“She’s a preacher’s daughter. You know what they say about them.” Hap wagged his eyebrows. “She’d do anything just to spite her father.”
“I know a little about that,” Reggie said with a laugh.
Hap gave her a curious look. “Is your dad a preacher?”
“Detective.”
“Never would have guessed it,” Hap replied. “You seem pretty normal, considering you’ve gone through what was undoubtedly a strict upbringing. By the book, wasn’t he?”
“He wasn’t too bad.”
“Did he lull you to sleep with gruesome stories about his homicide scenes?”
“He doesn’t work homicide. His specialty is organized crime.”
Hap laughed out loud. “Didn’t know we had a problem with the Italian mob in San Diego.”
“I don’t think we do,” Reggie admitted. “His focus is gangs, criminal enterprises, and things like that.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“What was your profession?” she asked.
“United States Marine,” Hap said proudly. “Thirty years. After that, I trained cops in hand-to-hand combat. Then, I retired for real.”
“That’s admirable.” She turned to face Braxton. “What about you?”
“Same thing,” he replied. “I retired from the Marine Corps.”
“What do you do now? You’re too young to be retired.”
“Solve problems,” he said dryly.
“You solve problems?”
“Amongst other things.”
“What kind of problems?”
Braxton leaned forward and studied her. After peering into her soul for a long moment, he relaxed into his seat and sighed. “If those who can afford my services do something, and they don’t want it being brought to light, I do what I can to make sure it stays out of the news, newspapers, and off social media. In short, I make problems disappear.”
“For the rich and famous?” she asked excitedly.
He nodded once. “Correct.”
“Like Ray Donovan?” she blurted.
“Correct.”
“Holy cow,” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. That’s…it’s…that’s the best job. Ever. Except for the well…yeah…never mind.”
“Who’s Ray Donovan?” I asked.
She spun around so fast it took her eyes two seconds to catch up with her. “Who’s Ray Donovan?” She looked at Braxton and then at me. “Who’s Ray Donovan? Only the best character ever written for a movie or TV show. Ever. You haven’t seen him?”
“I don’t watch television,” I said. “Not really. Jeopardy! that’s about it.”
“You have to watch Ray Donovan,” she said. “It’s the best show, ever.”
“Damned good show,” Hap said.
I glanced at Hap. “You’ve seen it.”
“All of ‘em,” he said. “Waiting on the new season. Ray’s in New York now. Season one started with him in Calabasas. You know, where those Kardashian twits live. Can’t believe Ray lived in the same town as those self-centered bitches.”
Reggie laughed. “You don’t like the Kardashians?”
“Can’t stand ‘em. Killed two of ‘em a couple of weeks ago. If I remember correctly, ran over them with a pickup truck.”
“Gangbanger hit them in a ’64 Impala,” Braxton said. “Dragged their bodies away with his lowrider. Plastered purses, jewelry, high heels and sweatpants from here to Encino.”
“That’s right,” Hap said. “Mexican gangbanger.”
“You guys are nuts,” she said with a laugh. She looked at each of us. “So this is your Sunday thing?”
“Every Sunday,” Hap said.
“I could get used to this,” she said. “It’s fun.”
“Heads up!” Hap tossed his empty beer bottle past me.
Reggie leaned back as it whooshed past her.
Braxton caught it mid-flight and set it aside. “I’m not throwing a full one.”
Hap walked to the door and paused. “Not asking you to.” He looked at Reggie. “You like those Kardashians sisters?”
“Not at all,” she said.
Hap grinned. “In that case, you’re welcome to come back any time you like, sweetheart.” He looked at me. “Be back in a minute, Kid. Gotta hit the head.”
It was important to me that my family by choice accepted Reggie just as she was. She held nothing back, and both men accepted her with open arms. The only thing standing between us and a long-lasting future together was the MC, and the men in it.
That was one obstacle I was sure to struggle with more than anything else.
229
Reggie
“Oh.” I lifted my head from the pillow. “I remember what it was I was thinking about earlier.”
“What?” he muttered.
“Ray Donovan,” I said. “That guy is so awesome. So, there will be some professional basketball player, and he’ll wake up with a dead whore in his bed, and Ray will drag the body to a bridge, pump it full of heroin, and toss it into the river. Then, he cleans up the original crime scene, erases all the security footage, and makes the whore in the river look like the crime scene, so nobody finds out about the girl really dying in the hotel. All for a cool five hundred grand, or whatever. The basketball player walks free, and no one is the wiser about the whore really dying in the hotel—they think she really jumped of the bridge. Ray sets people up on crimes, kills people, beats people up, and even rigs elections, all for money. Big money. It’s an awesome show.”
“Uhhm.”
“Uhhm, what?” I tilted my head to the side and gave him a look. “It’s an awesome show. You don’t want to watch it?”
“I didn’t.” He opened his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to listen and focus at the same time.”
“What are you focusing on?”
He glanced at his crotch. “Did you forget what you’re doing?”
Naturally, my eyes followed his. My hand was wrapped around his half flaccid cock.
The past week had been a blur of late-night sexual acts. Going from not-so-interesting dick (every now and again) to dick I absolutely loved (on a nightly basis) had left my nether region aching. As a compromise, we agreed to forgo the sex for one night and perform orally on one another.
Still on cloud nine from Tito’s performance, I’d managed to completely forget about my commitment. I offered him a one-shouldered apologetic shrug with my free arm. “Sorry.”
I pulled my hair into a quick ponytail. “Give me just a minute, I’ll make it up to you.”
He began to harden in my hand. Eager to please him as much as he pleased me, I resituated myself into a comfortable position.
The sound of someone pounded on the door caused me to nearly jump from my skin. I released his dick and gasped. “Oh. My God.”
He shot up in bed. “Who the fuck is that?”
“I dunno.” I stared through my half-open bedroom door and into the dark living room. “Didn’t sound good, though.”
“Sounded like a cop-knock.”
I tensed as the person’s fist came crashing against the door once again.
Bang! Bang!
Bang!
Tito stepped off the edge of the bed and pulled on his jeans. “Who are the possibilities?”
“Uhhm. Jared. Dad. Mel.” My mind raced. “The cops, I guess.”
He glanced at me. “Expecting the cops for any reason?”
“No.”
“Be back in a sec,” he said over his shoulder.
Nothing good ever came out of a post-midnight pounding of a person’s front door. Petrified, I scanned my mind for possibilities of who it could be. After coming up with nothing, I tip-toed to the bedroom door and peered into the living room. As Tito unlocked the front door, the knock came again. This time, my name was attached to it.
Bang!
Bang! Bang!
“Reggie!” M
el screamed. “It’s me! Open up. It’s an emergency!”
Relief washed over me. I flipped on the bedroom light. “It’s Mel!”
At the same instant, a shirtless Tito pulled open the door.
Mel shot past him, not giving him so much as a second look. She was covered in filth, and her hair was a disastrous mess. “Where are you?” she sputtered. Her eyes darted in every direction. “Reggie! Where are—”
“I’m right here.” Shocked at her appearance—and actions—I stared at her in disbelief. “What’s going on?”
Her hands were shaking. “We need to talk.”
I took a step in her direction. “Mel. What’s going—”
“Can we…” She darted toward my bedroom. “Talk in private?”
Worried about whatever was troubling her, I gave Tito an apologetic look. “Be right back,” I whispered.
Tito nodded and then closed the front door. Filled with nervous curiosity, I turned to the bedroom. With bare feet that were just as filthy as her hands, Mel stood just inside the door, shaking.
“What’s going on?” I asked, looking her over. “You’re filthy, and it’s like…” I glanced at the clock. “After midnight on a Tuesday—”
“I hit him,” she muttered. “Hard.”
She was currently screwing a hot-tempered Italian bad boy she met online. It was only a matter of time before he did something that would require my father’s intervention.
“Who?” I asked. “Franky?”
Seeming disoriented with her surroundings, she wrung her hands together. “No.”
I’d seen Mel in a lot of bad situations, but I’d never seen her rattled. Not like she was, at least.
“Who?” I asked.
“I can’t remember.” She looked at her hands as if she’d never seen them before. “Some guy.”
She wasn’t simply shaken by whatever had happened to her. She was delirious.
“Some random guy?” I asked, taking a step in her direction.
Now wringing her hands frantically, she quickly stepped away from me. “I stopped…we had a few drinks. He said let’s go to your house, mine is too far away.” She looked up. “I think I killed him.”
“Killed him?!” I gasped. “Like? Dead?”
She swallowed hard. “Maybe.”
My heart raced. “What the fuck, Mel?”
“He came home with me. I was uhhm. We were…I was in the kitchen,” she stammered. “You know how I get when I’m drunk…I…I was uhhm. Grilled cheese. I felt this…” She raised her hands to her throat. “He had a knife. He pushed it...he said he was going to…” Her lip began to quiver. “I smacked him with the…I hit him in the face…With the skillet. Hard. Like…A bunch. There’s blood everywhere, Reg. Lots of blood.”
Mel’s internet dating had produced other-than-favorable men, and her dates—if you could call them that—were typically disastrous. I feared that one day something bad would happen.
That day had arrived.
My stomach convulsed. I swallowed repeatedly against the bile that rose in my throat. “Is he really dead?”
She raised her hands to her face. “I’m not sure.”
I realized the filth that covered her was blood. I reached for her arm, but she pulled away.
“I don’t…maybe.” She took a step away and crossed her arms. “I don’t know.”
“Wait right here,” I said in a comforting tone. “I’ll be right back.”
I scanned the living room. Illuminated by nothing more than the moonlight, Tito was sitting at the breakfast table. He looked in my direction.
“We’ve got a...” I cleared my throat. “We have an issue.”
“Internet dating has it’s downsides,” he said in a dismissive tone. “That’s for sure.”
I’d told him a few funny—and not so funny—stories about Mel’s botched dates. I forced a sigh. “There’s a guy in her house that might be dead,” I blurted. “It sounds like…I think it was an accident.”
“Shit.” He stood. “Who knows about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he drive there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Apartment complex, or house?”
“Huh?”
“Does she live in an apartment complex or a house?”
“House.”
Seemingly unaffected by the potential presence of a dead man, Tito’s questions continued to come as if they were rehearsed.
“Residential district?” he asked.
“What?”
“Are there any commercial businesses near? Restaurants? Bars? Things like that?”
“No, she lives in the ghetto in El Cajon. Why?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call. While I stood nervously in wait, he began to pace the floor. After a few seconds he turned away and cleared his throat.
“I’ve got a trip in mind,” he whispered. “Remember Bakersfield? Yeah. You up for another one like that? No. A friend of a friend. Sounds good. Hate to ask, but can you bring the red one? Yeah, bring her. You can pick me up at home. Thanks, Brother.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The code words and nonchalant attitude toward the situation made me feel uneasy. “Not the first time this has happened, is it?”
“I’ll need her address and her house keys.” He put the phone in his pocket. “And, as much information as you can about what happened—”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll be taking my bike home. Someone’s picking me up there.”
“Braxton?” I asked.
“No.” He stepped in front of me. “Someone else.”
“What are you…” I muttered. “How will you—”
He touched my shoulder. “I’ll tell you as much as you think you want to hear, Reggie. But. It’s best if you know nothing.”
I wondered who was picking him up but knew not to ask. I swallowed against the bile that wouldn’t go away. “What if…what if the guy…if he’s…you know?”
He kissed me. “I need to talk to Mel for a minute and go, Reg. Everything will be just fine.”
“Okay.”
He kissed me again five minutes later, on the way out the door.
As the sound of his motorcycle faded into the distance, I realized the man who was on his way to clean up the mess was my father’s archrival.
His nemesis.
At the same time, he was Mel’s savior.
I stood somewhere in the middle, unsure of which way to go. Tito once told me to face my fears.
That’s exactly what I was doing.
230
Tito
Armed with a hand-drawn map depicting the layout of Mel’s home, Goose and I stepped into the kitchen. A congealed pool of blood surrounded what appeared to be the very dead mid-forty’s white male. A few feet from the body a grilled cheese sandwich sat beside the apparent murder weapon.
A cast-iron skillet.
Face-down in his own blood and dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a powder-blue button-down shirt, the corpse wore a brown leather cap toe oxford on one foot. A red sock covered the other.
“Are those candy bars on that sock?” Goose asked.
I gawked at the bloody walls. “Looks like it.”
“Where’s the other shoe?”
I looked at him like he was nuts. “That’s the least of our worries.” I waved my hand toward the kitchen cabinets. Blood splatters were peppered on every cabinet within close proximity of the stove. “There’s blood everywhere.”
He glanced around. “It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure.”
I felt the well-dressed man’s neck for a pulse. Feeling his clammy skin caused what little hope I held in reserve to vanish.
“This fucker’s dead,” I said. “Has been for a while.”
Goose pushed the heel of his boot against the shoulder of the deceased, causing the body to roll over. Upon seeing the man’s face, I swallowed heavily.
His entire forehe
ad was distorted, indented from what I suspected were multiple impact wounds from the heavy skillet.
Goose put his hands on his hips and stared down at the corpse. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
“She smacked the fuck out of this guy,” I said.
“I’m not talking about his head,” Goose said, nodding toward the man’s blood-soaked shirt. “That’s Rick McNown.”
“Rick McNown?” I spun around. “You know him?”
“Everybody—well, anyone who watches TV—knows him. He’s the evening news anchor for channel five. He hosts that Sunday evening show about inner city crime, Exposed.”
“Really?”
He looked at McNown and then at me. “No doubt about it. Weird that it’s him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s married. Has a couple of kids. He’s big in the community.” He waved his hand toward the deceased newscaster. “He hosts that show about shit like this happening. Shows footage of cops arresting the jerks that prey on women. I don’t know. Just strange thinking that he came here and held a knife to her throat. It’s just odd. Didn’t peg him for a weirdo.”
“Most of them don’t have a neon sign over their heads.”
“Suppose not.”
A quick search of the body produced several hundred dollars in cash, keys to a Mercedes-Benz, positive identification, and a cheap throw-away flip phone.
Goose tossed me the phone. “Looks like a burner.” He handed me the wallet and keys. “You said he rode here with her?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Where’d they come from?”
“Some bar. Bart’s Lounge.”
Goose gave the dead man a lingering look. “Of all the people she could have beat to death, it had to be some celebrity.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I asked. “If he was holding a knife to her throat, he deserved what he got.”
“Not disputing that, Brother. Just saying if this guy was some doper, nobody would come looking for him. But. Rick McNown? I’m guessing people will be looking for this guy. There’ll be a formal investigation. Surveillance footage searched. It could be traced back to her pretty damned easily if they’ve got any footage.” He looked at me. “How well is this chick going to hold up in an interview for a murder charge?”
Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set Page 121