Sabotage: Beginnings

by LS Silverii

  He punched himself in the left temple. “You gonna get served all right. In the federal penitentiary.”

  Ben pushed back on his toes and powered the rocking chair back to launch him out and onto his heels. He strangled the open bottle by its slim neck and stalked the porch end to end. He rubbed at his sore temple. Weakened, his body felt as if he no longer occupied the thin frame. Intoxication wasn’t an issue; it was Vegas—he couldn’t shake it. His daddy was going to have a fit.

  Vibrations from the pocket of his linen pants distracted him. Maybe daddy wasn’t coming after all. Maybe it was mother. They’d be a family again. His fingers wiggled around inside the deep cargo pocket until he wrangled the smartphone. He twisted his lips—unlisted number.

  “Hello?”

  “You owe me.”

  The frigid bite of the death snake burrowed deep along Ben’s spine to stiffen his neck. Eyes glowered across the terrain. His hearing prickled both ears and neck. It was Heinrich.

  “What do you mean?” Ben asked. He stormed to the east end of the porch and perched a watch toward the highway in the distance. He pressed the stand-by binoculars against the cold sweat that erupted onto his gaunt face.

  “Vegas.”

  “Daddy handled that. He told me so.”

  “Your old man’s a coward and a liar. A disgrace to the badge.”

  Ben welded his slight fist into his trim, muscular waist. “No, he is not.” He stomped his foot.

  “Don’t get prissy with me, Gray Man. If you’d gone through with your massage you’d be dead right now.”

  “There’s that name again. I don’t think I like it.”

  “I love it. It sounds bad ass, like we are, Gray Man,” Ben said.

  “Get used to it. Benjamin Franklin Ford is as good as dead.” Heinrich said.

  “Says who?”

  “Gray Man, they were waiting to eliminate you inside that massage parlor. The operative was delayed. Consider yourself lucky that Marco escorted you back to your room. He may have ripped your butthole in half, but you’re still alive to rub it.”

  Ben cackled at that comment. “Good one bro.”

  He looked to his right and hissed, “This isn’t funny. What do you want?”

  “Boyd is missing. We’re sure he’s dead—Boudreaux and his whore Jew.”

  “I’m not into finding missing persons, Heinrich.” Ben pressed his open palm against his tummy to chuckle at his crack at comedy.

  “Listen to me,” Heinrich screamed. “I want them eliminated. Him first and I want to do the honors personally on her kike ass.”

  Ben rubbed at the tension that felt screwed into the back of his neck. He twisted his torso to relieve the strain. “I don’t know. I think I just want to spend quiet time up here. Need to decompress—you know?” Ben arched his spine with an exaggerated inhale.

  Wood splintered less than a full hand from Ben’s head. He didn’t jump—but listened as the crack of the sniper’s rifle floated across the undulating fields. Calculations aligned in his mind. Able to determine the shooter’s distance based on how long it took sound to travel, Ben knew he had no time to react—his attacker was too close for him to run for cover.

  “Ben. Answer me,” Heinrich yelled into the phone.

  His lips drawn tight. “What.”

  “How’s the tension feel now?”

  “I’m in.” His chin fell against his chest.

  “I’ll send details when the time is right.”

  Ben flipped a middle finger back toward the direction of the sniper’s trajectory. “I’ll be expecting them.”

  “I’m sure you will. Now, enjoy your dinner before the meat gets cold.”

  Ben shoved the phone back into his pocket and fumbled for the cool metal object. He swapped it for the cell phone and turned the corner to escape the sniper’s scope. His lotioned thumb molested the circular seal of the great state of California set center of the die-cast metal shape. He unpinned the jagged fabric. The khaki-colored cloth ripped from the chest of the city police officer’s uniform floated to the floor.

  “Time to eat.”

  Chapter 23

  Cool licks of wind dusted the deck atop the Imperial Palace Casino’s rooftop swimming pool and cabana. Dotted with mostly couples looking for off-season steal deals on weekday getaways, the Biloxi, Mississippi resort still bustled with January activity.

  Her hand hung lightly over her husband’s tree-trunk-sized forearm. She tugged on the sleeve of his blue cotton shirt to conceal the fresh passion cross tattoo. Batya’s scarf and wide rim sunglasses concealed her from the sparse sun and curious onlookers. She pulled the collar of a snug, purple fleece jacket higher to cut off the wind’s assault. Her black yoga pants hugged trim thighs that had snapped back into fighting shape not long after Grace was born.

  She nodded as Justice slid the wood and wicker chair away from cabana’s entrance. Batya eased into a chaise lounge chair while Justice jerked on a series of cords to release sidewall flaps. They both wanted privacy and protection from the cool weather and gawkers.

  Her eyes squeezed into focused slits to survey the small clusters of women who halted their hushed gossip to ogle at her husband. The usual spike of jealousy wormed itself through her, but she was a rational woman. Justice was a sexy sight to behold. Six-six with dark brown hair that brushed well below the muscular humps atop his shoulders.

  He was a superior genetic specimen, and she’d come to witness that each of the seven Boudreaux brothers shared striking similarities. She also learned each carried horrible psychological scars of abuse from their father and respective combat experience in various branches of the military. All but one, Lawless Boudreaux, had served. Lawless, the black sheep, entered law enforcement after high school.

  Today’s attention to the others around the pool wasn’t because of seductive gazes from hopeless cougars. It was a covert mission. A mission more important than anything she—or they—had ever attempted. The stakes were high for this meeting. Nothing could be left to chance. It was just that vital.

  A laugh line appeared as Batya curled the right side of her mouth. She watched the clock with overeager anticipation. Quick, with another nod, Justice responded in silence. He began a slow, deliberate circle around the pool deck. Maybe twenty-five others in all were present. She listened over her concealed earpiece as Justice described each of the them.

  No one reacted. Except for inappropriate glares and exaggerated gasps as the big stud lumbered around then circled back to her. He nodded—all clear. Their cabana was located on the farthest corner from the single entry point onto the rooftop via elevator.

  Tucked away, Batya remained inside the heavy canvas tent. She concealed binoculars behind a magazine to watch him. Justice moved across the deck and leaned on the bar as if to order drinks. Batya knew his eyes would never stop roaming and assessing the area. He’d stressed to her that he didn’t like the location—too open and too many variables against them if attacked. Batya tried to loosen the constricted knot in her gut as she thought about how much she adored Justice.

  She nipped at her top lip with her teeth as she watched Justice yank at his untucked shirt as another brisk breeze toyed with the shirttails. He pressed his palm onto the rubberized grip of his Sig Sauer P-226 9mm pistol. She sat upright and rigid—it was time.

  “Signal up.” Justice’s usual low growl sounded soft—not weak.

  Batya pressed the microphone button near her ear. “Copy.”

  Her grayish eyes batted wide. She gave a gasp as a sudden shadow loomed over her. Her left hand slid quickly over her Glock 9mm and she held that breath as the figure remained.

  “Hi, I’m Devin. Can I get you anything to eat or drink,” asked the young woman.

  Batya let out the breath slowly and cracked an uneasy smile. “No. No thank you, Devin.”

  Devin grinned and zipped the casino-issued windbreaker just beneath her chin. “Yes ma’am. Enjoy what’s left of the afternoon.”

  Baty
a felt foolish to have allowed a young girl to surprise her like that. She put the weapon back on the plush stack of towels. She contemplated whether she’d grown soft since leaving the service of the Mossad. Motherhood definitely kept her on her toes, but that was a different skill set altogether.

  “You okay?” Justice’s voice was anxious, but assured.

  She saw his face even from across the pool and slumped back into the over-sized lounger. He cared for her like an angel.

  She pressed a gentle finger against the concealed radio. “10-4. I’m making the call.”

  Batya saw them. The three of them moved out from the elevator foyer into the shaded sun. Her eyes slipped away from Justice and held on the trio. Actually on one person in the group. Like a mountain, Justice never wavered as he stood watch.

  The three entered the cabana. Batya’s lips quivered and her voice shook as she spoke in a quiet hush.

  “Oh Grace, Mommy’s missed you, my love.” Her arms lunged out toward Karen.

  Karen patted baby Grace and gently turned her to face momma. The soft baby face squinted then pulled into a tight draw before blistering crimson with a wail. Batya’s tears exploded.

  “Too much estrogen. I’ll relieve Justice,” Sue said as he kissed his wife and marched across to where his brother had been waiting.

  Batya bounced Grace in her arms as she begged to calm her. It had been months—it had been too long. She watched Justice circle away from the direction Sue took to avoid being in the same location in the event of an attack. It was a family reunion, but one under as guarded conditions as any classified mission either had performed.

  “Daddy, Grace is a little upset. Maybe you can calm her.” Batya’s arms shook as Justice sat next to her and opened his giant fingers to cherish her. Batya was a natural nurturer, but she never engaged in the baby talk that so many new mothers do. She spoke to everyone, including Grace the same—like an adult.

  “Hey baby girl. You missing daddy?” Justice’s voice pitched higher and his stone-carved expression melted with a sweetness she often saw when their family was together. It warmed her spirit to enjoy this connection that she’d never known from her own parents. They were like her—strict disciplinarians.

  “It’s been four months. When are y’all coming home?” Karen asked.

  “Had enough of babysitting?” Batya’s question was harsh, but it was said and couldn’t be retracted.

  Karen shook her head in hurt and pressed both palms into the corners of her darkened almond eyes. She turned and stomped a high-heeled boot against the wooden deck, but Justice stretched out his arm and touched her on the elbow.

  “Karen, please. It’s hard on everyone.”

  Karen jerked away from his touch. “No shit.”

  “Please Karen. For God’s sake, we missed her first birthday.” He dropped his mouth onto Grace’s head with those words. It looked like they hit him for the first time. Batya’s tears returned—no more defensiveness.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand what you two are up to.”

  Karen was a beautiful woman. Typical of south Louisiana’s women, her hair was so black it shone blue. With olive skin, and dark Acadian-French features, the trim twenty-three year old looked much older at the moment. Stress had a way of doing that.

  “Hasn’t Sue told you?” Justice asked.

  “Not a damn thing. Said it was need to know only.” Karen folded her arms tight against her chest. “He never left the combat shit behind, you know. None of y’all have.” She flipped a ringed finger through the natural wave in her long hair.

  “That’s why I asked Sue to help us. We knew you two could be trusted.” Justice brushed a hand against Karen’s triceps. She looked much more comfortable as she sank onto the padded pool chair.

  Sue soon joined them but everyone kept a close perimeter watch. Justice leaned in and the other three followed suit. Batya swallowed hard because she knew what was about to be discussed. She hoped Karen would be strong enough to accept it.

  “Our family is in a fight for life,” Justice said. His fingers wrapped around Batya’s hand that held Grace close. “Batya and I are eliminating those threats.” Justice winked, but Batya didn’t have the callousness to accept his detached capacity while she clung to their child.

  “What’cha mean, like paying off credit cards or y’all in debt to the Dixie Mafia?” Karen spouted in a naïve volume that seemed to agitate everyone except Grace. She twisted and fussed for Karen.

  Batya fought the hurt in her heart. “No, we are killing people before they kill us.”

  Karen’s expression showed she understood. She didn’t agree, but she understood.

  Grace made it too real—Batya had never operated with someone so innocent depending on her very survival. The ability to run without risk, of abandoning others, had allowed Batya to take chances in her career without the burden of other’s feelings or concerns. Now things had changed—she was fighting with a clear sense of the consequences of loss.

  “What are you saying, Bro?” Sue seemed impatient. Batya recognized it as worry—they all were affected by it.

  Justice slid his big, strong hand gently along Grace’s back and planted both hands on his solid legs. Batya noticed the worry he too had to deal with. The denim had stretched tight across his flexed thighs as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He also had a habit of sandpapering his thumb and index finger as a way to keep his mind in the here ad now.

  “We have to kill a man. We want you to keep Grace until we return. If we don’t return, we want you to raise her as your own,” Justice said.

  Batya blurted out through lips that quivered at the reality of Sue and Karen leaving with her baby, as they’d come. She understood their mission if they were to survive, but hearing Justice say it out loud caused her words to snag in her throat until she felt she would suffocate.

  Sue pressed his hands onto Justice and Batya’s shoulders. “When do you leave?” His expression showed he knew the answer.

  “Now,” Batya said.

  Surprised by her own reply, the sharp snap was calm and all business. Her training had prepared her for one thing in this life. That one thing wasn’t killing for Israel—it was killing for her family.

  “We’re here for you, and you know we love baby Grace,” Karen ran her hand over the baby’s soft dark brown down.

  The gentle familiarity of Karen’s touch soothed Grace although it ran like a knife through Batya’s heart. But she wanted Grace to know love, and Karen loved her daughter like her own.

  “You two know we’ll do anything for her. For you, too. Hell, every one of us brothers will help you. If you need us to come with you, we will. Hell, after combat, civilian life kinda sucks.” Sue tried to chuckle, but the tension was thick as cement.

  “Thanks, Bro, but we’ve got another family on the job with us.”

  “Yeah, I sort of heard something about a new brotherhood.” Sue groaned as he pulled the sleeve on Justice’s cotton shirt back to the elbow. “Nice ink. You know Vengeance has the exact same passion cross.”

  Justice snorted as he tugged the sleeve back down and unfolded the cuff to his wrist. His eyes seldom stopped their scan, but he gazed at the tattoo, and seemed to want to separate that blood-oath family from his blood-born family.

  “Does he know my association with the club?”

  Sue ran his fingers across his wrinkled forehead and into his unkempt mane of jet-black hair. He blew out a gush of air and let out a low whistle. He nodded. “Yeah. You both got bull’s-eyes on your backs.”

  Batya sat up tall and protective. “Justice?”

  “Baby, you know not everyone is happy with what happened. I just hope Vengeance can keep his head cool and watch his ass.”

  Sue’s gnarled arthritic fingers scratched deep into his straggled beard. He pursed his lips. “Damn, son, you’re the national president of the Savage Souls Outlaw Motorcycle Club. Fuck, I thought you joined them a-holes to fly under the radar.” Sue walked
closer to Karen. “You’re public enemy numero uno.”

  Justice stood. Batya heard his knees crack with the strain. “International president. International.”

  Karen rolled her soft brown eyes up to Justice. “How’d that happen?”

  “It was time to clean house, and I had the biggest, baddest broom in the closet.” He bent over in laughter and slapped his knee. The jolt caused Grace to lurch and then cry.

  “Damn you, Justice Boudreaux. Look what you’ve done.”

  Batya knew her words were harsh. They were a result of the reality of loss—it was time to depart. They had an escort of Hogs and trucks that waited to convoy back up the east coast.

  “Can y’all give us a minute?” Justice asked.

  Justice cradled Batya in his lap. Grace quieted and snuggled back into her breast. They sat without a word—only the gentle hum of both parents to their beloved daughter. Batya ignored the wind as it turned colder as the sun dipped below the horizon. In Justice’s arms she was protected—she was loved.

  Justice kissed the back of her neck, then he leaned over to kiss the top of Grace’s sweet-smelling head. He rocked them both. He cleared his throat. Batya shuddered—he was going to say it was time to leave. Her chest clutched in anticipation of his words. She swallowed to clear the lump in her throat, but she was unable to produce more than a sound and a gentle wail.

  Instead of time to leave, Justice lowered his already baritone voice, leaned even closer to them both, and sang happy birthday to their daughter. Batya’s tears fell freely as his words exposed the harsh realities of their earlier lives. Lurking in society’s shadow, doing the questionable bidding of unconscionable men had proven lucrative for both of them, but the high pay now came with a high price. She cried.

  “…happy birthday to you,” Justice trailed off. Grace was back to sleep.

  Batya turned to kiss him, “I love you, my husband.” She smiled through blushed cheeks and reddened eyes.