Bump & Grind (Brewed Moon Book 1)

by J. Margot Critch

  “You don’t see it?”

  “See what?”

  “You’re falling for this guy.”

  “I am not,” Erica protested.

  “I don’t believe you. Look at you: dreamy look in your eyes, goofy smile on your face. You’ve got big feelings for this guy. I know it.”

  Azura turned and walked back to the kitchen, leaving Erica in the living room. She scanned the room and the remnants of her performance. She smiled. Maybe Azura was right. She and Peter definitely had something between them. She didn’t exactly know what yet. Is it love or just intense sexual chemistry? She asked herself. She might not know if it was love or not, but she certainly loved the way he made her feel. She walked into the room and began picking up her mess, goofy smile on her face and all.

  Chapter 13

  Peter and Mitch sat in their car, perfectly cloaked in the darkness afforded by the ‘fortuitously’ broken street light. Making your own luck Peter had called it when he’d slung half of a brick into the bulb - just up the street from a warehouse owned by Dylan O’Connell.

  Mitch handed Peter a pair of headphones. “While you were off ‘interrogating the suspect’ last night,” referring to his date with Erica, “the rest of us were actually getting some work done. This is conversation we got off of the wiretap on Dylan’s phone line.” They had installed the wiretap – only somewhat legally – on Dylan O’Connell’s home phone the day before, and Peter listened to the recording intently.

  “Sounds like they’re speaking in code,” Mitch remarked, “but it does mention a warehouse, so hopefully this is the one and we can drop the hammer on these goons.” If it was true, they were going to be there, and take O’Connell down once and for all. They’d been in the car for three hours so far, and they had not yet seen any evidence of a crime being committed. But they kept their eyes tirelessly trained on their surroundings for anything out of the usual.

  “Who’s this ‘friend’ they keep talking about?”

  “We’re not sure. But we think it might be the Russian that they were planning a meeting with the night of the burlesque show.”

  “Get anything from Erica’s?” Peter asked, his voice low, remorseful. While she slept, he had installed a recording device in Erica and Azura’s apartment. He had also taken the opportunity to go through the apartment looking for anything that might tie her to the Irish. He’d had two close calls in his search. After Azura had come home, he’d thought she had gone to bed. But that wasn’t the case, he’d discovered, when she left her room to go to the kitchen for some water, he had to hide behind the leather chair in the living room that he and Erica had used only hours previous. The second close call came when Erica had awoken that morning to find him standing by her dresser that he had just finished searching. He’d had to move quickly when he heard the bed sheet rustle, and he made it seem like he was just getting his clothes to leave. Man, I’m off my game, he thought.

  “Nothing from their place, so far,” Mitch told him. “Just some girl talk about you that I would have rather not heard.”

  Peter snickered in return. His male ego was curious. I wonder if I can get my hands on that tape.

  Joe and Steve sat in another car a few blocks over, surveilling their other possible drop location. Mitch’s walkie-talkie on the dashboard of their car squawked to life.

  “Nothing here yet, boss man.” Steve reported.

  “Same here, guys. Hold your position. The night is still young yet.”

  Peter stifled a yawn and leaned back in the passenger seat. Mitch turned to look at his younger brother. “Tired?”

  Peter rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?”

  And while it seemed as if Mitch was starting to come around on Peter’s relationship with Erica, or whatever it was, he really just appreciated that she could be an excellent source of information, or even possibly a tool to bring down the bad guys.

  Peter wasn’t in the mood to divulge anything more than necessary. “Not much.”

  “Erica?” he smirked. When Peter didn’t respond, Mitch frowned and asked him “Besides the obvious conflict-of-interest that you’re working on, is everything okay?”

  He sighed. No, things were not okay. He debated evading his brother’s question entirely. But he knew that if he was evasive, Mitch – as a cop and an older brother - wouldn’t back down, and Peter was too tired to argue. “I haven’t been sleeping well the past week or so,” when his brother smiled at the implication of how he spent his nights lately, Peter continued on. “And it’s not Erica’s fault.”

  He took a deep breath. Here goes. “I’ve been having the nightmares again.”

  “About Kelly?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mitch frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What was I supposed to say?” he scowled. “That I never got over what happened to her? That it keeps me up at night? That I’m some goddamn child who can’t control his emotions?”

  Mitch turned and surprised Peter by exhibiting a moment of tenderness toward his brother. He put a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Dude, it doesn’t make you a child to still be dealing with it. It was a fucked up situation, and we all dropped the ball. But what happened to her wasn’t your fault.”

  “Well, it sure feels like it was my fault,” Peter replied with a quiet whisper.

  Mitch rubbed his thumb and forefinger of one hand against his eyes. “I knew you were still feeling this,” he shook his head, “and I should have made you take some time off. You should know better than to think it’s your fault. But if you want to talk about it, you know that me and the other guys are here for you.”

  Peter remained silent in his seat, but Mitch went on. “I know that I ride your ass pretty frequently. But you’re my brother, and whether you like it or not, I’m always going to be your brother. We’ve been through our share of shit together. And it’s my job to look out for not only you, but the other guys as well. So, if you decide to stop being so goddamn sensitive, you can talk to us.”

  Peter smiled at his brother. Leave it to Mitch “Tough Love” Swanson to play the role of the supportive older brother, and in the same breath accuse him of being too sensitive, and demand he talk to somebody about his problems. But it had been a long time since Peter and his brother had shared a moment so full of feeling. Moments when they weren’t in disagreement over something were few and far between. He nodded. “Thanks.” But he was done with the conversation. He brought his night vision binoculars to his eyes.

  “Where are they?”

  Mitch was about to say something when Peter interrupted him, leaning forward. “Now what is this?”

  Mitch raised his own goggles. “What do you see?”

  “Down by that dumpster,” he gestured. “About half-a-click down. There’s four people. But I don’t see anyone else, no packages or anything.”

  Both Peter and Mitch watched for a while in silence. “This isn’t a drop,” Peter announced after a couple of minutes. “It’s just a meeting.” He dropped the binoculars and picked up his gun from the dashboard. “Fuck, if there’s no merchandise, or anything changing hands, we’ve got nothing.” He pulled the door handle.

  “What are you doing?” Mitch asked him, alarmed.

  He turned back to his brother. “I’m getting a closer look.”

  “That’s reckless,” Mitch scolded him. He swore. “You’re not going in alone.”

  “Then come with me. Joe and Steve have our backs,” Peter exited the car, silently, without waiting for word from his brother.

  “Goddammit,” Mitch muttered almost under his breath, and followed his younger brother onto the street.

  Peter and Mitch crouched low behind their car and surveyed the street. Peter’s plan was to avoid the open road and get close enough to the meeting to confirm the identities of the men and to take some pictures by circling around through the back alleys. He just wanted confirmation of contact between O’Connell and
the Russians. He wasn’t looking to be reckless, as Mitch had claimed, but he couldn’t pass up on this chance to learn what was going on between the two groups.

  The team as a whole was methodical by nature under Mitch’s careful direction. They weren’t daredevils; they didn’t take stupid risks or go in half-cocked without doing the proper planning to make sure that everyone would come back safely. But Peter would admit that he was notorious in the group for sometimes moving without thinking, or letting his instinct and his emotions carry him, but he never did it at the expense of the lives of his teammates.

  But ever the team leader, Mitch assessed the situation from over the hood of their car. From here on out, they would be communicating through eye contact and well-established hand signals. Par for the course, as Peter and Mitch knew each other better than anyone else and they were able to communicate easily with just the minutest of gestures. Mitch flashed two fingers and pointed to nearby alley to their left. They would go down the alley which ran parallel to the street in hopes of getting closer to the meeting without being seen. He indicated for Peter to follow him. They were vulnerable as they left the cover provided by the car and started for the alley. They stayed low, moved quietly, and hoped that they were far enough away from the men to not be spotted. Peter scanned the dark rooftops and corners for any mafia foot soldiers acting as lookouts. It was near impossible to tell, but they kept moving until they reached the security afforded them by the alley.

  Peter and Mitch stayed low, and kept close to the brick as they edged through the back alley, closer and closer to the men. About halfway down the alley, it opened opposite to them, and they noted the possible escape route. The chain link fence and barbed wire that covered the exit would be difficult for them to scale, but hopefully their excursion would go smoothly and they would make it back to their car without being seen. As the brothers reached the far end, they carefully turned the corner, facing back out into the street where their targets huddled in close conversation.

  Peter and Mitch stealthily made it to the dumpster at the end of the alley without being seen, and they crouched low behind the metal receptacle. They still couldn't know what their subjects were saying, but Peter was close enough to pull out his camera and take some high-resolution photos, which were immediately uploaded to the computer that Joe and Steve were monitoring in their car, just a few blocks away

  From their vantage point, they could only see the barest features of the four men and when Peter edged closer to get a better look, away from the relative safety of the dumpster, Mitch frowned at him, but followed him anyway. Still they stayed low, getting ever closer, Peter stopped suddenly when the visages of the men were revealed. Their suspicions were confirmed two of the men were indeed the O'Connell brothers – Dylan and Colin, the other two were not part of the Irish family at all. Peter immediately recognized them as Yuri Petrova and his number two, the head of the Russian mafia’s East Coast operations.

  Petrova was a notorious gangster but, unlike the Irishmen who were significant players in the drug trade and money laundering, Petrova was known for human trafficking and sustaining the sex slavery trade. Both Peter and Mitch knew the implications of the O’Connell’s meeting with this kind of man. They were no doubt looking to branch out in their campaign of terror to include the buying and selling of people. It then occurred to Peter that the call they had overheard, gaining them the tip about that night’s drop, had nothing to do with drugs. The O’Connell’s were forming ties to the Russians to begin trafficking women.

  Peter saw red. The O’Connell’s were going down. They already knew that the family was dangerous, but human trafficking meant that they were dealing with an entirely different kind of monster. Peter vowed to end them. No other women and children were going to be hurt on his watch.

  Peter looked at his brother, who had signaled for them to return to the car. But Peter shook his head. He needed to get closer. He would not let whatever they were discussing come to fruition. The stakes had been raised; he needed to hear what the men were discussing, and he pushed forward. Mitch, ever the cautious leader, he held tightly onto his brother's arm and he shook his head. But Peter pulled ignored his brother’s protest, and he pulled away, pushing forward.

  Mitch followed him anyway, putting one foot quietly in front of the other, until he stood on an empty beer can, and it crunched under his foot. Peter and Mitch both stood absolutely still, looking at each other, not breathing, hoping against hope that the noise had gone unheard.

  No such luck. The sound had unfortunately gotten the attention of the crime lords they had been surveilling. The men turned in their direction, and they each reached under their coats and drew their guns.

  "Oh shit," Mitch muttered under his breath, as he and Peter both drew their own. They were trapped at that end the alley, and the only way back to their car would take them across the mouth of the alley they had entered, leaving them exposed.

  Peter looked around them, on high alert. They hadn't been spotted yet, but it was only a matter of time until they would be found. He then remembered the exit he’d spotted, halfway up the alley, and over the barbed wire and chain link fence. To get there, however, they would have to make their way up the narrow lane. Their chances of getting down there without being seen weren't good. But, it was their only chance.

  Mitch quickly checked his messages on his smart watch with low light and showed Peter. Joe and Steve were on their way, but in some awful twist of fate, a minor traffic accident not too far away had blocked the road in front of them. They were looking for alternate routes. Peter sighed. The fence was their only hope of escape. He tapped Mitch's arm to get his attention, and pointed out the route he'd found. If they could stay low, and get to the next dumpster, without being seen in the dark, they could reach a pile of discarded cardboard which might conceal them enough to get them over the fence. If their plan didn’t work, then they would be trapped in the alley with four people who would have no qualms about either shooting them dead as a best case scenario. Peter didn’t want to consider what a worst case scenario would be with these guys, but he knew it would definitely involve being tied to a chair in a dark room. Getting to the fence wasn’t promising, but it was all they had.

  Peter could tell that Mitch was working out the plan in his head. He nodded once, in approval. He took a final look as the crime bosses crept further into the alley, scanning ahead for the source of the noise. Peter led the way down to the end of the alley. They were quiet, but not quiet enough. The slight rustle of their movements caught the attention of their pursuers.

  "Aye, down there," the Irish inflection he recognized as Dylan O'Connell's voice echoed through the alley.

  Peter and Mitch crouched beside the pile of old boxes, catching their breath, waiting for the right moment to get to the fence, an action that would definitely expose them. Peter didn’t know how they would both make it over the fence without being seen. But then saw the answer. The bottom of the chain link fence didn’t quite go to the ground, and a corner was pulled up, as if someone had once before attempted to slip from the alley as Peter and Mitch had hoped to do.

  Peter saw that Mitch had seen it too, and nodded at him. Peter went first, at Mitch’s insistence, and he ran to the fence. He dropped to a crouch and, without making too much noise, was able to shift the torn fence enough so they would be able to fit through it.

  "There!" he heard Petrova yell. Peter had been spotted; he pushed his way through the fence, as he heard a loud pop and felt the air shift past him as the bullet sailed dangerously close to his face.

  Jesus.

  He took a deep breath and with one final push against the ground, he felt something hold him back, a grip on his jacket. He brought himself up to a standing position, as the bullets whizzed past him. Thank God it was dark and they were all lousy shots. Once he was off the ground, he felt the searing pain at the skin on his back. Am I shot? Without any time to stop, or think, he found cover behind the wall. Mitch was still o
n the other side of the fence and Peter needed to cover him so he could also get through the fence. Ignoring the pain across his back, Peter aimed his gun. He could barely make out the shadows of the four men, but he fired, hoping to distract them long enough for his brother to get through the fence safely.

  Mitch made his move. He scrambled from behind the boxes and amidst the bullets still firing, and Peter firing back, Mitch made it to the fence. As he crouched to get through, Peter extended a hand to his brother to help him through.

  With both of them safely on the other side and back on the street, they ran. They’d hoped to loop around the block and hide out until it was safe to get back to their car. But as they ran, a car pulled up beside them, slamming on the brakes. Alarmed and aware that the gangsters were still following close behind them, both Peter and Mitch stopped and pulled their guns, aiming for the passengers of the car.

  “Whoa, whoa. It’s us,” Steve called from the open window on the passenger’s side. “Get in.”

  Peter yanked the door open with almost enough force to break it, and both men quickly piled into the back seat of the car as it peeled away from the curb, tires screeching. Not their smoothest or most covert escape, but it didn’t matter, the car had been spotted by their pursuers and in one last fit of desperation, one of them fired a shot, a bullet ricocheted from the side of the car, not causing any significant damage, before they turned onto a side street, away from danger.

  "Jesus, that was close," Mitch muttered, taking a deep breath.

  "Yeah, it’s been a while since we were really in the thick of it. I almost missed it." Peter said through ragged breaths, unable to even it out. He joked, but Peter had no desire to be back in that type of situation any time soon.

  Joe drove the car steadily, taking every turn gently, going in circles and making random turns to make sure they didn’t have a tail before returning to headquarters. Now that they were no longer in direct peril and the adrenaline had worn off, Peter moved in his seat, finally feeling the injury to his back. He shifted uncomfortably and turned slightly, bringing his hand back to touch the injury. It didn't certainly feel like a gunshot wound.