“You’re new here, huh?” asked another Mexican girl who stood at Midnight’s side suddenly. This girl was taller than Midnight by a good six inches and she had a tougher look to her.
“Yeah we just moved here,” Midnight said, already hating this new school.
The taller Mexican girl nodded, looking considering, and then her eyes flicked to the girl behind Midnight. Glancing back, Midnight noticed the smaller Mexican girl shrink back a bit.
“Como te llamas hermanita?” The taller girl was asking Midnight what her name was
“Midnight, yours?”
The girl smiled widely. “You understand Spanish?” she asked, sounding surprised. “My name’s Blanca, and you and me, we’re gonna be friends.”
“We are? Why?” Midnight asked in spite of herself.
Blanca’s dark eyes sparkled with humor. “’Cause you’re cute, and I think you’re gonna need a friend here.”
Midnight was shocked, and wondered if the girl was just putting her on. But true to her word, Blanca became her best friend for the next two years of school. She soon found out that Blanca was the toughest chick at school, and she knew how to fight, having learned from her five brothers. She taught Midnight everything she knew. She also introduced Midnight to the gang life. She was the first friend Midnight ever lost to gang violence, but definitely not the last.
****
Midnight told him the whole story, and had Joe shaking his head in commiseration with her.
“That sucks,” Joe said simply.
Midnight shrugged. “Hey, what she taught me has kept me alive.”
“True.”
“So what about you?” she asked Joe. “What’s your story?”
Midnight had heard the rumors about Joe, that he was actually independently wealthy, worth several million dollars. The house they were in was in the richest part of San Diego, a beach community called La Jolla. The house itself had to be worth millions. Why was he a cop? He’d told her that he had as good a reason to be in FORS as anyone did, so what was it?
It was Joe’s turn to hesitate.
“My father owned a publishing company in England, a very successful publishing company. Our family name was on the best society rolls in England,” he said, not sounding too impressed. “I was an only child, so my father expected me to take over the business when he retired. I had no interest in that. I also had no interest in the bloody debutantes or the high society parties or anything else to do with his money. I wanted to make them happy, but I couldn’t do that. I knew I’d fail at being a publishing magnate; it wasn’t what I wanted. So I hid.”
“In a gang,” Midnight said, knowing it was true.
Joe’s fighting ability, and his knowledge of gangs was innate. He had told Midnight he’d been with the Sheriff’s Department’s gang task force before he’d come to work for San Diego PD. He’d said that she’d had the right idea about how to stop the gangs in San Diego, using ex-gang members against current gang members. Gang members could walk the walk, and talk the talk, better than any cop.
Joe nodded, confirming her statement about him being in a gang.
“It was me and my best friend Rick, he was from a good family too, so I guess we were hiding out together,” he said with a bemused grin.
“What happened?”
“I never took the gang too seriously,” Joe said, his eyes taking on a faraway look, “but apparently other people did. There was a gang leader, a crazy Irish guy. He wanted to make a big man out of himself, so he challenged me to a fight.”
“And you kicked his ass, didn’t you?” Midnight replied, knowing how good of a fighter Joe was, having seen it firsthand a number of times.
“Yeah,” Joe said, sounding annoyed by the memory, “and embarrassed the shit out of him in front of his gang. Didn’t think anything of it, but this guy was determined to win no matter what. I didn’t realize how determined.”
“What did he do?” Midnight asked warily.
Joe’s smile was wintery and far from humored. His eyes misted with tears as he said, “He cut the brake lines in every car in my parents’ garage, including my Porsche.”
Midnight nodded, watching him closely.
“My parents were headed down to London that evening for a party. I offered to drive them since my father had forgotten about it and had given their driver the night off.”
Midnight closed her eyes, nodding slowly.
Joe shrugged. “There was a cliff and there were no brakes,” he said, his voice trailing off for a moment. “My parents were killed almost instantly and I spent six months in the hospital.”
“Jesus, Joe,” Midnight breathed, realizing now why he was so dedicated to eradicating gangs too. “Did they catch the bastard?”
Joe nodded. “He bragged about doing it. His girlfriend told Scotland Yard. Lucky for me,” he said, his lips curling in disgust.
“What do you mean?” Midnight asked, her brows furrowing.
“Scotland Yard was convinced I’d killed my parents to keep my inheritance.”
“What?” Midnight exclaimed, affronted for him.
“Nice, huh?”
“Assholes,” she said, disgusted.
Joe smiled. It felt good to have someone totally on his side.
They lay together for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. Midnight rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows to peer down at him. Joe’s eyes met hers and he smiled almost sadly.
“We’re both basket cases,” he told her.
“No,” Midnight said, shaking her head. “We’re both kicking ass and taking names to get back some of our own.”
Joe considered that thought, then nodded slowly. He looked directly into her eyes. “This is going to get complicated, isn’t it?”
Law enforcement was dangerous enough, but they worked with and against gang members so the stakes were much higher for them.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Well,” he said, expelling his breath. “I guess we’ll just take it as it comes then.” He reached up to touch her cheek.
“Yeah,” she said.
She leaned down to kiss him on the lips, but even as she did, she knew they were in for some rough times. Her only hope was that their friendship was strong enough to weather it. At that moment, though, being with him was what she needed. She needed his strength and his warmth, as he needed hers. They were two people adrift in a big ocean and they were clinging together for as long as possible before the world crashed in and pulled them apart.
Chapter 2
Four hundred miles away in San Francisco, Daniel Robbins was getting his release papers from San Quentin. He’d just done a nickel, five years in jail, for aggravated assault. Not that it was all he’d done. The plea bargain and snitching on an asshole that would have ratted him out had taken care of the armed robbery and assault charges.
Robbins grinned at the cop that handed him his property back. Fuck you piece of shit pig, he thought.
“Robbins!” a tall black man outside the gates called, waving him over to the car.
“Who’re you?” Daniel asked, looking suspicious.
“Rivera sent me,” the man said, “the names Baker.” Robbins nodded and looked over the car.
“I need a beer and a broad,” Daniel said.
Baker shook his head. “Rivera wants to meet with you first.”
Daniel bit back the reply that came to mind. The Riveras were the money.
“Let’s go then,” Daniel said, then walked around to the passenger side of the car and got in.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting in front of Carlos Rivera.
“Is everything in place?” Carlos asked, picking at his nails with a switchblade.
“Yeah,” Daniel said, “just gotta get my ass to San Diego and start up shop.”
Carlos nodded. “And you’re sure you have our transportation problem handled?”
“It’s handled,” Daniel said.
“And you
trust the people working with you?”
“They’re fuckin’ gang members, how trustworthy could they be?” Daniel said, impatient with being questioned.
“Then how do you know my product will be safe?” Carlos asked.
“Because I’ll kill anyone that crosses me,” Daniel said simply.
Carlos Rivera nodded again, pleased with his answer. Robbins was a mean bastard; he’d already heard that. The man in jail who had attempted to kill Robbins had found himself gutted with a fork. Robbins had managed to take his revenge quietly, so much so that the guards never figured out who killed the guy.
Carlos was very pleased with this arrangement; he only hoped it would go as smoothly as Robbins claimed. If it didn’t, it would be Robbins that ended up dead.
****
Spider, as he was known in the unit, noticed something different about Joe and Midnight right away. There was a new closeness to their relationship that hadn’t been there before. As an original member of FORS, Spider felt he had the right to ask. So he did the very next time Joe and he were on a case together.
“You and Midnight,” Spider began, his grin saying what he didn’t.
“Me and Midnight, what?” Joe asked, looking up at the younger Laotian man.
“You two, uh, you know?” Spider vacillated.
Usually a man with Spider’s background, the ex-leader of a deadly Asian gang in Los Angeles, wouldn’t hesitate to use the words to describe an intimate relationship. The difference in this case was that Spider respected Midnight, and in turn Joe, more than any other people he’d ever met.
Joe grinned at the other man, inclining his head in answer to the unasked question.
“About fucking time,” Spider muttered with a grin.
Joe shook his head, only rolling his eyes in response. As the heads of the unit, Midnight and Joe were basically the leaders of the FORS gang. It was natural for the members to want them together.
Spider and Joe stood in a run-down building in one of the worst neighborhoods in San Diego. Joe leaned casually against one wall, while Spider was keeping watch out of a second-story window.
“So, what do you think Joe?” Spider asked after a few long minutes. “You think they’ll show?”
Spider trusted Joe’s instincts; he hadn’t been wrong yet and they had been on a number of assignments together.
Joe looked at his watch again, then back at Spider and nodded slowly. “They’ll show.” He watched as Spider paced back and forth. “Spider,” he said, “relax.”
“Yeah, man, I know,” Spider said, moving back to the window.
He stood there for a few minutes, looking out. Joe could see from the faraway look on the younger man’s face that he was thinking about another time and place.
Pushing off of the wall, Joe walked over to where Spider stood. Putting his hand on Spider’s shoulder he asked, “You okay?”
Spider glanced at him, as if just coming back to the present. “Yeah,” he said, but his voice cracked.
Joe’s hand tightened on the younger man’s shoulder. Spider nodded, acknowledging the show of empathy. Two years before, Spider’s entire gang had been wiped out by the Bloods in Los Angeles. Spider had been the only one to survive the ambush. He’d barely survived. It had been his desire to avenge the other members’ deaths that had driven Spider to join FORS. It was what drove most of them.
Joe’s eyes shifted to the window then and he saw some guys from the gang they were waiting for coming down the street.
“Come on,” he said authoritatively. He couldn’t have Spider lose it now. “Let’s do this.”
Together they turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs to the first floor of the abandoned building.
The Apostles were looking for their leader, Dave Dibbins, nicknamed “Dibbs” for reasons other than just his last name. Someone had tipped them off that Dibbins was cutting himself a bigger piece of the pie that was their drug trade. A stranger had wandered into their favorite pool hall one day and had placed that bug in the ear of one of the members. This stranger had just happened to resemble Joseph Michael Sinclair. By the time Dibbins had showed up at the pool hall, his own gang had been ready to kill him. Joe had hoped that the problem with that gang would end there, but Dibbins had gotten away, barely, and had gone into hiding.
Joe and Spider knew where Dave Dibbins was. He was sitting in a musty room in the abandoned building, handcuffed to the floor radiator. Once again, someone had tipped the Apostles off as to the location of their dethroned leader. Spider had planted that bug.
Dibbins was sitting on the floor, his eyes glassy. He looked and acted like he was stoned out of his mind, he was also feeling very sure of himself. He figured Joe and Spider were there to protect him.
He was only half-right.
As they listened, they could hear the Apostles coming up to the building shattering glass and shouting angrily. Dibbins’s eyes, bleary as they were, reflected fear now.
“What the …” he said his voice trailing off as he saw Joe smile evilly.
Joe walked over to him, reached down, and unlocked the handcuff that held Dibbins to the radiator. Pulling Dibbins to a standing position by a handful of his shirt, Joe unlocked the other cuff and pocketed them.
“What the fuck, man!” Dibbins exclaimed, surprised at being free, but suddenly afraid they were just going to hand him over to the Apostles.
“Shut up!” Joe roared.
“They’re almost here,” Spider said as he looked out the window.
“Let’s go,” Joe said, shoving Dibbins ahead of him.
Joe had been listening for the approaching footsteps and trying to gauge how close they were. He could hear them flaying chains in the air, breaking glass, and laughing. Dibbins could hear them too and he tried to backpedal to get out of sight, but he ran up against the six foot two blond-haired Englishman, who promptly reached out and shoved him forward. Dibbins stumbled, then with surprising agility turned to face Joe.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on, man! You’re the fuckin’ cops, you can’t let them kill me! I got rights!” he yelled, his voice and body shaking violently.
Joe snatched Dibbins up by the front of his shirt, dragging him off his feet. Turning, he slammed him against the nearest wall and brought his face inches from Dibbins’s. When he spoke, his voice was pure ice.
“I know you’re stupid so I’m going to say this slowly, but I’m only going to say it once. You got no rights. You got that? You don’t have any ’cause you’re a low life piece of shit that preys on little kids and old ladies to get your kicks. I don’ have to do nothing for you, so don’t piss me off!”
Dibbins cringed at Joe’s words, now he was really scared. He had figured that knowing they were cops was his ace in the hole, but it hadn’t quite worked out that way.
Spider put a cautious hand on Joe’s arm. “Let’s let his friends take care of him, huh?” Joe pinned Dave Dibbins with a deadly look, as if trying to get a final point across, then he released him. Dibbins leaned against the wall, taking quick gasping breaths. For an instant, he had been afraid Joe would kill him.
“Come on,” Joe said, turning Dibbins to face the doorway, then he shoved him through it. “Your friends are here, why don’t you go on out and play.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Dibbins stood motionless for a few seconds and listened as his former followers grew ever closer. Then, in desperation, he turned to the two members of FORS.
“Look,” he said, “please, you gotta help me. I don’t wanna go out there, they’ll kill me! Can’t we make a deal?”
“You’re days of dealing are over,” Spider said, his voice cold and hard.
“Come on, man,” Dibbins said, the desperation in his voice raising to the point of being hysterical. “I have information you could use, ya know, about the local dealers and shit.” He looked from Spider to Joe. “Please man!” He almost screamed when Joe looked uninterested in what he was saying.
Joe and Sp
ider exchanged looks and shrugged. This is what they had been after all along. It was a chance to make some good busts and put some key players away for a while.
“Well what do you think, Joe?” Spider asked, his eyes sparkling with suppressed anticipation.
“I don’t know, Spider. Should we trust him?” He gestured to Dibbins, clearly mocking him. “He’s a gang member, you know.”
“Aw, come on man!” Dibbins whined, as he watched their conversation. The Apostles were only one room away now. “Gimme a chance!”
Joe shrugged and Spider stifled a laugh when the Apostles entered the room.
“There he is!” one of the members of exclaimed.
The group surged forward toward their former leader. Joe acted quickly: He grabbed Dibbins and shoved him back behind him and Spider. He produced a nickel plated .45 caliber Smith and Wesson from his shoulder holster. He glanced at Spider who now held a weapon of his own.
At seeing their enemy and the two men standing in front of him with guns, the Apostles hesitated.
“Who the hell are you?” asked a short-haired, lanky looking man in the front of the crowd. Joe looked him up and down and decided he’d been on one too many crystal jags.
“We’re people you don’t want to fuck with,” Joe said, his voice commanding. “So just turn yourselves around and get out of here.”
Joe eyed the crowd, weighing the odds. They didn’t seem to have guns, only knives and chains. They probably couldn’t afford guns, Joe reflected, after their leader pilfered all of their drug funds.
“Yeah?” someone yelled from the back. “And who don’t we want to fuck with?”
“FORS,” Spider interjected, his tone one of an informative businessman, “maybe you’ve heard of us?”
Spider was standing legs apart, gun in hand, but it was down at his side. Joe stood in much the same manner, his arms were crossed and his gun rested in the crook of one arm.
Building Empires (MidKnight Blue Book 1) Page 3