“I wanted to let you know I’m headed out of town.”
“You’re on vacation; you don’t have to let me know if you’re going out of town,” he grumbles, and I huff.
“No, I’m on paid suspension until the Johnson case is over with.”
“It’s just the typical mumbo jumbo while the case is filed away. You have nothing to worry about; you followed protocol.”
“I shot five people.”
“They were criminals.”
I can almost see his shrug as the words leave him. I know he’d be sitting behind his large, old oak desk, moving his shoulders like it’s whatever. I’ve worked for him for six years now; we’re used to each other.
“I’m leaving; don’t want you to think I’m pulling a runner.”
He starts chuckling. “Noted. Go have some fun Masters, you work too much.”
“Says the man in charge of my schedule,” I retort, and he laughs again.
“Safe travels and all that.”
“Later, Chief.” The UConnect beeps and turns off as he hangs up.
There’s no reason to tailgate me
when I’m doing 50 in a 35.
And those flashing lights on the
top of your car look ridiculous.
-Funny Meme
Driving another ten minutes, I make it to the small private airport out in the middle of nowhere, it seems. My father’s jet’s already waiting for me. He said nine, yet it’s 8:40. He must have sent it as soon as we hung up. He knows I’m an ass about timing too.
Perfect. I’m the type to be early everywhere I go. Fifteen minutes early to me is being on time; anything later is running late. Same way my boss thinks.
Stopping beside the stairs leading up to the plane, I’m greeted by the usual copilot.
“Good evening, Mr. Masters.”
“Hello Trey, thanks for stopping by.”
“No problem, sir. Are we taking the Jeep or parking it?”
“I’d like to bring it unless my father lined up a vehicle for me?”
“Yes, I uh, believe he has reserved you a car.”
Staring into his guilty, coffee-colored brown eyes, I ask the million-dollar question, “What kind?”
“Most likely a Lamborghini.”
“Jesus fuck, I’m supposed to blend in.”
“He may have also requested it to be black or lime green, whichever the dealership has on hand, top of the line of course.”
“I’m guessing he gave you instructions and had you line it up?”
He nods.
“Anyway, we can call them back and get a regular pickup truck or SUV?”
“No, I apologize, but he’s already purchased it.”
“I told him the last time to stop buying the damn cars; I’m fine with a rental.”
“You totaled the last Mercedes.”
“I was being chased down by Romanian thugs; I drive my Jeep just fine without wrecking it.”
“Of course. Shall I have your Jeep parked?”
“Yeah, that’ll work since I may be coming home with another car. I wish he’d stop buying me shit.”
He grins. “It could be worse. I drive a Ford Fiesta.”
“Maybe I’ll tip you with a Lamborghini then.”
“That sounds pretty fair to me.” His smile grows wide, and I hand him my keys, grabbing my duffel.
“Thanks, Trey.”
“No problem, Mr. Masters. If I may say so, you’re looking quite the part today, sir.”
Briefly, I glance down at the tailored suit. It fits me like a glove, accenting my muscles and trimmed waist. Drink Russian, shop Italian, and kiss French they say. Whoever ‘they’ is, clearly knows what they’re talking about when it comes to that.
“I’m still a cop.”
“You don’t appear it in an Armani riding on a private plane.”
“Touché,” I respond and climb the stairs.
I’m pretty sure I got a hard-on the first time I rode in this plane. It’s the quintessence of luxury. I’ve never thought of myself being materialistic in the slightest, but shit if I’m not spoiled by flying like this now. I’ll never look at another plane the same way again.
“Welcome, Mr. Masters,” the pilot greets as I enter the cabin.
“Hey.”
“Where are we headed, Houston Hobby?”
“That’ll work. Thanks.”
He nods and disappears behind a door.
The beautiful stewardess comes out of the back, greeting me with a bright smile.
“Hello, Beau! I was excited to hear we were coming to pick you up.”
“Oh yeah?” I grin at the pretty redhead.
“Yep! You’re my favorite frequent flyer.”
“Nice.”
“Where are we taking you today?”
“I need to stop in Houston.”
“This is why you’re my favorite. I’ll be able to do some serious shopping.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Winking, I take a seat on one of the rich, cherry-colored leather seats, buckling myself in until we’re in the air and I can chill on the couch.
Trey comes through the door after a few minutes. “All set. I had a car service pick up your vehicle. They’ll have it detailed and ready for pickup by the time you’re back.”
“Thanks, man.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy the flight,” he says and disappears behind the same door as the pilot.
“Are you thirsty or hungry, Beau?” The stewardess, Sue, asks, buckling in next to me for lift-off.
“I already ate, but I could go for some lemon water.”
“Would you like some mint in it as well?” she asks, genuinely wanting to make me happy.
“Yeah, I’ll try it. You got me hooked on the lemon water, so I’m up to try your other inventions,” I reply, and she giggles as the plane ascends. Another perk about flying privately, we don’t have to wait to take off and land as long as commercial flights do.
The plane touches down, and sure as shit, there’s a bright, lime green Lambo waiting for me next to where the plane stops. It’s completely obnoxious, screaming spoiled rich boy. It’s exactly what I need, even if it’s the exact opposite of who I really am.
“Your hotel and car info, sir.” Trey pops the few papers in my hand as I stand, along with the key code to one of Houston’s Elite hotel penthouses. He was busy doing more than helping the pilot it looks like. No matter how many times this happens, I’ll never get used to it.
“Thanks, man, and I mean it about the car.”
His smile is blinding at hearing me speak about giving him the Lamborghini again. I’m glad he’s excited; my father will be livid—at me and not him, so it works out for all of us.
With a quick nod to the few staff, I descend the stairs, getting off the plane and toss my overnight bag into the passenger seat of the sporty green deathtrap.
“Have fun, Beau!” the cute stewardess calls from the plane.
I send her a brief wave as I open the driver’s door and sink into the custom leather seats. Fun, huh. I’ll be lucky if I don’t wind up shot anywhere. Syncing my phone to the car, I dial my buddy. It rings once before he picks up.
“Has Hell frozen over?” He chuckles, skipping the hello.
“Mo!” I reply good-naturedly. “You missed me that much, eh?”
“I hear from you like every two years; you don’t give me much of an option.”
“Duty, man; the chief always has me busting my ass.”
“You say that every time and I’ll reply like I always do. You should quit the underpaid headache and come work privately for my family.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’d hate to put you out of a job, ‘cause you know once they see me work, they’ll put you out on your ass.”
His booming laugh flows over the speakers, causing me to chuckle as well.
“Okay, enough bullshitting, Masters; what’s really going on?”
“I was hoping you’d be home so I could stop by?”
“Here? You’re in Texas?”
“Yup, I’m headed toward the Woodlands as we speak.”
“Well shit, come on over. I’ll tell the gate to let you in. What are you driving this time?”
“Just some shitty Lambo.”
His laugh is loud again as he ribs me. “Spoiled fucking rich boy, who knew! I don’t know how you ended up in the academy in the first place.”
“Shit happens—same story, different day. You know how that is.”
“I do. All right Masters, see you in a few.”
“Later, Mo.”
With the last name Morelli and its crime association, he always had everyone call him ‘Mo,’ and it sorta stuck with me throughout the years. He knows a little bit about me, but not much. He’s aware that I was slotted for the FBI, but when I went to the UK for my father, they discovered who I was related to.
Things changed with the Federal Bureau of Investigation from that point on. I was no longer a perspective asset to the company, but more of a hired undercover informant used to bust my own mafiya-born family. Once I heard their plans, I bowed out. I’m cold, but most of my family doesn’t deserve to go down for the past generations’ sick actions. My cousins, Tate and Viktor and their families, would’ve been affected and I couldn’t do that to them.
They’ve kept my bloodline confidential, but I also know that they like to keep tabs on me. Once I went undercover with my department and started busting multiple criminals, they backed off a touch. I guess they figured out that I was the real deal when it came to law enforcement and doing the right thing. I’m not the cop you buy off or manipulate; I’m the one that’ll put you away for life or six feet under if necessary.
I’m not stupid, though. I know I have to watch my six for the rest of my life. Not only from the dickfaces I put away, but also with the justice system I serve. That’s one reason why I’m shaky about these five thugs I recently put down. You never know when the justice system or society may turn it so it looks bad, and then boom—you’re spun into an informant to save your ass from jail time. I refuse to be put on that path. I’ll hit the road before I ever let that happen to me.
The world’s so fucked up now anyhow, with the ridiculous protesting and cop killing that citizens are saying is justified. None of it’s okay. I never thought I’d see the world turn like this; makes me think about relocating to an entirely different country. Not sure my mom would go for that, though, and I damn sure wouldn’t leave her here alone with the shit storm happening.
I pass by the Woodlands until I arrive just to the north. It’s a beautiful area, and the area where Mo’s family lives is surrounded by trees and green. One thing I love about it is the seclusion. You’d never know that there’s a twenty-million-dollar mansion right in the middle of it all and down the road from the bustling city of Houston. It’s a prime location for a mob boss to have a home.
They use this house as a winter home when they’re not traveling outside the country. I can’t blame them; Chicago at that time of year is cold enough to make you want to slit your own throat.
It reminds me of Russia. Visiting is cool, but living there? Fuck no, my California ass would turn into a Popsicle.
Veering left, I stop at an enormous black iron gate. The property’s surrounded by trees, shrubs, and a massive brick privacy fence. Inside the barrier, the grounds are always kept up by various workers and there’s a team of guards on constant lookout.
With all the precautions the Morellis take to protect themselves, it tells me that Mo must think highly of me for his family to allow me into their homes. I’ve been invited to the Chicago house several times; I know the FBI would be salivating at that aspect if they found out.
It’s not every day that you find an actual peace officer that’s been born into the Russian Mafiya and has an in with the Italian Mafia as well. If the feds looked deep enough, they’d also discover that my boy, Finn O’Kassidy, is Irish mob. It seems like the more I attempt to distance myself from my roots, the more I’m surrounded by people like my own family.
Is he drunk or dodging potholes?
-Officers everywhere
“Sir?” A lanky built Italian pops his head out of a minuscule-sized tan brick building next to the call box.
“Beau Masters,” I reply, accustomed to the protocol to enter the estate.
“ID.”
I place my driver’s license in his palm and wait. He swipes it under a black light and then types the number into a small laptop. Once he’s finished, he hands it back to me and opens the gate.
“Pull straight to the main house and enjoy your visit.”
“Thanks.” I know better than to stop along the way and poke my nose in their business. I’m here for a favor, not to piss in anyone’s Cheerios.
It takes me about five minutes of following the small road through the trees to reach the ginormous mansion of an estate. It’s surrounded by dozens of bright pink bougainvilleas and deep green grass, the colors extra bright against the white exterior. What is it with rich people and the color white, anyhow?
The obnoxious green monster I’m driving stands out like a sore thumb against everything. My father claims the best way to go unnoticed is to be obscenely obvious. I don’t agree with his methods, but he’s the career criminal, not me.
Parking the green goblin, I make my way to the front door and stare. There’s a ten-foot-tall glass water feature on the porch next to a beautiful variety of flowers. Every time I’m here, I swear it’s my favorite thing about the place until I go inside and find a million other amazing things to proclaim as my top pick.
Mo opens the door wearing an expensive suit and friendly smile. “Masters! There’s your ugly mug.”
Chuckling, we do a man hug, and I step inside.
“What’s good, Mo?”
His mocha-colored irises twinkle, with his jovial mood. “Staying busy like you. I have to admit; I was surprised to hear from you. Let’s sit in the bar.”
“You want to waste your good liquor on me, I won’t complain.” Grinning, I follow him through the sitting area toward an eloquently decorated bar. “Is your grandfather around?”
“Not today, but if this is business, I may be the one you want to speak to anyhow.”
He pours vodka for me, and a Courvoisier for him then takes the seat next to mine at the round cocktail table. The bar has about a dozen small tables with two, oversized comfortable chairs at each. There’s additional seating from rich, leather-covered couches placed tastefully around the room.
“I appreciate you letting me stop by and visit.”
“As long as you leave the badge outside, you’re always welcome here or in Chicago.”
“Thank you; I appreciate the hospitality. I still wish you would’ve gone to the station with me; you would’ve made a half-assed decent partner.”
“I told you, my being in the academy wasn’t about becoming an officer. I was sent there as a punishment from my familia.”
“I know, man; you just fit in really well.”
He nods, sipping the strong amber liquid.
“Anyway, I’ve been keeping busy with a family matter.”
“Non-work related?”
“No one knows about it besides my family and some bikers that’ve been helping me out.”
“Bikers, Masters? Holy shit, have you flipped?”
“No. I still uphold the law. This has been a sort of a search and rescue thing, I guess you could call it. Years back, I received a phone call from my father. He needed me in the UK to help a woman that’d been taken. The woman’s husband’s sisters had all been stolen and sold off as well. There are three of them.”
Taking a swig, I continue. “It’s this huge underground sex-ring organization going on in Russia and other countries. They steal women and children, specific families and such, then auction them off to different countries. My cousins have found entire shipment containers full of women being transported. The conditions and treatments are sickening; the psycho
logical damage is horrendous.”
Pausing, I wait for him to be outraged, but he sits quietly like it’s no surprise.
“You…umm…you already know all this, don’t you?”
Swallowing, he nods silently, not incriminating himself. He knows I’m a cop. I wasn’t checked for a wire, and he has every right to be cautious. I do the only thing I can think of to redeem myself and his trust that he’s obviously questioning at the moment.
Remaining quiet myself, I stand and show him my palms. Then I peel off my shoes, one by one, handing them to him. He inspects each one carefully, and then I loosen my tie. I remove my jacket, unbutton my shirt and place them all on my chair. I spin in a slow circle with my arms out, so he can get a good look at me.
“Put them all inside the beer cooler,” he responds and nods toward the bar. “Pants too.”
Heading to the bar, I find the beer cooler, slide the top open, and shuck my pants off. I neatly fold my clothes and set them in a clean, clear plastic box. It’s almost like it was there for this specific reason alone.
It probably is. I’m a dumbass.
“Underwear, good?” I call.
“Let’s talk.”
Striding back over to the table, I feel almost as if I’m in trouble. I’m stuck in my underwear, inside the home of one of the leaders of the Italian Mafia. I should write a book about the crazy shit I go through. Maybe when I retire.
Plopping down in the seat, I take a large gulp of my vodka to warm me. “We good now?”
“Yep, you’ve been hitting the gym.” He nods to my torso.
“I have to man; crooks like to run,” I reply, and he snickers, finally relaxed again.
“Tell me some more about your problem.”
“Okay. So, one of those shipments that showed up, my cousin found his friend’s sister in it. This is the same man whose wife I saved. Since then, I’ve been contracted to find his family. We’re pretty sure his mother’s long been dead. We think one of his sisters has been killed, but supposedly there’s one more out there. I don’t know why his family was targeted especially, but with his wife being abducted, it shows that he’s clearly still on their radar.”
“You haven’t found her, I take it—the second sister?”
Undercover Intentions Page 2