Restricted MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 14)

by Bella Knight

  They had just received their license the day before when two girls entered their lives. But, it wasn’t through the state; it was Letitia, the drug dealer and enforcer of Las Vegas’ west side and, increasingly, the alphabet streets.

  Crips and Bloods (and their offshoots) had been killing each other for years, and Letitia and her brother Big Mike didn’t give a shit about gangs. They just wanted to sell, sell, sell. Their arrival decreased the crime in an area, and the budding entrepreneurs would go out to street corners just behind some casinos and make hefty tourist profits.

  Ace had the door open, and accepted a lot of beer, and a pink raspberry vodka the tourists liked to drink. He signed for it, and was starting to wheel the stacked lot in when a skinny kid who couldn’t have been more than twelve said, “Letitia, she needs a favah.” The kid looked cold and miserable, but he had steely eyes.

  Ace nodded as if the runners of drug enforcers were a part of his everyday life. “I’m texting someone to get this delivery inside, then we’ll see what Letitia wants. You wanna ride on the back of my Harley?”

  “Gon’ need a ca,” said the boy.

  “Can get one,” said Ace. “Change of plans. I’ll wheel this in here, and we’ll get us some fly wheels, hey?”

  “Works,” said the boy.

  Rodolfo, the Tuesday cook, came up. “You need da help, mon?” he said.

  “Yeah, this kid needs something.”

  “Baby burgers n’ cheese fries?” asked Rodolfo.

  “That be good,” nodded the boy. “An’ a Coke.”

  “Be out in ten,” said Rodolfo. “Gotta turn me on a grill, mon, little mon.” He went in.

  “I’ll put these away. Come in and sit in the kitchen.” Ace went to move the cart. “You steal any knives, I tell Letitia.”

  “No problemo,” said the kid. Ace got the kid learning how to cook, and he put the delivery away. He texted Gregory, and told him Letitia called in a favor. Gregory texted back, Sending car.

  The kid ate his food, and Ace grabbed a Coke and the gun from the safe, a Smith and Wesson .22 for his boot. He had a knife in the other boot.

  To his shock, Bannon was driving the car, one of the black “company cars.”

  “Shit,” said the boy. “You ride in style.”

  “You gotta name?” asked Ace, as he put the kid in the back and slid in next to him.

  “DaShawn,” said the kid.

  “Well, DaShawn,” said Ace. “Letitia tell you what’s-what?”

  “Naw, just that it was goin’ down on C and Owens.”

  “Letitia’s expanding into North Las Vegas,” said Ace. “Good to know.”

  “She said to tell ya she know ya territory, and don’ step on it.”

  “Good to know too,” said Ace. They dropped the boy off on Martin Luther King Boulevard and Owens, and rode up to C street. Bannon parked the car, and Ace stepped out. Bannon had a hand on a hand cannon just inside the door.

  Letitia said, “Good, you got found. Some o’ ya took some kids dat was witnesses to a little… altercation.”

  “Did,” said Ace. “They’re safe and happy with their sister.”

  “Good to know. Don’t need no trouble wif dem kids.”

  Letitia looked across at her runners. Cars would slow down, and the girls and boys, all about fourteen years old, would point here or there. The cars would drive around the block, envelopes would go out, and glassine baggies would go in the windows. Then the drivers would roll away.

  “Nice operation here,” said Ace.

  “Is,” said Letitia. “Hear yours is more on the down low.”

  “Is,” said Ace. He failed to inform her that the Nighthawks didn’t run drugs, money, or women anywhere, and that their women would kill anyone that tried to put them up for sale.

  “Hear you held off a whole damn army,” said Letitia.

  “They wanted what we had, and we don’t hand it over,” said Ace.

  “Word,” said Letitia. “You do that once, you’re ass is grass.”

  Ace nodded. Even in his leathers, it was cold, the wind off the mountains like ice. He hoped Letitia would get to the point. “What can I do you for?”

  “Got onna my girls. Real good wif da moves, ya know?” Ace nodded, not having any idea where this was going. “She gotta boyfriend, beat her real bad. He done sleepin’ wif da fishes, ya know?”

  “Good,” said Ace.

  “Well, she don’ want no kids, an’ she got two now. She hustlin’ an’ her mama is a crackhead, done up an’ died.”

  Ace remembered Gregory doing something with the Ghostie girls. “If she signs a paper, that’s it, they’re under our protection forever. Go to our schools, be ours.”

  “She sign,” said Letitia. “Last baby damn near killed ‘er. She up at Grace Memorial, onna da welfare block.” Grace Memorial was a hospital that delivered welfare babies and sewed up gangbangers, it was about two and a half blocks away.

  “We’re on it,” said Ace. “Name and room number?”

  “Runner, an’ she be in 214.”

  “Taking care of it,” said Ace.

  “Whatchu want from us?” asked Letitia.

  “A favor. Later. Don’t need anything right now. Whatever it is, won’t be your… product or money, probably be a message to someone.”

  Letitia grinned. “I’m good at messages.”

  “You are,” said Ace. He handed her the Coke from his pocket. “Be thirsty work.”

  “It be,” she said, and took the Coke. “Go on, get.”

  Ace went around to the passenger side of the car. “You’ve got an infant car seat in the trunk?”

  “And two boosters,” said Bannon. “Plus a shotgun and ammo, if it comes to that.”

  “Hope not,” said Ace.

  Bannon talked to Wraith on his headset all the way there, and took a briefcase inside. Ace led the way up the creaky elevator. The place smelled of antiseptic, blood, sweat, and vomit. Neither one of them would let their most hated enemies get treated in that sad excuse for a hospital.

  The mother was tiny, her hair in braids, her breath coming in gasps from the pain. “I’s Runner,” she said. “My little girl, Rana, she’s smart. But I ain’t got no time to be wif her. She playin’ on da floor by da money counters when I be runnin.’ Letitia’s sendin’ me to LA to a friend there, help me recover. Dis ain’t no life, and I din’ wanna be no mom. Yousef just got borned. I be all tore up. Docta say I may not make it. I be eighteen,” she said, lying with a straight face. She was, perhaps, fifteen, a very undernourished one.

  Bannon took out his briefcase. “I’ve called a notary public to make this all official. We have some good and strong people who want kids just like yours, and they made if off the street.”

  “I know ‘bout dem. Be biker women, helpin’ da girls dat wanna get off da street.” She coughed, winced. “The street, it got me. But it don’ hafta get my kids.”

  Bannon filled out her name, fake birthdate, and fake address. He put in the names of the kids. A woman came in, very buttoned down, briefcase in hand. “This woman will record your signature, make it legal.” He looked into the girl’s eyes. “You want to keep them, and get out, we can make that happen.”

  “In too deep, an’ like I said, I don’ want no kids. Prob’ly cain’t have no more anyways.” She signed, and she got one copy.

  Bannon put the other in his briefcase. “File this with the court in the morning,” he said.

  The woman nodded. “Will do.” She left with the briefcase.

  “Where’s your children?” asked Ace, gently.

  “Puck’s got ‘em in da hall,” said the teen, really a child grown up far too soon.

  “Get well,” said Ace.

  “Puck’s gonna get me to LA,” said the girl. “Then we’ll see.”

  The toddler girl was asleep in the waiting room. Puck turned out to be a skinny teen with huge eyes and baggy jeans. Ace carefully picked up the toddler, and Bannon took the baby, so tiny, so light in his
arms.

  “Gotta be just over five pounds,” said Bannon.

  “Ain’t born addicted,” said Puck.

  “We’d take them either way; anyway,” said Ace. “Let’s go.”

  They took the back stairs, and went around to the side lot. The woman was there, in front of the car. “Got the car seats in,” said the woman. “Tiny newborn there.”

  “Thank you, Daltrey,” said Bannon. “Let’s go.” They got the children strapped in without waking them up.

  At the garage, Ghost stopped her weld when Killa started jumping up and down, staring at the text on her phone. “We need baby food, and alla da baby stuff!” shouted Killa.

  “I get dat, you go home an’ meet da kid,” said Ghost. She finished the weld, then packed up.

  A Soldier Pack woman named Rio rushed into the shop as they finished putting things away. “Bannon’s people are picking up the baby things, crib and all. I’ll finish this bike with Danzig.”

  Ghost pointed at the wall. “First bike’s up there,” she said, pointing to the photographs. “We need ten, so get more of ya’ll. De owners gonna come down onna ride, so jus’ make ‘em and stack ‘em. Givin’ ya’ll a big cut, ya do it perfect.”

  “Perfect it is,” said Rio. “Now, get the fuck home.”

  They rode home as if on a cloud. They laughed as they got off their bikes, stowed their helmets, and went inside, giddy with excitement. They went up the elevator, and went in. They both paced until Bannon and Ace knocked on the door.

  “Special delivery,” said Ace, his voice quiet. Bannon carried the little girl, and Ace cradled the newborn in his arms. Yousef looked tiny in Ace’s huge hands. “This is Yousef,” said Ace, and put him in Ghost’s arms. “He was born not long ago, and he’s underweight. Bannon’s got Rana. She’s about eighteen months.” Rana had on a tiny pink dress and leggings. “They’re both undernourished.”

  Bannon gave Ghost the little girl. “Let them sleep, and feed them every few hours.”

  “We be doin’ it,” said Ghost.

  “I’ll get their birth certificates,” said Bannon. “The mother signed over custody.”

  “She’ll be street, and prob’ly woulda walked outta any hospital ‘fore she got any damn certificate,” said Ghost, sizing up the situation.

  “Probably, but I’ll try,” said Bannon.

  “You’re gonna wake up hungry,” said Killa, to the baby. “Let’s get ya a bottle ready.” She grinned. “An’ we got juice for Rana there.”

  “Will have paperwork for you really soon,” said Bannon. “A car will come with everything you need.”

  “Pay you back,” said Ghost.

  “Pay it forward,” said Bannon. “Your work with the Ghosties to get girls off the streets is amazing.”

  “You need anything, you call,” said Ace. “Henry and David will be by to sing over the babies.”

  “Ya’ll go on,” said Ghost, tears running down her cheeks. “We got this.”

  “Yes, you do,” said Bannon. And then, they were gone.

  They put both the cribs in their bedroom, and took turns waking up and feeding the babies. Yousef woke up and spit up, and Ghost changed his clothes and sang to him. Neither child slept for more than a few hours, but fell back asleep quickly. “I be worried,” said Ghost. “They not be movin’ much, their cries be reedy.”

  “They’s not had ‘nough food,” said Killa. “We keep feedin’ ‘em, be okay.”

  Bannon showed up with the birth certificate and hospital records, which showed that the baby had all his tests, and was healthy, but of low birth rate. Both women kept the babies next to their skin, and put a blanket over both.

  It was nearly a week until they shook off their listlessness and began to look around them. The constant feeding made their cheeks puff out, and made them look like normal children. The first time Rana laughed, both women cried with joy.

  “We gonna make it,” said Ghost.

  “O’ course we are,” said Killa. “We be Nighthawks, and these be Nighthawks babies.”

  Reconciliation

  Saber took the bus back to Vegas. His jacket now sported the scoring, courtesy of a bullet shot at Saber by a gunrunner named Pete (Billy Ray Barston’s little brother). Pete was an asshole, a douche bag, and a cheat. He was also a link on a very long chain of people selling illegally modified weapons and the parts to make bombs to the people Homeland Security tended to ignore, domestic terrorists. People who liked to blow up government buildings with daycare facilities, a Social Security office with the elderly within, waiting to fix problems with their checks, or an immigration office where new Americans took their oaths. So, Saber blessed the day Wraith gave him his lightweight jacket with an ultrathin bulletproof lining.

  Saber was under his Nguyen Tran identity, a long-haired man with a small mustache and an extremely laid back attitude, a gunrunner, bomber, and generally insane person with a somewhat low IQ, similar to the people he arrested. The raid had taken place at dusk; right after Saber had brought inoperable bomb parts and sold them to Pete and Billy Ray Barston. Pete had taken a shot with a gun in an ankle holster at another DEA agent, and hit Saber instead, making Saber furious. He hadn’t had to act much as he was cuffed, screaming a mix of English and Thai expletives at Pete, pretending the bullet had skated by, not actually hitting his jacket.

  Special Agent Ruben Quillan had taken the screaming, shouting Saber in a separate car, and had driven him to a truck stop out in the middle of nowhere. Saber did his usual sign-and-record, with his report both in writing and on video, and two agents there to witness his signature. Saber shaved at the truck stop’s restroom, then ate a ham steak, biscuits with honey, and drank a cup of coffee and half a carafe of orange juice. Ruben came back from making his telephonic and email reports with his temporary partner Drew Barnes, and they shook hands with Saber. Saber paid, and they dropped him off on a back road that just happened to have a Greyhound bus stop on it. He got on, and took the bus to San Antonio, then a plane home.

  Saber arrived home at three in the damn morning. Asia was very happy to see him. Rimmel didn’t bother. Rimmel had his human, Sondra, and Saber wasn’t even a blip on his doggy radar, except for bacon. Then, he loved Saber with extreme doggy love. Saber showered, washing Texas dust and heat off his body. He dressed in underwear and shorts, and slipped into the bedroom.

  Roxie the cat slept in Sigrun’s hair, and occasionally woke up and listlessly played with a beaded braid before falling asleep. Wraith had an arm over Sigrun, but was half-turned away in sleep. Saber slipped under the sheet, and put an arm over Wraith, and touched Sigrun’s side with his fingers. Both women sighed, and went deeper into sleep.

  He awoke with Sigrun on top of him. She nibbled his ear, pulled down his underwear and shorts, and slid a condom on him. She slid herself on him, tensed, and laughed as he groaned into her mouth. She tightened further, and ran a fast rhythm. She came twice, and he came in a rush. She kissed him, slid off, cleaned him up, slid his underwear and shorts back on, and went for her shower.

  “I feel so used,” said Saber.

  Wraith laughed, and then kissed him, slow and soft. “Sigrun does the same thing to me.” She kissed him. “I’ve got to shower with her. Big day.” She kissed him again, and he slid back into sleep.

  It didn’t last long. Warren woke him up, ready to eat breakfast. He chopped veggies, slid a little sausage into a wok, threw in the veggies, cracked in a few eggs, added rice noodles that had soaked in water, peanuts, and a little lime juice, and in minutes he had breakfast plated. He added some diced mango to the plate, and put the dishes out on the table. He poured chocolate soy milk, and the kids drank up. He fed and watered the dogs, and got the kids into Henry’s van. He came back and did the same breakfast for himself and his wives, and they laughed as he nearly slept in his food.

  “What’s such a big day?” asked Saber.

  Wraith laughed. “The usual. VIPs, a crazed stalker after one of our young chanteuses, and an actua
l Saudi princess coming by to ink a deal.”

  Sigrun nodded. “I’ve got six 3D printed hands to send off this morning alone, a mural to finish, and a lot of studying for my dermatology class. Human skin’s the largest organ of the body, and they’ve made great strides in artificial skin. If I can learn to properly print the stuff, it would make our clients super-happy.”

  “And we all love super-happy clients,” said Wraith.

  “Go to bed, love,” said Sigrun. She stood, and collected the plates. “I’ll clean up.”

  “Bless you,” said Saber. He stood, kissed Sigrun and Wraith, and stumbled back to bed. He vaguely wondered who would walk the dogs, but then sleep claimed him.

  He awoke around one, and made himself get up, make the bed, shower, walk the dogs again, and prep dinner; he cut the vegetables, and soaked the chicken strips in a tandoori sauce. He put the food in containers and put the containers in the refrigerator.

  He decided to go work out with Skuld, but then decided to put it off. He still felt like he had road dust in his throat. He drank a soda, vacuumed, dusted, did a few loads of laundry, then prepared a snack for the kids. They came in, loud, arguing about the existence of aliens, and why we haven’t met any yet. Saber smiled, handed out the fruit and nuts, and Saber explained the Fermi paradox theorizing why humans hadn’t found aliens yet, even though there must be millions of stars with even more millions of planets.

  “Why don’t you do a joint project on the Fermi paradox for school?” asked Saber.

  “Dad,” said Warren. “Henry drops me off, but we don’t go to the same school.”

  “And this holds you back… how?” asked Saber. “Can you do this project with other kids at your school if you don’t want to work with your sisters?”

  “Dual project. We’ll find out which is the best,” said Sondra. She high-fived Dina.

  “No competition, cooperation,” said Saber. “That’s how the real world works.”