the harbors regularly — he’d give it to you. But you can’t get much more than that — a one-off payment — from Hell’s Crew. You know if they agreed to let you have one of their routes that they’d take it back as soon as they got me back. So why go to all of this trouble to snatch a Coolidge?”

  Voodoo crossed his arms.

  “Maybe you just want my father to agree to negotiate with you. To look weak in front of his lieutenants.”

  Voodoo twitched. It was barely noticeable but if you were looking for it, it was like a klaxon sounding.

  She was right. “You knew when both Crash and I were landing at JFK. Who told you? Someone from Hell’s Crew, I’m guessing. One of Daddy’s lieutenants!” This had nothing to do with a turf war. Someone inside Hell’s Crew was going to try and take over the club. He had offered TDR an incentive to help him. A future alliance, probably.

  “You talk too much,” Voodoo said and stood. He called his men over. The two men who had left them alone, minutes ago, returned.

  “Take her upstairs. This is Minerva Coolidge.”

  “You want me to search her,” one of them offered, leering.

  “There’s no room under those clothes for anything except skin,” Voodoo said.

  The man yanked her off her chair by her arm. Minnie cast a longing look at her phone. It was still on the table.

  “Put her with her brother,” Voodoo said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Big Mike was running by the time he exited Rocco’s building. He sprinted across the road, charging between two slow-moving sedans, ignoring shouts and honking. His target was a stationary cab on the opposite curb. A middle-aged man in a grey suit was climbing into the cab. He had the look of a man at the end of a series of long, numbing days. Well, this day was about to end differently to the others.

  Big Mike grabbed a handful of the man’s blazer and yanked him back out of the cab. “Sorry. Emergency.” The man staggered back, windmilling his arms to stay upright. Big Mike tossed the man’s briefcase out onto the pavement before slamming the door shut. The businessman was immobile with shock, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but was waiting for his brain to engage.

  Big Mike gave the driver the address of The Oasis. The driver didn’t move. “Drive,” Big Mike thumped the back of the driver’s seat. His eyes met driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Or you’re next.” Then they were part of the river of traffic flowing through the city streets.

  “My woman is in trouble,” Big Mike said, not because he wanted to make conversation but because he didn’t want the driver to panic and delay him.

  “Aah, female trouble,” the cabby said, the set of his shoulders relaxing. It was okay to behave like a madman as long as there was a woman behind it. “She is worth the trouble? Yes?”

  No. Yes. No. He had served in war zones but he couldn’t remember feeling fear like this.

  Ben Jones had interrupted him and Rocco to report that someone fitting Minnie’s description had gone into The Oasis. They had set a watch on every known TDR hangout earlier in the day. The man watching The Oasis recognized Minnie from a magazine spread and had thought it odd enough to report in. Big Mike had told them she was safe, asleep in his hotel room. She promised not to run. Big Mike had called his hotel room repeatedly. Finally, he had called reception and asked them to check the room.

  Thirty minutes had elapsed since Ben Jones’ report. It would take him another thirty minutes to get to her. A lot could happen in an hour.

  The Oasis looked different at night. Big Mike made the cabby pass it and drop him off in the next block. He loped back. He couldn’t see Rocco’s watchman but that was to be expected. There were two prospects guarding the row of bikes lined up outside the club. The polished chrome was bright under the streetlights.

  Big Mike slowed to a walk, letting his bone-deep comfort with places like this settle over him so he knew he looked as much a part of this world as the line of parked bikes. He had grown up playing with plastic trucks on the floor of biker bars much like this one. The prospects nodded at him warily. Their eyes roamed his leather jacket, looking for identifying club patches. He had none.

  He stopped too close to them. He wanted them within arm’s reach and guessed they’d be too worried about their tough-guy images to put some distance between him and them. He was right. “I’m looking for a blonde. Pretty. Long hair. So high.“ He held his hand against his chest to the topmost point Minnie reached when he held her close.

  “Me too,” the shorter one said. The other laughed.

  “Funny,” Big Mike said. “You both look like an XXXL.” He moved fast, grabbing them by the necks and smashing their heads together. They dropped to the ground and lay there, inert. He tipped the biggest one out of his leather waistcoat. Big Mike stripped off his own jacket and t-shirt and tossed them behind the row of bikes. It was bitingly cold. His skin goose-fleshed. He pulled the leather waistcoat on. It framed the tattoos inked across his chest. His club patch was the kind you couldn’t scrub off.

  The inside of the club was gloomy, noisy and smoky. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He scanned the room, creating a mental map. The bar ran the length of the room. There were pool tables on one side. He inventoried the patches on the different jackets. There were men here from at least three different clubs. That might be useful. The clubs tolerated each other but welcomed an excuse for a fight. He could use that as a diversion if he had to. But it would be a last resort because every man here was armed. He wasn’t going to start a firefight anywhere near Minnie. It was why he wasn’t armed.

  He pushed his way inward, through the knots of men and women. There was no sign of Minnie’s golden head. First he’d make sure he got Minnie out of here safely and then he’d throttle her. No court would convict him. She’d deliberately handed herself over to TDR to force her father to negotiate for her and her brother. It was crazy. Crazy brave.

  He spotted Voodoo sitting at a table with only a beer for company. Rocco had had enough time to show him a photograph of the lieutenant before Big Mike had run from the building.

  Big Mike stopped at the table, hooked a chair, turned it the wrong way around and straddled it. Minnie’s phone was lying on the stained, wooden tabletop. She had been here. It was hard to resist the urge to slam Voodoo’s head down on the table.

  “It’s a good day to die,” Big Mike said conversationally.

  Voodoo raised his glass and took a long pull of the honey colored liquid.

  There was bright pink lipstick on the rim of Voodoo’s glass. Big Mike’s hands curled into fists. He forced himself to relax them.

  Voodoo looked at his chest and spoke, “Padres. You’re a long way from home.”

  “I’ve come to fetch my woman. A Padres woman.”

  “You’re in the wrong place.”

  “Minerva Coolidge,” Big Mike said shortly.

  Voodoo sat, unmoving, but his eyes were flickering about, indicating thought. This decision was probably above his pay grade.

  Big Mike made it easy for him. “Return her now, or we’ll wipe you out.” His actions tonight, would eventually get back to his family. By using Padres’ power, he was incurring a debt he would have to pay back in the future.

  “All of this fuss over one woman?”

  “My woman,” Big Mike said.

  Voodoo decided. He nodded. “You get her but you don’t get her brother.”

  Big Mike could only focus on one Coolidge at a time. Minnie was his responsibility, not Crash. “Fine with me.” Ro
cco had located the abandoned railway depot where TDR was headquartered. They would retrieve Crash later tonight. If he was there.

  Voodoo led Big Mike through the bar and up the stairs at the back of the room. Two of his men followed them. They went down a dingy corridor smelling of mould. There were dank, green stains rising up from the baseboards. The wooden floor creaked underfoot. They passed a series of closed doors. A woman moaned her pleasure from behind one of the doors. These rooms would be the living quarters of club members. Some would be kept for casual sex.

  One door was different. A biker stood guard in front of it. Why guard Minnie once she was under lock and key? On Voodoo’s command, the guard unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  The room was bare of furniture. The window had been boarded up. There was a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Minnie was sitting on the floor cross-legged next to a prone man. He drank the sight of her in. She had teased her hair out so it was a big, blonde cloud around her delicate face. Her back was bare in an excuse-for-clothing, red top. She wore impractical shoes. She was sitting next to her unconscious brother.

  Minnie spotted him instantly. She squealed and scrabbled to her feet, her face alight with joy. She rushed him, barreling into him. Relief and rage warred inside him. Relief won and he held her too tight, burying his face in her hair — her scent — for a long moment so the part of him that was coiled and wanted to kill would ease off.

  He let her go but he knew that he had revealed too much. Voodoo was inventorying his weakness for possible future use.

  Voodoo smiled. “Okay, take her.”

  “My brother…” Minnie said.

  Big Mike released her and walked over to the prone figure. TDR must have set a false trail, using Crash’s cellphone, northwest of the city. They were smarter than he expected. He turned Crash over with his foot. Crash Coolidge’s face was bruised and swollen. He had taken a beating. A bad one. The kind that would leave you feeling as if you had the flu for a week afterwards. But he was alive.