Restricted MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 14)

by Bella Knight

  And that was what today’s business meeting was about. Emilio needed more schools and clinics, more businesses that could employ at least five workers each, something other than pool halls and brothels, and liquor stores.

  “Just like South Central Los Angeles, and the vodka in Moscow, the rum is killing us,” said Emilio. “I will change all that.”

  Bannon chatted with Emilio on the short drive from the private airport to High Desert about all the businesses of the Wolfpack and Soldier Packs. “Meu deus,” said Emilio. “My god, this is exactly like what we have been looking for. Goat cheese? And straps and carriers for dogs? And providing fresh lunches for the people? And glass beads?” He typed on his cell phone as fast as his thumbs would go. “Feathers! And glass beads!” he said. “For the costumes. My factories have fans, even air conditioning. No more making costumes for Carnival in tiny, broiling rooms! And the floats! We can make panels for them!”

  Bannon got the overjoyed Emilio out of the SUV and up to the offices. Brazilian expats and import/export people were ready to do business, along with representatives from several educational and medical nonprofits and their translators, in Conference Room C. Bannon made sure their A/V person, Sergeant Danvers, had all their computers running, and that the water, fruit juice, coffee, and cut-up fruits and pastries would keep going in and the empties back out. He excused himself, but Emilio didn’t notice. The billionaire was running down the home kilns and materials needed for glass beads with an import/export businesswoman named Edite Gomes who had a deer-in-the-headlights look. Her assistant Paolo was taking copious notes.

  He went down the hall to his office in the VIP location, where he answered emails that had to be sent to him. Requests for data, firming up plans, narrowing focus, and getting clients to agree to things that would actually keep them safe. Ridiculous requests like taking them to VIP parties and dancing onstage weren’t part of the plan. They could party down all they wanted to, but if they did, they needed to throw their own private parties where Bannon could control entrance and egress. He hired a very discreet firm that did VIP parties for the major hotels and bars, where people could mingle and say they’d seen somebody without the paparazzi getting in. It cost a mint to do things his way, but the killing of a young rocker at a signing event caused quite a few people to see things his way. Those that didn’t either weren’t clients and didn’t become clients, or used his firm to beef up their own security.

  Emilio Morais was a case in point. He had wanted to take everyone to a Brazilian steakhouse to celebrate, but Bannon knew a lot of people were gunning for him —gangs, a few crooked cops, people who did not like members of the favelas getting health care and jobs. The poor of the favelas might get uppity and learn to vote, and vote differently than the crooked politicians so desired. Emilio had several very straight and sober council members loving him, but they were small in number. It took Bannon pointing out that one: the food could be cooked right in their own kitchen, skewers and all, and two: that the reforms Emilio Morais was working so hard to push through would go nowhere if he were dead. So, Bannon’s people supervised the chef and wait staff, made sure no one put arsenic in the lunch, and prepared for his next meet.

  Yi Trang was also young, bright, and idealistic. He wanted to bring clean power to a joint Chinese-Thai project. The Chinese loved the idea of less pollution, and also liked the advanced technologies developed by Thai engineers. So, Wu Lin and Zhou Mei sat down with Yi Trang at the 3D projection table and hashed things out over tea and tiny delicacies.

  Bannon went to leave them to their discussions, when Yi Trang said, “What is that delicious smell?”

  “Brazilian food, specifically meat, rice, beans, and corn squares called polenta,” said Bannon.

  “May we have this for lunch instead of Chinese dishes?”

  “Of course,” said Bannon, with a bow.

  He’d told the Chinese chef about the delicacies only, knowing that no one could resist Brazilian barbecue. So, the two high-powered groups ate lunch in shifts, and the Brazilian chef, his sous chefs, and the cooks were run ragged. The chef was delighted to have worked for two high-powered groups, and even went into the Chinese/Thai room to explain the dishes in more detail. No one in the room was a vegetarian, so it went well.

  Business concluded after lunch, so the various groups were driven to the airport. The chef received a ridiculous amount of money, and everyone went home from lunch more-than-happy.

  Everyone went home except for Bannon. He went to the main office, and moved from room to room. He pushed along contract negotiations, calmed nervous clients, and handed out drumsticks to a bored rocker for him to use to tap out time on his legs. He soothed bankers and helped numerous handlers feel as if things were handled. He handed out endless bottles of flavored water, and indulged a young diva with a pack of peanut butter M&Ms. He kept his voice calm and defused the situation when two angry brothers who were trying to protect a company from a freeloading third brother almost came to blows, and handed tissues to an heiress whose husband had stolen her cars, the contents of seven accounts, and her pride.

  The lovely grilled-meat lunch with polenta and salad became a distant memory as Bannon got clients to sign on the bottom line. He removed some of their more ridiculous demands, found a missing diamond earring a partner in a firm dropped in order to leer at Thandie’s ass, and got said partner and his counterpart out with a signature and a note from Bannon to keep all the female agents off the job.

  Bannon ate a quick meal of a BLT with fries and a Coke at his desk, as Wraith and Ruden outlined the financial shenanigans of a young woman trying to keep a side business secret from her billionaire husband. The business was a partnership between the heiress and the Dominican maid to assist domestic employees at learning English, getting their green cards, and running their own businesses. The woman had done nothing illegal, and the billionaire realized that his wife was on to something. He gave her the seed money to start her agency, delighted she’d neither cheated on him nor stolen his money.

  He finished well after nine. Thandie said, over his earpiece, “Get out.”

  He grinned, and turned off his laptop. “Is that any way to treat your boss?” He put the last of the papers in his under-floor safe, and stepped into the hallway. Swing had fewer members in-office, but they had people coming and going at nearly all hours. He waved to his people. “How many signings?” Bannon asked Thandie.

  “Twelve,” said Thandie.

  “In one day,” said Bannon. “And only in the afternoon and a few after dinner.”

  “Your record’s fourteen,” said Thandie. He took the elevator down to the car.

  Pomp was leaning against the car. “Where to, boss?”

  “MacNulty’s,” said Bannon, naming a popular sports bar owned by an ex-cop named Vincent DePaul Jones, one of the Iron Knights.

  “The usual?” asked Pomp.

  “Absolutely,” said Bannon.

  Pomp called ahead so their order was ready when they were shown to their table, and shared his jalapeno poppers, cheese sticks, and chicken fingers with Pomp. He had a near beer, and watched the end of a basketball game as he ate.

  He checked in with Jones, a huge African-Polynesian who took up a great deal of the bar with his bulk. “Hey,” he said, and shook hands. “Pocero good?”

  “Coming back on time, tomorrow,” said Jones. “He’s talking about retiring in five years, and coming in as a partner.”

  “Excellent,” said Bannon. “Give him my best.”

  Sergeant Ramon Juvia and Officer Rosario Gabriella Inez Ricino asked if the firm needed off-duty officers for anything.

  “You learn Evade, and go through Skuld’s kill-you training, you can do some things, pickups, dropoffs mostly, nothing insane.”

  “We can’t afford that shit, Bannon,” said Juvia.

  “I’ll pay,” said Bannon. “But you’ve gotta pass.” Juvia and Ricino high-fived one another.

  Bannon continued sliding out t
he door when ADA Micheala Bryson stepped in. She was African-American and Asian, with a flat nose, expressive eyes, and blue-black hair that she kept in a tight braid. She had brown eyes like daggers when she was angry, that could go to dancing humor or incisive narrow-eyed intelligence at a moment’s notice.

  “You’re late,” she said, holding the door open for him.

  Bannon stepped out, Pomp right behind him. Pomp went over and opened the back door. “Sorry,” he said, gesturing for Pomp to get in and start the car. He slid in beside her, shut the door. “Had some cops looking for extra work.” He explained the situation as Pomp pulled out.

  “So you paid for their courses,” said Michaela. “Typical.”

  “Hey, San Francisco,” said Bannon. “Both of them have families who need them to make more money to keep them solvent.”

  “Things are tough. It’s why I ended up here.” Michaela had been exhausted from trying to pay for a third of a brownstone on her salary. Now though, she could afford a nice condo in Bannon’s very secure neighborhood.

  “They are,” said Bannon. Pomp pulled in, and he let Michaela out. Pomp watched as Bannon opened the front door. “Chivas there,” he said, pointing to the bar. “Pepper, let’s go.”

  He took off his coat, and took the leash Pepper brought. He hooked it to her harness, and they went for a leisurely walk. He made it back and found two fingers of Johnny Walker Blue in a glass. He kicked off his shoes, and sat down next to Michaela.

  “Long day for both of us,” she said.

  “Twelve contracts,” said Bannon. “And Gregory had God only knows how many himself.”

  “Nine,” said Thandie in his ear. He tapped the earpiece to turn it off. She could turn it back on if she wanted to speak to him. Later.

  “You need two clones, not just one,” said Michaela. She had her shoes off and had removed her panty hose. He rubbed her feet, and she groaned. “You have forever to stop that,” she said.

  “I take it your day was unpleasant.” She didn’t normally drink much. Her wide face actually looked pinched and a little ashen.

  “Family of four. Three dead, car accident. The thirteen-year-old daughter did it. Screwed with the car’s electronics. Killed her parents and younger brother.”

  “Abuse? Neglect? Unable to go to a party with her friends?” asked Bannon, sipping his drink in one hand, digging into the arch of her left foot with the other.

  “Father had life insurance worth over a million dollars, and so did the mother. Turns out she had an older boyfriend, who told her they could go away together with the money. She had a crisis of conscience, and they’re both cooling their heels in jail tonight.” Michaela groaned as he started on the other foot.

  “Sounds heinous,” said Bannon. “Mine, not so heinous, the opposite, in fact. Got to indirectly be a party to do-gooders trying to help the poor.” He grinned. “And eat Brazilian barbecue.”

  “Bastard,” said Michaela. “Mine was a salad drenched in French dressing. I hate French dressing. They screw up my order every damn time, but it’s closest to the office.”

  “Got my chef’s number,” said Bannon.

  “Bless you,” said Michaela.

  He held her for a while, then helped her to stand up. He turned her around, unzipped her black dress with gold flecks, and laid it carefully over a chair, along with her slip, bra, and panties. She undressed him too, and knew just where to put the cufflinks and tie. She put the dress shirt in the hamper to be dry-cleaned, and helped him out of his pants, underwear, and socks.

  Bannon pulled the thick coverlet off the back of the couch, and lay it down. He then laid her down, and stroked her hair. She melted into his arms, then flipped him over. He kept touching her face, her eyes, and slid a finger down her nose.

  “I usually don’t date guys like you,” said Michaela, as she kissed him, mouth, nose, and each cheek.

  “Like me?” asked Bannon.

  “Blue-eyed former warriors trying to rise above,” she said. “I’ve never met such a hard man who was also an idealist.”

  He laughed, caught her lip in his teeth, let her go. “Idealist?” He ran his fingers down her spine, cupped her buttocks in his hands. “I guess I am. At least, I don’t think I get to build the reputation of my company and climb in the muck as well.”

  “No muck for you,” said Michaela. She reached up, and grabbed a condom out of the pocket of her dress. She tore open the packet, and slid it on him. “I enjoyed going to court today, and reaching my hand in my pocket. I thought about just this moment, when you would be wearing it.”

  “Oh god,” he said.

  She rose up, and slid down over him. “Good,” she said. “You’re ready for me.”

  She began to move, her nails digging into his shoulders. She kept it slow, and deep. He found himself losing himself in her eyes, and so he caressed her face with one hand while holding her against him with the other. She came once, twice, head back, eyes rolling up. She came right as he did, and fell over him, gasping. He fumbled for and found the packet of wet wipes he’d hidden in the folds of the heavy blanket. He cleaned them both up, and threw the mess in the trash can. He lay next to her, as they were both gasping for breath. She lay on his shoulder, and he ran his hand up and down her spine.

  “Where are we going with this?” asked Michaela.

  “Wherever you want,” said Bannon. “As long as you love my dog, here is where you belong.” He kissed her nose. “And, this thing we have is only a few weeks old.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “That super-secret office you have is amazing.” She had helped to ink the deal that helped the US Marshals get a techie into Witness Protection when he discovered a plot to disable American electronic devices. She’d seen the office, and had discreetly slipped him her card afterward.

  “You were a big shot in San Francisco,” said Bannon. “I’ve seen the research.”

  “Research?” asked Michaela.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t check me out as well. You have cop friends.”

  “More like cop acquaintances at this time. But, yeah. So, we checked each other out.”

  “Impressive,” he said. “I was impressed.”

  “So that’s why you called to take me out for a drink. You were impressed.”

  “In more ways than one,” said Bannon. “Were you impressed?”

  “Military police, highly intelligent, went into NCIS, now running a private firm,” said Michaela. “Not a normal track for people.”

  “No,” said Bannon. “I like my life.” He reached over, snagged the glass with the last of the Johnnie Walker Blue, and shared it with her. “Saw things. A lot of things. This way, less things to see.”

  “I see the things,” agreed Michaela. “The things no one wants to see. I then put it in a courtroom for everybody to see. But, I see my main job is to keep it out of the courtroom, save the taxpayers some money. Keep family, and/or friends from having to see the things and testify about them in open court.”

  “Good,” said Bannon. “Someone’s got to stop the things from happening again.”

  She sighed, reached down. His eyes widened. “Something’s happening again,” she said. He laughed, and felt around in the folds of the blanket for another condom.

  She slipped out afterward, and Bannon made it up to the shower. Pepper was on her bed at the end of his bed. He showered, put on underwear, and fell into bed. He felt old, ancient. His joints ached. He’d feel like hell and be downing energy drinks in the morning. But, Michaela was worth it.

  She was always worth it.

  “Love is patient, and kind, but sometimes exhausted.”

  4

  Lost and Found

  “Sometimes you find love, even when you’re not looking for it.”

  Saber sat on the floor with Warren. The boy was attempting to build a big… thing. Out of 3D printed parts. The parts were plastic, so Saber had to be sure he didn’t break them. He had no effects from the drugging, unless you counted odd aura
s about things, floaters behind his eyes, and sounds that had colors. The color of Wraith’s voice was the deepest chocolate combined with a touch of deep red cherry. Sigrun’s voice looked like a yellow burst of sunshine, silver on the edges. Warren’s was a deep, reassuring blue. Dina’s was a soft purple-gray, and Sondra a nut brown, like walnuts. Roxie the gray cat’s cry looked just like her, a deep gray-blue. Rimmel’s bark was an earthy brown. Asia’s soft woof was a soft, reassuring red. The synesthesia terrified him at first, but it seemed to be a mental thing, not something that interfered with his vision.

  He did the things he was supposed to. He worked out, and got his bloodwork done to make sure all the drugs were out of his system, filled out mounds of catch-up paperwork, did some little jobs here and there, pretending to be some agent’s buyer, seller, dealer, pimp, boyfriend. He did surveillance in a van. This kept his hand in while he figured things out.

  Just like Warren’s project, he left Kat helping the girls with their schoolwork, went to the garage, dumped out a plastic box with dividers inside that only held a few nuts and bolts, and wiped it out with a cloth. He brought it in, and handed it to Warren. It was as if he’d handed over the keys to a Tesla.

  The boy vibrated all over, and then he put his hands around Saber’s neck and hugged. “Thanks, Dad,” he said, in his solid blue voice.

  Saber remembered not to cry. Warren wanted joy and reassurance. So, he battened down the tears in his eyes, and hugged Warren. “Whatever you need, buddy.”

  “Dad,” said Warren. “We’re not on an episode of Gilligan’s Island. You can’t call me little buddy.”

  Saber roared with laughter. “True,” he said. “Where on earth…”

  “Cable television,” said Kat, her voice a kind of bright yellow that was streaked with white and crimson. Saber nodded.

  “Dad, board game night?” asked Dina.

  Saber nodded. “Yes, got ‘em all. Uno, Monopoly, Splendor, Risk, Trouble.”

  Warren let out a gusty sigh. “More like bored game.”