A Long Ride Read online

  Ace palmed his Galaxy Note, reading from the tablet's screen. “Three accounts in the Caymans. Two in Houston, which is where the Tiger Society is headquartered. He has small business accounts in Oakland and Baltimore as well. He's chairman of the Society's fourteen corporate buildings in the U.S., and personally owns one building in Toronto. Numerous houses and condos. All under aliases, of course, fronted by a dummy corporation that's completely legit on paper. He has brilliant accountants, I'll give him that.” He shook his head, looking like a gamer that had his skills mildly taxed to complete a level.

  “But not too brilliant for my man.” Shocker leaned over and smooched him. The baby yanked on her hair, cutting it short.

  Anh Long, Perry and Big Guns looked at the geek with superstitious expressions. The rest of us were impressed, but we were used to his extraordinary skill. I said, “Where are the kids going?”

  Big Guns blew out a long stream of smoke, still looking at Ace and his tablet. “The Tiger Society has factions in most major cities. The kids are shipped all over. Some are forced to join gangs, though most are put to work.”

  “Slaves,” Bobby growled. The single word transformed him. Veins swelled in his arms, neck, the touchy subject putting creases around his dark eyes and mouth. He squeezed his fists tight, knuckles popping ominously.

  Big Guns nodded with his own menace. “If they are lucky they end up sweeping floors and doing laundry. If they are unlucky… I don't have to tell you how they end up.” He grunted darkly.

  Shocker couldn't take any more bad news. She had a tempestuous vigor about her, ugly mad. She stood and handed the baby to Ace, walked around the grill with clenched jaw. Perry eyed her with concern as he raked the grill clean with a wire brush. She turned to face the Asian men, sun producing a halo around her dark hair. Or is that steam rising from her ears? She said, “Well, I can tell you how Diep will end up…” Her lips quivered, eyes shutting tight.

  Perry started to reach over and put a comforting hand on her shoulder but thought better of it. The woman's teeth were bared, and I got the feeling all her willpower was directed at containing her darker persona from coming out. Fight junkie, she called it. She barked a frustrated growl, spun on a toe and walked over to stand next to Bobby. The giant had turned back to the highway, listening to the disturbing news while watching the congested traffic inch along.

  Ace knew better than to console his girl when she had her hackles up. He bounced the baby on his leg, looked over at Blondie and made a decent attempt to lift the negative atmosphere. “Did you see her new tattoo?” He inclined his head at Shocker.

  Blondie nodded, smiling a little. Looked over at her. “Said she got it in Juarez.”

  The girl-beat's left shoulder shined with ointment, moisturizer for the freshly inked skin. PERNICIOUS was written in pretty script in an arch above several flowers and vines that weaved through golden brass knuckles. A large, thick scar was below it, an obvious bullet wound. Blondie smirked with envy. Said, “Yeah. Bad mofo. Fits her perfectly.”

  “Pernicious?” Big Guns looked quizzical. He looked at me and smiled. “I saw she had a new tat, but every time I thought to ask her about it she looked angry about something.” He grunted humorously. “What does it mean? You know gangsters don't read much.” Broad gleam of silver.

  “Means very destructive, injurious,” I answered. The fancy letters and flowers cloaked the word's dynamic meaning. Just like her pretty exterior cloaked her violent interior. Blondie was right. That tattoo fit her even better than the Champion spark plug. She calls her left fist “Seek,” her right fist “Destroy,” and they are certainly very destructive, injurious.

  “Crap,” Ace mumbled. He sniffed his daughter and chuckled. Literally. He glanced at us. Reached under the table and grabbed a large pink and white diaper bag, stood and slung it over a shoulder. Hefted the baby. “I'll be back. Caroline needs to be freshened up.”

  Caroline. That's her damn name, I thought. Blondie smiled at the geek, at the baby. She glanced at me with meaning. I had a sudden urge to run and jump off the roof. I'm not changing any diapers, woman, my shaking head told her.

  “Hmmpt.” We'll see.

  Children's laughter made us turn toward the roof entrance. Tho and Carl shuffled through the vault door with push brooms held up like swords, clacking them together with shouts of “Yaw!” Tho looked like a street urchin once more, thin dingy pants and torn shirt hardly wearable, sandals looking like dog chew toys. His snaggled grin and happy squeals were mirrored by his new friend.

  Carl was a much more confident kid than the one we found by the highway with the shame sign around his neck. He was a couple of years older than Tho, but not much bigger. His Spider Man shirt was as faded as his jeans, dusty from sweeping parking slots. Their Dragon Ball Z play fight clacked its way over in front of the laboratory shed. Everyone grinned at them. The swinging broom handles so near to 'Zuki were beginning to make me nervous. I started to say something but the old man beat me to it.

  “Tho, troi nhieu qua. Quet don di!” You play too much, Tho. Sweep up, Anh Long scolded.

  Carl didn't understand the language, though recognized a scolding when he heard one. His smile vanished with Tho's. They stood with brooms in front of them, abashed. Or pretending to be, I mused to myself.

  Blondie had walked over to them. Ruffled Carl's hair. “You guys had enough to eat?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Carl replied, looking up at her in worship.

  “Yeah,” Tho said. He glanced at the Elder Dragon and corrected himself. “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Good. When you finish for the day I'll get you some ice cream.”

  “Yay!” the boys exclaimed. Blondie beamed at their response.

  Shocker brought the working men glasses of tea. “I may have to hire you boys to do some work at my place.” She seemed eager and grateful for the distraction.

  Tho and Carl thanked her, then turned their glasses up with both hands, one eye on each other, racing to see who could finish the quickest. They drained the cold tea, gasped for air. Tho set his glass on a table, palmed his broom off his shoulder and thumped it on the concrete. “I won!”

  “Nuh-uh,” Carl argued. “I won.”

  “Back to work,” Big Guns said. They looked at him. He pointed an imperative finger. “Stay where Cong and Tuan can see you,” he commanded, referring to his security leaders positioned north and south of the garage. They were competent men, in charge of eight others that covered a wide perimeter around the block. The boys acknowledged and ran off, their piping voices echoing as they went down the ramp, renewing their Dragon Ball identities.

  Shocker had her equilibrium back, holding Caroline on her hip. The large wet spot on the front of her shirt - the one she had just changed into - made me frown at the baby. Her mother absently fended off hair-grasping hands and walked over to stand on the other side of the table from Anh Long. Said to him, “Loc's accomplishments in the military must make you proud.”

  The Elder Dragon gave a faint smile. “My son has many talents. Most are useful while unknown.” He warmed to the subject, eyes thankful for the shift in mood. “He was proficient with a rifle even as a little boy. He loved BB guns. And he was always good at traveling without detection, through woods, neighborhoods, and such.”

  Shocker pursed her lips. “No wonder.”

  They chatted while I became lost in thought. Last night Loc had climbed to the roof of the apartments to give us cover. He must've had a night vision scope. He shot guns from the enemies' hands, then managed to hold off several Biloxi PD by taking out their tires. The cops were three blocks away when their cruisers took fire. They jumped out and took cover, which gave us plenty of time to finish scuffing up the East End Boys and get away. How did Loc get away? The entire police force had shown up. “The guy should star in his own Tom Clancy novel,” I proclaimed.

  “Patterson,” Bobby rumbled in disagreement.

  “James Patterson?” I queried. “Why?”

  E
veryone looked at Big Swoll. He said, “Clancy only does white boys. Patterson does everybody.”

  I shrugged.

  Ace put his tablet on the table and pushed the touch screen to play some music. Rick James, of all people. Bobby's bright smile and nodding head was contagious, and soon nearly all of us were making funky sounds or jigging our shoulders to the party jam. Blondie and Perry picked up the food and stored it in the lab's 'fridge while I wiped down everything with Lysol.

  The girls bokked, the men bluhhed. Tho and Carl played hyperactively. The socializing was getting out of hand. Since there was no drinking or drugging I just observed, wishing they would cease this madness. Stop sharing so much.

  “Mmmarrgh,” I groaned. Fucking feelings… What's up with that? I walked over and pushed pause on the geek's tablet, drawing everyone's attention. I held my hands up, fingertips touching, trying not to scowl. “Lovely party, people. Thanks for coming.” My girl gave a cynical snort. The girl-beast narrowed her eyes. My fingers took it upon themselves to show them double fuck-yous. The boys snickered. I said, “I believe we should keep the momentum rolling. You know you're ready for the next phase of operation Seek and Destroy.” Shocker gave me a look mixed with surprise and unexpected appreciation. I nodded to her with complete belief in our team. That's right. It's like that.

  Anh Long looked at me piercingly. “Tell us what you have in mind.”

  * * *

  Perry's GMC looked and sounded like an iron god on supernatural 'roids. When Shocker secured Caroline's car seat in it the monster '49 seemed to dwindle in stature, losing the “hot” in its rodding personality. I instantly felt sorry for it. “I'll take good care of the little princess, don't worry,” Perry assured the parents, grinning down at his tiny passenger.

  The 454 ignited, concrete vibrating under our shoes. The cam loped tones that suggested the truck was aware of its precious cargo and didn't approve. Our Coach's bro' waved jovially and idled off. Shocker watched the tailgate go down the ramp with worry before getting into the Scion with her man and Big Swoll.

  The Viet crime bosses jumped into the Prelude, and the tricked out imports tailed Blondie and me in the Ford, racing down the levels of the garage, onto Highway 90. Tho and Carl waved from the street entrance, Cong and Tuan standing sentry behind them, faces deadpan and watchful. I assumed Big Guns' other security guys were scrambling to vanguard their organization leaders to our destination.

  Since Blondie screwed up by posting pics on the 'Net, I no longer had to freeze on 'Zuki for the winter, which made the long ride down the chilly beach to Biloxi pleasant. To stave off boredom I gave my lovely blonde lynx a patient, affectionate massage. My attempt at a happy ending was ruined, though.

  She was right on the verge of voicing the crossing of her Finish line when we were cut off by some redneck in a dump truck. The frustrating break in her concentration and panicked stomp on the brakes caused her to growl and curse and flip him off. She shoved me away, rolled down her window and yelled curses over the wind and dump truck's noisy drive train, threatening to track down and castrate the fucker. Then she cut him off, and I hung my naked white ass out the window to show support for my girl's road rage. Horns honked. I wiggled my cheeks, singing along to Three Days Grace, Cerwin Vegas behind the seats thundering, anus tingling pleasantly from the 90 mph wind buffeting my crack. The window frame dug into my hip from the 429's acceleration.

  Blondie's boutique was a small business in a strip mall off Pass Road. She owned the building, leasing six of the eight facilities to local proprietors that offered everything from manicures to deli sandwiches. Customers trickled in and out of the long white brick and stucco businesses. I spotted two of Big Guns' guys as we turned into the parking area, known by their red and gold Infinity G37s. I assumed they were coordinating with their crew, reporting the security of the area before Big Guns and the Elder Dragon even turned off the highway.

  The double glass doors reflected our badass selves and the sun-refracting cars behind us. I opened one, held it for my squad and our Viet allies that waited until everyone went in before jogging to the entrance from the Prelude. A grim, thirty-something gangster in a tie-less suit named Gat posted up on the walk just outside the door, ignoring my circumspection, watching the people get in and out of their vehicles immediately in front of us, and over in front of the second building in the plaza, a machine shop and restaurant combination. I observed everything for a few more seconds, feeling a touch of paranoia I couldn't rationalize.

  You're sober, genius, my subconscious murmured, partially in complaint.

  I chalked it up to that, walked inside, door hissing shut behind me.

  My eyes adjusted from the sun to the drop ceiling cool glow of LEDs. Being her man, I could tell this was Blondie's store just from the items on display. Glass shelves and stands were positioned on the walls and floor so that aisles slanted across the utterly feminine room like glossy, colorful, perfumed artwork. Baskets of soaps, candles and bath beads were on the left in front, fresh flower arrangements perched in the back corner, flanking a counter full of female Viagra (AKA “jewelry”) and clothing racks of quality jackets, purses, and mouth-watering bra and pantie sets.

  In the center was a huge aquarium with floral colored lights. The wall of mirrors behind it doubled the volume of the flowers and fish, giving the feeling of paradise to adult customers, while imbibing mirth in the children who liked to peck on the glass and tease the guppies as their mothers shopped for lingerie, nail polish, opal-adorned handbags and hats. I walked past a wide-hipped woman holding a small dog, glanced at the empty cashier counter on the right, heading through the short hallway to the coffee bar.

  “You have a customer in front,” Blondie told Crystal with a smile undertoned with reproof. She flipped hair off her forehead, pert nose turned up, glanced at Shocker, who sat on a stool between Ace and Bobby, elbows on the glossy granite bar. Anh Long and his protégé took seats at one of the two booths, watching the anxious teenager sweat under her boss' scrutiny.

  Crystal hurriedly finished restocking paper cups next to an array of shiny coffee makers. “Sorry, ma'am. I'm by myself today. Tommy never showed.” She scurried around the bar, smiled pleasantly at our friends, a stunning platinum blonde seventeen-year-old in a green sundress with a heart-shaped name badge. “I'll be right back if you guys need anything!” she said cheerily before hurrying through the hallway.

  “Tommy,” Blondie growled darkly, staring at a grease board mounted above the coffee machines. Employee schedules. “Little son of a bitch.”

  “Gotta fire him?” Shocker inquired.

  Blondie walked behind the bar, took out some espresso cups. Sighed. “No. His mom is a friend of mine.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! Can I talk to him?” I raised my hand for permission.

  Blondie rolled her eyes. “Geez.” Humming sigh. “I guess so.”

  “Oh, goodie-goodie-goodie. Thanks, Babe.” I rubbed my palms together. I've been waiting a long time to give Tommy an attitude adjustment.

  Shocker turned creased brows on me. “You better not intimidate some little kid.”

  I scowled at her, Mind your own business, turd.

  “Don't worry,” Blondie laughed. “Tommy is nearly as big as Bobby.” Big Swoll felt that comment called for a quick biceps flex. “And, it's not so much intimidation as dynamic motivation. Raz is good at making people aware of the consequences of slacking. He's very persuasive with his life lessons.”

  “Oh.” Shocker quirked her lips, not sure if she was impressed, surprised, or still in the mood to mean mug me.

  Blondie served tasty, hot espresso while I watched Crystal serve a couple of yuppies in the front. Whenever I accompany my girl to the boutique, I'll try to work with her employees on their salesmanship. Principles like Association, Reciprocation, Scarcity and Consistency were valuable to know for any retail business. Crystal was a quick learner, though wasn't very eager to implement sales tactics she felt were “icky.” But that was okay;
I didn't mind prodding her into doing it. She needs to learn it's dog-eat-dog, I smiled to myself. Then beckoned, “Pssst!”

  She looked at me, Huh?

  I rolled a finger, Let's do the thing.

  She shook her head, Uh-uh.

  Emphatic roll of finger, scowl. Let's. Do. The. Thing.

  Exasperated sigh, Oh, all right!

  A few minutes later a late-forties ego in a tight cadmium yellow skirt approached the counter with a bright yellow handbag. “How much is this?” she asked Crystal, looking down her nose at the peasant.

  “Oh, like, um, I'm not sure,” Crystal dumb-blonded her. “I'll have to ask my manager.”

  Arrogant sigh. “I don't have all day, girl.” She tapped an expensive shoe. Fingered her three-hundred dollar hairdo.

  Crystal turned to look at me. “Um, sir? How much for this handbag?”

  Blondie, face behind my neck with a grin I wanted to match but couldn't let the mark see, whispered, “Thirty-nine dollars.”

  “Sixty-two dollars,” I said loudly.

  Crystal frowned, looked at the customer apologetically. Looked back at me. “I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you.” She leaned slightly in my direction, straining to make her inept blonde brain hear me.

  “Sixty-two dollars!” I shouted.

  I grabbed Blondie's hand and we hooved it around the bar with suppressed giggles, waved for everyone to join us in watching the camera monitors underneath. On the screen showing the checkout desk, Crystal had turned back to the impatient rich bitch. She smiled and chirped stupidly, “Fifty-two dollars.”

  The customer's foot quit tapping. The hallway monitor showed her crane her neck to peer into the coffee bar. Then she quickly handed Crystal her credit card, signed for the purchase, and strutted her crooked ass out of the boutique with a new handbag she'll tell everyone some imbecile sold her for ten dollars less than cost.

  Hmm-hmm-HMM! My inner-crook gloated. You over paid, bitch.