by A. R. Case
Tony just kissed her and didn’t say anything. “You good to go?”
“I should get my purse.”
“Just grab your keys and an ID. I’ve got this tonight and you don’t want to be lugging a purse around where we’re going tonight.”
“Where are we going?”
He did that smile and kiss thing again.
They rode west out of the city on 322, bypassing the AC Expressway for a quieter route. About a half hour later, Tony pulled into a busy roadhouse that doubled as a restaurant. There were at least two dozen pickups in the lot, about as many cars, and even a couple of bikes near the entrance.
“People actually ride in this weather?” Susan shivered thinking about it.
“Right up until the snow flies.” Tony quipped.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She pulled her coat closer.
“Well, I know a couple of guys that wouldn’t joke about that. In fact, I remember this one guy, we called him Snake, he road his bike during a snowstorm in December. We all thought he was crazy, but he made it through, when most everyone else got stuck. Crazy son of a …” He stopped and smiled. “I think he moved to Florida or Arizona, or someplace he can ride all the time.”
“Okay.” Susan said, not really believing it.
“Come on, they’ve got great tequila shrimp if you’re interested.” He wrapped his hand around her neck, under her hair and pulled her in close before escorting her inside. In her heeled boots and the borrowed leather, she felt just a little under-dressed. At least she did until her eyes adjusted. Almost everyone wore some form of jeans and leather, and those who didn’t wore mostly leather, and she noted, very little of it on the women. She felt a bit old. There were twenty somethings or maybe even younger hanging out, way out of their black leather. One blonde in particular didn’t look much older than her son, but when she turned around, Susan realized she’d finally seen a real person with a bigger set of natural wonders than her. They weren’t the perky fake kind you see in a Hooters or those places. She realized she was staring and glanced up to Tony to see if he’d noticed. He had, but instead of still being entranced by the sheer volume of flesh on display, he bent to her ear and said, “I bet yours look better.”
That made her smile.
They had wait a few minutes before a table could be ready for them so they hung out by the bar, which was standing room only. In the back of the bar, a band was setting up. “They have music tonight?”
Tony nodded. The band had just started sound check and the volume around them increased.
A server led them to a table in a room that was off to one side and slightly partitioned from the live music, so the volume was infinitely more tolerable. Susan hadn’t been out to see live music often, and could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d been in a place like this. Scratch that, she’d never seen a place like this. It was lively, and she caught herself staring at the memorabilia and pictures and the people that surrounded her.
They split the appetizer. Tony ordered a steak while she had the Smokehouse Chicken. They were just finishing up when a monster of a man in a black vest covered in patches, a beard rivaling a member of ZZ Top, and a black bandanna in lieu of hair on the top of his head slapped him on the back.
“Boots!” His face wrinkled up in happy, leathery lines. “How’s that gasser working for you?”
Tony twisted around, then stood and bumped fists with the older man. “Ducky! Long time no see. You still in the area?”
He laughed and the sound carried despite the din of the restaurant. “Got a farm just outside Franklin. Crank tells me you’ve got a gasser. What the hell? I thought you’re one of those pansy cafe’ jocks.”
Tony laughed. “It’s American, a Breakout. Crank probably ripped it six ways to Sunday. Couldn’t ride it for shit.”
Ducky laughed again. “That I’d have to see. What did you do to it?”
Susan watched them talk bore and intake and exhaust for a bit. She rested her chin on her hand, marveling how Tony could just bump into someone he knew so easily. Especially so far from Atlantic City.
“Oh shit. Sorry Ducky, meet my old lady, Susan. Susan, this is Ducky.”
She held out a hand and tried to figure out what kind of a name Ducky could be. He didn’t let her muddle in her confusion long.
“Name’s Ducky to my friends, but pretty ladies can call me Duck ‘cause it rhymes with Fuck, as long as you whisper it in my ear. Preferably nekkid.”
Tony slapped him on the back of his head. “Knock it off, Ducky, what part of old lady didn’t you hear.”
“What was that? Couldn’t hear you…you say something punk ass?”
“You heard me.”
“Since when did you up and get an ol’ lady, especially such a beautiful specimen as you are my dear.” He reached across the table and grabbed her still outstretched hand and gave it a kiss. His whiskers tickled and Susan couldn’t help but laugh.
She pulled her hand back and said “Sorry” to Tony.
He didn’t look mad, but he moved around by her to step between her and Ducky. “Since now, Ducky, don’t give me crap.”
Ducky straightened and got serious very suddenly. He looked Tony up and down. “Don’t know why we never gave you a cut.”
Tony stiffened. “I think I was a bit young. Crank tell you the latest?”
Susan’s eyes bounced between the two.
Ducky stared at him for a moment longer. “A true brother is a brother.”
Tony nodded. “Know that, also know Crank gets more than just a say so.”
That made Ducky smile. “Boy’s an idiot. We all know you. Prez says hi and call him. You know how.”
Ducky made a fist again and Tony tapped it slower. “Thanks Ducky.”
“No problem, brother. Bring the lady to the club some time.”
He cocked an eyebrow at Ducky, “Let me know when it’s barbecue night, she’s a virgin.”
An evil grin broke across Ducky’s face. “Boy you don’t go half way do you?”
Susan wanted to correct Tony because he knew that she had a child so obviously wasn’t a virgin, then thought better of it and kept her mouth shut. There was some sort of either guy code or badass code going on here that she couldn’t understand.
After Ducky left, dinner turned into dancing to the live country band and, since she wasn’t driving, a few drinks. Tony bumped fists with at least four other men, all of them wearing patch covered jean vests over their leather coats. There were quite a few of these present, even on the younger men in the bar, but only the older ones sought out Tony.
She ventured into her question tentatively. “They all your friends?” She motioned a finger toward a group of the vested men around the pool table. Tony cut off sipping his beer to look.
“Not that crowd.”
“But Ducky and Bruno talked to them.”
Tony got a half smile that faded fast. “Ducky and Bruno are retired.” He pulled Susan closer, so he could talk quieter over the music. “Stay away from the guys at the table. Okay?”
“They’re gang members aren’t they?”
He nodded.
“They aren’t the Brigands you told me about, are they?.”
He practically snorted his beer out of his nose. He squeezed her before letting up on the possessive arm he had around her shoulders. “They’re Brigands too, just not ones I know. Since I don’t know them, I’ll assume they don’t know me or my family so we’re just going to stay on the outside, okay?”
“Did Ducky and Bruno ride with your dad?”
Tony nodded, his gaze going just a bit distant. He blinked and scanned the room. “You ready to leave yet?”
“Are you okay to drive?”
Tony swished his beer around. “I’ve been nursing this one for an hour. It’s piss warm. I’m good.�
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They were stopped before they got to the door. This time, Bruno and one of the guys Tony’s age wanted to talk. He had tattooed knuckles, spelling out Hard on his right and the word “left” on the left hand. His arms didn’t have any blank skin from the wrists up to the point where his T-shirt covered his biceps.
“Let’s catch some air.” The younger man said. He motioned his head to a bleached blond that looked a bit older than some of the women in the bar. “Mitzi, take Tony’s ol’ lady for a minute.”
Susan looked to Tony, but he nodded his head in Mitzi’s direction. “Go with Mitzy for a minute.” He left with the pair.
“Is he going to be okay?” Susan asked Mitzy.
She looked Susan up and down before answering. “Turbo will be gentle.”
Somehow Susan didn’t think so.
Chapter sixteen
Bruno introduced Tony to Turbo. He had sergeant stripes sewn on his vest which meant Tony needed to tread carefully.
Turbo held out a fist and Tony responded with the correct greeting.
“Knew you were one of us.” Turbo said. “Heard you were sixteen when they offered you a rocker.”
“You know that it was voted down then?”
“Shit happens.”
Tony waited. Turbo called this meet so it was best to just let the guy drive. While he waited, he looked Turbo over. The guy might be a couple years younger than him, but was already a sergeant. That was serious badass.
“Crank called me. He said you had some trouble.”
“I think it’s taken care of.”
Turbo relaxed a bit, slouching while still standing.
It was an art being able to do that and still be capable of instant violence, so Tony tensed without thinking.
“Relax man, we’re offering help. Bruno, give him the list so he knows who to call. And Boots,” he said, addressing Tony, “... The Feebs ever get that list, the only one who still be standing in your family will be Santa. We owe him.”
Turbo didn’t wait, just walked back into the bar. Santa was the nickname his uncle had gotten before he’d even earned his rocker. It was part because of the last name but mostly because his dad had been known as Jack Frost because he was so damn cold. They both were cold men, but there was only one Jack Frost.
“Phone.” Bruno held out his hand.
Tony passed it over, letting Bruno program in numbers. When he finally got it back, he looked at his list. The numbers were ICE two through eight. Innocent enough, leaving Tony’s brother as the first in case of number, which was how it had always been since he’d finally gotten back on his feet.
A minute later, Susan came out, escorted by Mitzi. She said goodbye to the woman, and looked at Tony with a question on her face.
“Let’s go.” He said, instead of answering. They were at least ten miles down the road before Tony started talking.
“I didn’t plan the night like this. Sorry.”
“What was that all about?”
Tony stared at the road and sighed. “Club…” He almost finished “Club business.” It was something his dad used to say almost every day. It had hurt every time he’d said it. Even when Chris took his run and Tony tagged along, he really didn’t know what was going on, but was sharp enough to watch and listen to everything that was and wasn’t said. By doing this, he’d gotten enough information in his head to find out first hand he was truly the Frostman’s son. “They offered help should I ever need it.”
Susan was silent for a while. “Is that a good thing?”
He laughed. “Probably not.” He glanced over at her. “You’re a trooper, you know that?”
She faked a smug smile. “I am.” Then she ruined it by laughing, which set Tony off.
He reached over to hold her hand for the rest of the ride home. She wisely struck up a conversation about something other than their strange, aborted exit. By the time they’d reached the outskirts of Atlantic City, they both were laughing and the weight of the night had lifted.
They were stopped at a light when Tony asked, “Your place or mine?”
She blinked at him. Then she smiled. “Your place.”
Tony turned south with a smile.
In his place, Susan slipped off her shoes and beckoned him into his bedroom. Tony took one look at the floor next to his couch and then at the ceiling, saying a silent “thank you” at the sky. Yeah, hell it wasn’t very Catholic to thank God for about what he was going to do, but his back didn’t care.
She was on the covers, her legs crossed at the ankles. His jacket was draped carefully on the chair he usually used as a dumping pile for clothes. He added his jacket on top of the one she wore, and it slipped to the floor with a bit less grace and a lot more thunk. So much for suave, he thought.
Susan didn’t seem to notice though, reaching up to pull him in. Her lips were warm and so heavenly soft. He got a bit lost for a bit just tasting her. Her purring moan cued him to turn up the heat.
His tongue danced with hers. His hands slid from cheek to hair to breast and ass. She was curves and heat. Heaven with a side of cinnamon. Bliss and fire, silk and skin. He broke the kiss and slid his mouth to her neck.
She gasped and arched into him. He spent more time seeing where she would squirm and what made her claw at him. His hands slipped under her shirt, eventually pulling it up to expose her breasts to his kisses.
A very sexy red bra barely covered her. Tony growled and slipped it away from first one nipple and then the other. She squirmed and managed to unhook it.
“It’ll tear.”
He smirked. “Thought women liked it when they tear.”
Her eyebrow raised. “You buying me a new one?”
He chuckled. “No bras.” Then he helped her pull both shirt and bra off. “No clothes on these.” With that, he wished he had an eternity to worship her flesh. His hands smoothed, cupped, caressed, and held them in place so he could properly devour as much as he could.
So sue him. He was greedy. These were his, dammit. But more than that, the contrast of curve to the dip of her breastbone was a sensual banquet. He captured her waist with his hands and was amazed at the tan of his skin to her pale peachy skin. “You don’t get much sun.”
“Redhead, baby. I freckle too much.”
They were there too. A million, or maybe a few hundred thousand, but tiny like the stars in the sky, and cuter. He wanted to kiss each one. He must have said so because she laughed at his words.
“I wish I could tan like you do.”
“Italian. We were made by the sun.”
“You’re not egotistical, are you.”
“Not one bit.” He smirked. “Let’s see if I can make you forget how to say words, huh?”
She brushed her hand over the erection in his pants. “Last one talking wins.”
He didn’t feel like winning at all. He wanted to lose. Over and over again.
The information from Jonathan Bauer’s computer was a goldmine for Daniel Mills, with one problem. Each account he was able to track down had been closed, moved offshore, or was so vastly different from the information on the drive that he had to wonder if Ricky had even gotten the information from Whitehead. There was no doubt, due to the activity on some of the accounts that Whitehead was playing cover his ass, but what was disturbing was the fact that Whitehead knew about any of it.
Ricky must have talked. That’s all Mills could think. The forensic accounting team was working as quickly as they could to gather evidence before it was erased so they could initiate arrest proceedings. There was surveillance on Whitehead’s house and businesses, watching for activity and for the almost inevitable skip.
There was another worry Mills had. Somehow Whitehead knew as much as the police. How else would he have known to target Jonathan Bauer? Being a juvenile, his name shouldn’t have been accessible in the
daily updates, moreover, the address was listed under his mother’s cousin’s name which wasn’t even close to being Bauer. That really pointed to someone on the inside. Mills had a team member working on that angle through the forensics to see if there were payouts to anyone related to the district where the report went down.
He’d check in with the kid and his mother through an intermediary. Now that there was a direct connection between his case and that family, Daniel had limited contact. Which sucked, because he was certain that DeSantos would have made his move by now. Daniel focused on the surveillance reports instead of the opportunity lost.
Whitehead was staying close to his main business, the furniture warehouse in Margate City. It was closer to his gated condo off Longport, and was the first of many megastores he’d built in the region. Added to this was the small yacht he had in the slip just outside his back door in Longport which meant they needed to monitor the marina as well. With the easy access to the ocean, Mills wondered why they would dump the body outside the sign shop. There had to be a connection somewhere. Maybe through the men he had working for him.
Mills cross-referenced the employee reports and payroll one more time. He’d sent of his questions yesterday to accounting to find out if there was a way to track down someone who could be connected to Ricky. Whitehead had private security, but those guys had come up clean when they followed the money trail. There were no crazy transactions or oddities. Whitehead contracted his security through a fairly large firm. They had an agent in place who took on calls for Whitehead, but so far it had not panned out.
Jamie, one of the accountants, knocked on his door. “A minute?”
Mills motioned him in. “Got something?”
“I saw your note on the payroll yesterday. I think I found one of the guys that got Mr. Giofreida.”
His eyebrows bounced upward, “Really?” His pulse picked up. Another break, maybe this time it would pay off. “What do you have?”