by Bella Knight
They stood on the lawn, Guerrero questioning Ace and a newly-arrived Hernandez questioning Lily.
“Glad we could close your case for you,” said Lily.
Hernandez huffed, “The FBI wanted to close the fraud case and bring down the company. The murder was on hold until they could make both cases. They had wiretapped out, but had no actual surveillance. They were going to raid the companies tomorrow after doing some final legwork. So, how about you tell me how that man got shot? Was that her business partner Ciaran you were talking about last week?”
“Yes, it was,” said Lily, “I think he’s in it up to his arrogant asshole neck!”
Lily told her about Danielle's threats to Ace and told the story at least three times as Hernandez asked her the same questions over and over.
Lily had just started craving some Jolt and something for her aching ear when there were shouts of, “Fall back!” and “remove yourselves to five hundred feet from the perimeter!”
The techs streamed out of the building, plastic evidence baggies and a laptop in hand, as Hernandez dragged Lily across the street. People in suits called other people while half-jogging away from the building. Police officers went to neighboring houses and pounded on doors. Hernandez hauled Lily down the street. Guerrero was —stupidly trying to restrain Ace from going to Lily. Then, there was a “Whump!” and a shock wave. Lily bit her shirt and rolled, the leather protecting her. Pieces of adobe and glass were propelled forward.
Ace got away from Guerrero and made it over to Lily, put his arm around her shoulders. Lily turned to Hernandez, who was coughing.
“Bomb squad,” said Hernandez, holding up a hand, covered with soot and blood and gravel from the road, “damn fuckers are never on time.” They were shouting at each other.
Lily realized her ears weren’t working very well. The noise was deafening —sirens, the fire, people shouting, cries of, “You okay?” and “What the fuck!”
Flashing lights converged in seconds, police cars and ambulances. People opened doors and streamed out of the vehicles, with hands on guns or med kits in hand.
“Gee, thanks for the assist, Mr. Dolan,” said Guerrero, limping over to Hernandez, as Lily helped Hernandez scrape the gravel out of her hands.
“You kept me from Lily,” said Ace, glaring daggers at her, “she could have been killed… again.”
“Peace,” said Guerrero, holding up her own bloody, sooty hands, “not all of us were wearing leather,” she said.
Ace snorted, grabbed her hand, and started picking out gravel. Both he and Lily had been wearing fingerless gloves; Lily’s gloves had knuckle reinforcements.
Somebody with a med kit swung by, handed irrigation bottles and packs of pads and gauze to Lily and Ace, and ran off.
Lily snorted, “Do-your-own-healthcare,” she said.
She sprayed water over her wounded hands, brushed out all the dirt and gravel, and put on a medicated pad and gauze, one hand at a time. Ace copied Lily’s quick, efficient movements.
Guerrero took a bloody, wet hand away and pressed a finger to her ear. She turned away slightly, listening to something. Her mouth tightened into a line.
“What the fuck?” asked Hernandez.
“She kept asking her boyfriend to go inside,” said Lily, “I thought that was weird.”
She finished the right hand and went to clean and bandage the left.
“The techs found a ticket for only Mrs. Dolan,” said Guerrero, “for the Cayman Islands. That’s where we’ll find the money she stole.”
“So, she wanted to off her partner, and maybe us too,” said Lily, “get Ace mad enough to go inside after her. She’d shoot him and blow up the place.”
“It was on a timer,” said Guerrero, “or so the tech said.”
Lily was more pissed.
She smiled widely, “I’d like to see her walk out of this one. She just bought herself some attempted murder charges of FBI agents. Her mouth was working fine when she was carted off. She could have told us about the bomb at any time.”
“She was hoping to take me out,” said Lily, “and her own damn son.”
Ace wrapped himself around Lily, “It’s been real,” said Ace, “but we can’t help you here. I’m taking Lily home.”
“You can’t leave the scene of an explosion,” said Guerrero.
“Watch me!” said Ace.
“She’s right,” said Hernandez, “there may be internal injuries. That was one fucking large explosion.” They got out of the road as fire trucks and ambulances whizzed by.
“We’ll get checked out,” said Ace, “but then we’re outta here. You got questions, ask them now. Lily has the patience for this shit. I don’t.”
They were there less than twenty-five minutes, just enough time for them to be checked out while someone cleaned and wrapped Hernandez’ and Guerrero’s hands, and re-applied Lily’s bandage which had blown off. There was way too much swearing on the parts of both women. They headed around the wall instead of over it, their bikes parked together. They rode off into the night.
Back at the condo, while Lily bathed, Ace let Ivy and Gregory know about the explosion. Ivy told them both to stay home, that she would tend bar and do the books. They slept like the dead.
“Things are getting explosive!”
8
Follow up Danger
Explosive Aftermath
“What goes around… fucking comes around!”
Gregory and Ivy moved fast, evading the invasion of FBI, an ambulance, the police, and crime scene technicians. Gregory stuck with her as she took side streets as fast as she could back to Dirty Vegas. The parking lot was still full; music blasted.
Ivy parked, “You saw me here; I’m good,” she said to Gregory.
“Staying,” said Gregory. Ivy gave up arguing.
Gregory would be on her like glue until they heard from Ace and Lily. He had to protect someone, and she was the only other person involved. Unless…
“Does anyone know where the hell Ace’s brother Keiran is?”
“Henry knows,” said Gregory, taking out his phone, “we’ll get someone down there.”
Ivy left Gregory to the call. She pasted on a Dirty Vegas smirk and went in. She hustled to the bar, where she put on a bar apron and then she washed her hands. The cocktail servers were getting their own drinks from the bar. Bella looked ready to drop. Ivy started grabbing bottles and pouring drinks, her hands fast and sure.
Gregory came in, and came behind the bar, washed his hands, and took the bar cart to the cooler to fill it up.
“Gods bless that man,” said Bella, popping the top off of three beers.
“Gregory,” said Ivy, “get her a fucking bike to join us.”
“Later,” said Bella, grabbing seven more bottles of beer, three in one hand, four in another. She started expertly popping the tops off of the bottles, “I’m a little busy.”
Gregory was filling the ice when both Ivy and Gregory got a text.
“Find out what it is,” said Ivy, money in one hand, two more beers in the other.
“Fuck me!” said Gregory, madly texting back.
“What the fuck?!” asked Ivy, filling rock glasses with ice, “they okay?”
“Yeah,” said Gregory, “they’ve been seen by a paramedic and are on their way back to the apartment.”
“Tell me what happened,” said Ivy, pouring Johnnie Walker Black whiskey.
“The fucking house blew up,” said Gregory.
“You’re shitting me,” said Ivy, stuffing money in the till.
“They got everybody out,” he said, “Henry’s on his way to Ace and Lily’s apartment.”
Gregory violently tore open a case of beer. They could hear the ripping sound over the frantic, driving beat of Welcome to the Jungle.
“We’ll finish up here and get over there,” said Ivy.
“Fuckin A,” said Gregory, ripping open another case.
Ivy grabbed the C-notes and the receipts, counting frant
ically and nearly hurling the money in the safe. She hauled her ass back and tended bar some more.
Gregory ejected a creep who tried to climb up and dance on a plinth with Starr. Gregory was there first, had the guy in a chokehold and dragged halfway to the door before Adam could get there. Adam opened the door for him, and the man tumbled out into the street.
He stood, gasping, “I’m gonna sue!” he said.
Adam pointed up at the camera above his head, “Go ahead. We’ve got you on camera assaulting a girl. We’ll see who wins and who ends up in jail.”
Adam hustled Gregory back in, slammed the door, and slapped Gregory on the shoulder, “Thanks for the assist, man!” he said.
“Yeah,” said Gregory. He went back to the bar, washed his hands, and finished filling the ice.
“Handy guy to have around,” said Bella.
“You have no idea,” said Ivy.
They finally got one deep at the bar, then they got caught up. They ran out of mozzarella sticks but not, thankfully, anything else. Last call for food went out at one, then the last call for drinks. The girls hustled through side work. Gregory filled the bar cart, filled up the bar, then filled the cart once again. Adam made sure the patrons made it out, and the ones that were not standing vertically, had cabs, or Uber drivers, or designated drivers. Lily made the final printout and ran to the back, frantically getting the night deposit ready.
By the time she got back out of her office, deposit bag in hand, Gregory was the only one left.
Ivy handed Gregory a C-note, “I can’t take this,” he said.
“Fuck you,” said Ivy, “you’ve got a daughter who needs surgery all the damn time. And, you’re hired. As soon as you drive the last nail at the job site, head here. You can be my bar back. Ace can’t work after that son-of-a-bitch nearly gets himself blown up.” Tears blurred her eyes as she stumbled out the door.
“Hey,” said Gregory. He rubbed her back as she locked up and set the alarm. “Ivy…”
Ivy looked at him with a soaked face.
“Let’s go check on Ace and Lily,” he said. She nodded and wiped the tears off her face.
“Let’s do this!” said Ivy, striding towards her bike.
They wove through silent streets to Ace’s place. Bella let them in, a loaded pistol in her hand, “He’s asleep,” said Numa, pointing to the main bedroom, “he’s literally wrapped himself around her, made a cage with his body.”
They had a low-voiced conversation at the breakfast bar over Henry’s chocolate and pecan pancakes, with bacon, and orange juice.
“Bannon was in Arizona for a conference. He’s there now, guarding the entrance. He runs an office for a security firm.”
“I know it,” said Gregory, “Desert Armaments and Security Services. Based in Los Angeles. They’re opening an office here.”
“Then why are you pounding nails?” asked Henry.
“Bannon’s been sniffing around but hasn’t made an offer,” said Gregory.
“Go now,” said Henry, he pulled out a phone and texted something to Gregory, “sent you the name of the school and Bannon’s number. Coordinate until Ace disentangles himself from Lily. I give it about twenty-four hours. I’ll tell the site you’re out.”
“On it,” said Gregory, finishing his pancakes and orange juice. He grabbed two more pieces of bacon and was out the door.
“There goes my temporary bar back,” said Ivy.
“Boo hoo,” said Henry, “boy needs a job, this job, and it’s a prime opportunity to get it. Put in an ad or hire a temp service.”
Ivy sighed, whipped out her cell phone, and put in an online ad on a local Vegas job board for a bar back.
“I’m gonna have twelve of them at my door,” she griped.
Henry laughed.
Then, she finished another pancake, “Cruella’s in prison, isn’t she? And Ace has custody. What can she do?”
“That bitch Daniela stole two million dollars, and blew up her own damn house,” said Numa, “she’s going to be pissed at getting caught, and pissed at losing custody of her other son.”
“But neither kid means anything to her,” said Ivy, snagging more bacon.
“They’re property,” said Numa, “her property. She’ll want to keep or kill. Or both. Woman’s a killer. Even from prison, if she uses a lawyer to give orders to do it.”
Ivy nodded, “I’ll take the couch.” She stood up and went to the sink.
“No,” said Numa, “we’re fresh. You and I will share the bedroom. Get some sleep.”
“Yes, Mom and Dad,” said Ivy. Both Numa and Henry flipped her off. She laughed and put the dish and glass in the dishwasher. She stumbled off to bed.
Ivy woke to the smell of bacon and sausage and the low hum of murmured voices beside a still-sleeping Numa. She got up, stretched, and put her clothes back on. Half the club was in the house when she stumbled to the bathroom.
Henry held the door open for her, “Get some sleep, old man,” Ivy snarked.
“Old man my ass,” said Henry, “and I got some z’s on the couch.
“Liar,” said Ivy, and shut the door in his face.
When she opened the bedroom door, Henry was standing outside of it with a cup of coffee in his hand, and a can of Coke in the other.
“Sorry,” said Ivy. He snorted and handed her the Coke. She popped the top and savored the sugary, caffeinated goodness.
Luis, a chef at a casino, was doing wonders with pecan waffles loaded with strawberries. Ivy ate them standing up at the breakfast bar. Darla, Joaquim, and Danvers had the rest of the chairs, “Where’s Ace? Still asleep?”
“He is, she isn’t,” said Henry, “we got Carol guarding the door.”
Carol was pacing back and forth in front of the door, talking steadily into her cell phone. She was a club member, a crack shot, and a criminal defense attorney, mostly helping women with drug charges to get clean and sober and retain their children.
“Carol,” said Carlos, by the door, “the Fibbies are on their way up.”
“Fuck,” said Carol, she rapped softly on the door, “Ace, come out.”
Darla wiped her fingers on a napkin, grabbed two pieces of bacon and headed towards Ace’s bedroom door, “I’ll guard her,” she said.
Darla went in, and Ace came out. Ivy had just reached him and folded him into a bear hug when Carlos opened the door for the Fibbies.
“FBI,” said one of them, holding up a badge.
“LVMPD,” said the other one, holding up her own badge.
“Hey, Hernandez,” said Ace, disentangling himself from Lily, “want some waffles?”
“I could eat,” she said, “been a long fucking night.”
“So, I’m not here,” said Guerrero.
Ace sighed, walking towards the breakfast bar, “You’re here. But if you ever try to separate me from Lily again, I won’t clean the gravel out of your hands.”
Luis cut both waffles into bite-sized pieces, “Strawberries?” he asked.
Joaquim and Danvers abandoned their chairs. Both went back into the kitchen to take care of cleaning up.
“Why the fuck not?!” said Guerrero.
Henry reached into the fridge and brought out two cans of Coke, “Bless you,” said Hernandez, “you must be Henry.”
“Am,” said Henry, as Ace helped Hernandez sit with bandaged hands, “looks painful,” he said.
“Fun times,” said Guerrero, “love getting blown up at night and running the scene half the night and doing paperwork until… what fucking time is it?”
“Eleven,” said Hernandez. She dug in with a vengeance.
Guerrero took a bite, “Ohmigod,” she said, “can we get you to work at the Bureau?”
Luis laughed, “Get paid well where I am,” he said, “maybe top of the Strip, but I get to make pies all night. Really delicious ones.”
Carol came up behind Ace. Ace told her with his eyes to stand down. She took a Coke from Henry and laid up against the wall at the entrance to
the kitchen.
Luis fed Ace, who ate as if he’d never seen the food before.
When they all came up for air, Ace asked, “When’s the arraignment?”
“It was this morning at nine at the federal courthouse,” said Bonnie, “the dragon lady got charged with the murder of her husband, and thirty-one charges of attempted murder, mostly of FBI agents, for blowing up her own house. Then destruction of property, a lot more piddly stuff. Everything has been subpoenaed, and I assume further charges are pending.”
“Who the fuck are you?” asked Guerrero.
“Carol Laughton. Attorney at law, and attorney of record for Ace Dolan, here, and Lily Vance, who is deeply asleep. The medication for her ear pain and whatever the shot was she got from the medic at the scene last night seem to have interacted.”
“She okay?” asked Hernandez, her voice genuinely concerned.
“Fine, but I suggest waiting two to three hours until she’s fully awake and has a good meal in her to talk to her,” said Carol.
Guerrero snapped out, “This is a federal investigation!”
“This is a federal invasion,” replied Carol, “is there a need for the four FBI agent’s downstairs?”
“Protection!” snapped out Guerrero, “she gets one phone call.”
“And she called my not-so-esteemed colleague Brazen Branson,” said Carol.
Brazen Branson, real name Brian Branson, was a shark attorney who dressed in expensive suits and had manicured hands. There were rumors of ties to organized crime. He often ended up in trouble with judges for his no-holds-barred style.
“Did you freeze her assets?” asked Carol, sweetly.
Guerrero said, “This is an ongoing investigation, and…”
Hernandez glared at her, “Calm down, pit bull,” she said, “or are you trying to alienate one of our witnesses?”
Both Carol and Ace barked out a laugh.
“We’re trying, or the feds are trying, but she stole money from both her husband’s company and her own. We think she used explosives from her husband’s construction business for the bomb. Used a timer.”