The Darkest Hour

by Louis Scott

  “Give up what?” Pike spun aggressively. Both crooks dug in their heels. “Cowards making this boy do your dirty work. Get out of here now.” Pike hissed.

  It was a long shot, but if he disoriented their perception of how a victim should respond, he might avoid a confrontation. Classic special warfare tactic—do the unexpected.

  “Ain’t no damn boy.” One of the men snarled.

  Pike hadn’t expected the timid one to lash out. A solid fist caught just below his jaw, his head shuddered to the left. His vision muddled for the moment, he stumbled back. If he fell, they’d kill him. He shook it off and drew into a fighting stance.

  “Get him,” ordered the last thug.

  Pike’s mind and body had once thrived on 3 to 1 odds, but here he was hesitant to go hands on. Sure, he’d hurt one or two of them and they’d get in cheap shots, but he just didn’t have the desire to get his hands dirty. Besides, he'd come downtown for fun, not to fight.

  “Back off jerks, or I’ll blow you away.” Pike said calmly.

  His right hand stroked along the holster, and caught the butt of the compact 9mm pistol. The flash of cold-blue steel ensured his survival. Two scurried away like alley rats, but the young one stood solid, his mouth agape, eyes overly wide. He held a long kitchen knife in his right hand.

  “I ain’t afraid, mister. Ain’t no boy neither.” His words stuttered.

  Pike saw dark, dull eyes and a low brow. His tongue darted over his punch-split bottom lip in a rapid beat that matched the rhythm in which the front of his torn t-shirt rose and fell.

  “Just go.” Pike suggested.

  “Ain’t afraid to die either.”

  “I can see that, son, but I got the gun. Your knife loses this battle. Go join your friends.”

  Pike stood his ground. He didn’t want to draw attention to what was going down. He only wanted to fade.

  “They not my friends. I gotta prove I’m a man, or fight them all over again. I ain’t afraid mister.” The thug looked over his shoulder, the knife bouncing in his quivering palm.

  Pike pulled out a one hundred dollar bill. “Here, take the money, but please don’t try this on anybody else. Promise?”

  Pike had learned the value of winning hearts and minds in the sandbox during his time in the Middle East. It had caused him to swallow his pride and bite his tongue on occasion, but the results were better than battling an entire nation—or this kid.

  “Hundred bucks? Thank you mister.”

  The guy’s prematurely baldhead glimmered in the trace of light as he squatted to retrieve the crumpled Ben Franklin. The young man turned and ran with a gimp stride.

  When the heavy plod of sneakered footsteps disappeared, Pike collapsed against the stucco wall. He holstered his weapon without looking down. His other life or death scenarios had taken place overseas, but here, he was on domestic soil with three citizens at muzzle point—ready to kill if necessary.

  It had devolved to that point because he had his head up his butt, and didn’t feel like getting down and dirty with a good old-fashioned brawl. Emotion flooded out of control for a ferocious moment before he regained composure.

  Had he become so soft? So spoiled behind a bureaucratic desk gig?

  An elbow tap against the top of his holster ensured the weapon was secure. He turned back into the darkened ally. Fats would understand if he passed on drinks tonight. He wouldn’t tell about the attack—Fats wouldn’t approve of charity work. The squared toe of his handcrafted Lucchese boots scuffled across the uneven combination of asphalt, brick, and raised cement sidewalk.

  [Where you at?] Fats’ text message read.

  Pike mashed a reply. [Heading home. Long day]

  [Dude, gotta see her] Fats’ message tempted him. He knew Pike’s weakness.

  [Okay, one and done] Pike used the cell phone map to get there.

  What were the chances of getting mugged again in the same night?

  Chapter Three

  The Old Absinthe House was notoriously central to the French Quarter’s social scene. Above, among the 200-year-old exposed cypress beams, hung antique chandeliers intermixed with football helmets and jerseys from some of sports’ greatest legends.

  Pike squinted through the thick cigar haze to find a giant hand waving from across the dimly lit barroom. Again, it was the glimmer of light off Fats’ gaudy pinky ring that caught his attention. High-back leather chairs had been pulled into a crescent. Pike didn’t recognize anyone but his old Navy buddy. He took a seat, wishing he’d gone home instead.

  “My man, Pike, the American hero. Glad you changed your mind.” A cigar hung between Fats’ fingers like a limp noodle as he balanced the half-full glass of bourbon and reached up with a welcoming hug.

  “Hey Fats, thanks for the invite. Where’s the party?” Pike fanned a clearing through the smog. He peered over the backs of two chairs where he anticipated at least two beautiful ladies—but the chairs were empty.

  His shoulders slumped as his mouth feigned a smile to disguise his disappointment. He coughed. “Alone?”

  “Dance floor.” The NOPD Detective nodded toward a distant corner. “Sit down—let's chat till those broads return.”

  Pike made a tsk tsk sound and wagged his chin—even he didn’t like to refer to women like that. Fats was tactless, and usually had to resort to paying for sex—little wonder why.

  “What you running from, Pike? Abbottabad is a long way from the Big Easy, brother. Time to leave Pakistan behind.” His heavy hand patted Pike’s thigh.

  “Geez, Fats, where’d you get that cheesy gold ring?” Pike changed the topic, and craned his neck to look for the rest of their party. He reached for his friend’s hand to examine the huge rock that glimmered at the center of an odd design that resembled a wolf and sickle. “You in a club or something?”

  “Deeper.” Fats whispered, and then hid his hand beneath his meaty thigh.

  What the heck did that mean?

  “Now why you here, Dwight?” Fats leaned in and whispered.

  They went way back, and Fats understood when to cut the bull. That meant no more Pike or hero. The former Navy and now grizzled local detective arched his head back to release cigar smoke ringlets. They paraded out of the same odd circle his mouth made back at the police training facility.

  “Lost my edge, Fats. Not the man I used to be, so I wanted field ops time to get it back. We’ve been hot on the trail of an organization and finally hacked off the head of the snake. Almost lost good agents in the process. Meanwhile, I plopped my fat rear end behind a desk pretending to make a dent in the threats against national security. Only thing I dented was the office pizza supply.”

  Pike pressed his fingers into the soft flesh that covered his triceps.

  “Why here, my friend?” Fats’ expression shifted, “Why now? Mardi Gras is about to turn this place upside down. No safe quarter and no time outs.” Fats looked away, into the burgeoning crowd of weekday partiers.

  “I don’t need the attention. That’s why I went underground to NCIS Intelligence, but once that movie exposed everything, I had to go deeper—away from the Navy. Behind a computer screen—where no one knew me by anything other than a password.” Pike simulated typing on a keyboard.

  “You don’t think people know you’re the SEAL that took out that terrorist dirt bag?”

  Pike grinned because he knew they all refused to mention Osama bin Laden’s name out loud.

  “I don’t know,” Pike huffed, “But I gotta do something to protect myself just in case. I can’t believe that jerk, JW Colt, let the cat out of the bag.”

  “Yeah, JW broke the code all right, but why here, dang it?” Fats bounced his fist off the watermarked coffee table. Empty rocks glasses rattled.

  Although Fats had never met Colt, he knew the man was a former Navy SEAL team member, and a glory hound that sought personal glory more than public service. His tell-all book and movie about the bin Laden raid placed the other SEALS in danger.

 
“Out here in the swamps is far enough away so no one knows me. There’s also the Belle Chase Naval Air Station, so I’m around a familiar setting if need be. But mostly because of you, Alphonse.”

  “Me?” His jowls rose along with his eyebrows.

  Pike fist bumped Fats' calloused knuckles.

  “I trust you." Pike said in a low voice and then eased back into the plush chair.

  He rolled cubed ice around the glass then downed his first round. The scotch burned his lips. Fats waved the waitress for another.

  “Trust—I’ll buy that. I also trust you still like to mow down the ladies? I guarantee these two are worth watching.” Fats licked his lips until the appearance looked distorted. Pike eased his chair away, closer to the coffee table.

  Of course, I came hoping to find Voodoo again, and I did.

  But he didn't voice that thought to Fats.

  Jumbled bodies crowded into a far corner. Dancers thinned as the music slowed. He spied the women. His mouth went arid with short breaths. He guzzled the scotch. The two women Fats had described were a few of those still on the dance floor as the music slowed to a smooth zydeco groove. Fats' words hummed against his ear, but were lost in his focus across the floor.

  Pike lifted his tailored shirt by the thumb and forefinger to fan his chest. The thump of his heart roared beneath the button down. He leaned forward with a rigid spine—tongue tracing his lips.

  “Nice, huh?” Fats’ hand polished his chubby cheeks.

  “Wow, Fats. Who’s that?”

  “Our guests.” His snicker carried a sinister pride of devilish accomplishment.

  “Hookers?” Pike broke his stare with a glare of disapproval.

  “Never paid, never will. Don’t have to with this smile.” Fats flashed a crooked grin. “Of course the NOPD badge doesn’t hurt either.”

  “They look incredible.” Pike whistled beneath his breath.

  “Sit back, my friend, and relax. You’ve had a rough go of late, and deserve time off.”

  Fats’ words charmed the snake of anxiety Pike struggled with daily. Did he really deserve to relax, or had he been on a break over the last two years while working the desk at the First Ops Response Command Enforcement team’s headquarters?

  Two figures emerged against the flashing strobes behind them. Pike peered to see features apart from their differing heights, but was limited thanks to an intense disco display. He eased to his feet, straightened his jeans and extended his hand. Silent, his smile was effortless and often all the communication needed to break the ice.

  “Hi there. Join us, please.” His pulse raced. It’d been a while since he’d just kicked back, and even longer since he’d relaxed around complete strangers.

  “I’m Bonny,” said the taller of the two, touching his hand. Bonny smiled, tucking a loose strand of short blonde bob behind her ear. Her crooked smile made her look more sincerely beautiful than dolled up. Pike equally appreciated a woman’s outward appearance as well as her attitude, and this one's aura radiated confidence, and danger. Bonny beamed it like the sun.

  “Hi Bonny, glad to meet you. I’m Pike, I mean, I’m Dwight.”

  He grinned at the purposeful mishap. Her hand secure in his, he swept his spikes of sun-drenched blonde hair in an orchestrated wave with the free hand. Her eyes averted, but finally locked into his—gotcha, he smirked.

  “I like Pike better.” Bonny giggled and pressed her right shoulder against his flexed chest. She smelled like lilac.

  Just like old times, maybe I do still have it.

  “And you are?” He looked to her friend.

  His smile bright and gaze especially charming, Pike ran a once over before he locked eyes with Bonny’s friend. His left hand pressed firmly between the shorter woman’s shoulder and right triceps. He purposely created a close triangle between the three of them, and then lifted his face with a rehearsed expression that usually swooned his targets.

  “Hello, magazine model, good to see you again,” Voodoo shouted over the music. She bounced on tippy-toes and patted the left side of his face. “Not tonight bad boy—not tonight.” She laughed and then punched him in the shoulder.

  Pike's excitement was impossible to hide. Fate sure enough had it in for him, but he was happy to see her again. Voodoo was just as intoxicating as she was the first time they met.

  Voodoo was dressed in a sleeveless silk top that clung to broad shoulders, and parted when she swayed to the music to reveal her pierced belly button. Bold splashes of ink covered her right arm from the shoulder to about two inches below her elbow. The patterns were hard to decipher in the dark, but he saw the sweeping images and shapes against her smooth, brown skin.

  His gaze traveled over low-slung jeans and black open toe sandals. She was smoking hot, and she wanted him to know it. He locked onto the black leather collar strapped taunt around her throat.

  He blinked to avoid looking creepy—probably too late. Voodoo’s bright white teeth glimmered as she bit her bottom lip with a come-hither glance. Her alert eyes dared Pike to follow.

  “Nice collar,” He grinned.

  “Thanks,” Voodoo moved closer to him, “But I’m not your pet.”

  Chapter Four

  Pike eased his Porsche through the gated community’s security post, and pulled into the assigned parking space. The condo was located in the renovated Warehouse District just blocks away from Jackson Square and the chaos of the View Carre. He mashed the key fob twice to activate the Cayenne’s alarm system. He also alerted the neighbor’s dog as he and Voodoo crept into the condo she shared with Bonny.

  “Dumb thing never shuts up,” Voodoo grumbled. “Police K9, but the handler’s a Parish cop who doesn’t give a squat about the nuisance ordinance against barking dogs.”

  “Maybe he should put a collar on his pet and teach it to obey,” Pike said, his right hand circling the front of his neck.

  “”You think a collar would do the trick?” She batted her lashes flirtatiously.

  “Maybe.”

  “I do hope you’re talking about the dog and not me,” Voodoo snorted as she ran her finger beneath her leather collar.

  He twitched at the possibility of her suggestion as they hurried through the door. Pike stayed close to her as they slipped through the dark. He relaxed against the kitchen island.

  What happened to Bonny?

  He’d been trained to remain on ready alert. He quickly scanned the home’s efficient décor and thought it contrasted with what he suspected as Voodoo’s style. Random placements of local looking art and box-store pottery dominated the interior. It was neat and smelled fresh—no inside pets. Still, no Bonny.

  “Hey, it’s late. Maybe I should be going.” Pike suggested.

  Voodoo gazed at him with her hypnotizing green eyes. Her dark complexion framed a beautiful white smile.

  “It’s so early, still. I thought we’d catch up.”

  Her almond-shaped eyes darted left to an open room door. Pike hoped it was a bedroom, but was still unsure what was going down. The sound of water from a shower tickled his ear—had to be Bonny. How’d she disappear anyway?

  “It just feels tense.” His eyes ached with fatigue.

  Poised, she stood defiantly before him as she had at the SWAT training complex.

  “You make me edgy, and I don’t want to have to kick your booty like I did at SWAT training,” she teased him as her body swished to imitate a fighting stance.

  He growled.

  She playfully hopped a step back.

  “I was just rusty, but I’ve got more operational experience under my belt than you’ll see in a lifetime of dime-bag drug busts.” He ran fingers inside his waistband to straighten his shirt as he coughed nervously.

  “Yeah, right, I forgot. You’re some sort of hero. Tell me about it, pretty boy.” She smoothed her palm across his chest and shoulders. “I’m so impressed.”

  His heart pounded at her touch. For a moment he was lost in her gaze. Her caress lingered across his
forearm and sent a twinge through his hardened triceps. The contrast of skin tones blended beautifully as his pulse raced as wild as his imagination.

  Voodoo drove him wild. Even the way her hair was sheered close to the scalp across the back and on one side, while the other side swooped long across her angular face and right eye added to her tough-girl appeal.

  “That dog is driving me crazy.” She huffed, and the moment had passed.

  Pike smacked his fist against his thigh. He wanted to pursue her, but his mission to reclaim himself was more important than becoming involved with someone else. He wasn’t going to deny the reality that he was attracted to her, and once he got a grip on the downward spiral that was his life; he’d love to return to the moment. Minus the barking dog next door.

  “So what’s up with Bonny? I know she’s not a cop.” He changed the subject.

  Voodoo laughed and pulled on the giant stainless refrigerator door to grab a bottle of cold water. Her eyes darted back and forth through the dimly lit interior before guzzling a swig. She held it out toward Pike, but he waved his hand with a smile.

  “She’s kind of an enigma. I think she’s a socialite with a lost soul. This is her place, and after we’d met at a club one night, she offered for me to crash here while I was in the city on assignment.”

  “So you know nothing about her and you moved in with her?” He asked in a whisper.

  “What are you, my dad?” She chuckled.

  “Well, it just seems weird.”

  “My agency sent me to this Task Force, but isn’t bothering to cover most of my expenses for relocating. The room is free and she’s a cool chick.”

  Pike leaned back against the kitchen island again and ran his hand through his blonde hair. He laughed a bit at the unintended seriousness in his tone. He stood quiet for a moment and suddenly felt the wave of exhaustion crest over him.

  “Well, Voodoo, this didn’t turn out at all like I thought it would, but I’m glad we got to see each other again.” He held his hand out for the water bottle, “Outside of work that is.”

  “Yeah, me too. So how did you think this was going to go down?” She teased.