“Sorry Blakemore, I don’t do freelance,” Yield said. He knew the name and he knew the man. A former CIA operative who worked down in Mexico. Brody Johnson, still with the university at the time, worked on a dig outside of Puerto Vallarta when a group of women had been set free from the Renteria’s, a drug cartel that specialized not only in drugs but human trafficking. There were lots of stories after that of Blakemore and his wife going through Central America busting up Renteria’s operations. The stories surrounding him and Mrs. Blakemore were legendary, half of which he didn’t believe. He knew the man alright, but didn’t want to get in bed with him.
“This is not freelance and I have twenty-five thousand tax free reasons to get you out of bed, onto a plane and here to Texas,” Saxton said. “This is an urgent matter and bonuses are included for returning the missing item without others knowing it is gone.”
“Again Blakemore, no,” he said ready to hang up the phone.
“Fine, name your price,” Saxton said, “time is of the essence and I don’t have the luxury to negotiate with you. Get your ass up, get dressed and on the helicopter that will be landing outside your front gate in a few minutes.”
Yield could hear the whirl of the blades as it approached. He jumped out of bed, jostling Millicent, who reached for him. This was unheard of and Mr. Yield didn’t appreciate it.
“Blakemore, I told you that this is just...”
Saxton interrupted him. “An ill-informed jackass has taken Yuñior Delgado. I need you to find him so we can get him home safely before his father finds out someone has taken the heir apparent.”
“Holy fuck,” Mr. Yield said, scrambling to find a pair of pants. “Chad, get Daddy’s boots, my gear bag and pack me a few snacks to go.”
“Yes sir,” the boy called, running down the hall to the mudroom to grab his father’s work boots. He’d just shined them like his daddy taught him and cleaned and restocked the bag resting by the door as well. Chad grabbed two apples, a fruit bar, and two bottles of water and shoved them in the knapsack Mr. Yield kept ready to go. In the other room, Brody walked around in circles trying to gather his wits. This was unheard of and people were going to die horrible deaths if he couldn’t find Eduardo Delgado’s eldest son in time.
“Who in their right mind would take that little psycho?” Mr. Yield asked trying to get his arm in a shirt sleeve.
“That’s the thing Mr. Yield, I’m not sure the people who have him know who he is,” Saxton said. “The other issue is that his father doesn’t know he is not in South America but is instead in Los Angeles on a ship filled with children pilfered from the caravan of migrants. I have to get that boy back and home before his father wages war on an entire continent.”
“This is bad,” Yield said, “this is really bad.”
“I need you to find him and bring him to me,” Saxton said. “I am also pulling in Mr. Stop and Mr. Mann, because you’re going to need them in case a trigger needs to get pulled. Your job is to find the package and bring it in one piece, alive to me. You understand?”
“I understand, but instead of me coming to you, get me to the last place he was seen and have Stop and Mann meet me there,” Yield said. “Text me the last know coordinates and give me a trail of breadcrumbs to follow.”
“Done,” Saxton said. “Is the helicopter there?’
“Yeah, I can hear it landing,” Yield replied trying to get on a pair of socks.
“My plane is on the tarmac at Venango Regional Airport, I will tell the pilot to file a new flight plan to take you to Long Beach. That was the last locator on his cell phone,” Saxton told him. “Mr. Yield, he sounded scared when he called me.”
“Did he call his father?”
“No, he called me first,” Saxton replied. “He’s a sharp one. Smart enough to understand the ramifications if all of this goes south.”
“That’s good. You called me, I’m on it,” Yield said into the line.
By his calculations, it would take nearly five hours by private plane to get from Pennsylvania to Long Beach. Mr. Mann would come from Georgia and Mr. Stop was in Missouri. He didn’t expect them until tomorrow. It was his job to locate Yuñior Delgado. If it got ugly, he would leave it to the other two to handle that portion. His job was to find the boy and return him to Saxton Fucking Blakemore, which meant he had to go to Texas as well. He hated Texas, but he would rather go there than deal with the other possibilities of facing worse. He knew a great deal about worse.
It sure as hell beat having to deal with Eduardo Fucking Delgado any day. His mind raced at the possibility of all the ways this job could go sideways. Mr. Yield was not going to fail on this one. He’d be damned if he would go down in history as being the one retrieval agent unable to retrieve the jewel of Columbia.
Millicent was awake, sitting up in the middle of the bed. Her hair wild, the lips full from a night of passionate kisses, and he didn’t want to leave either of them, but when a man got a call at the crack of dawn from Saxton Moferking Blakemore, you got up and went, especially considering the package he needed to find and retrieve.
“Brody, is everything okay?” She asked, getting up to double check the bag Chad brought to his father. “Why does that sound like a helicopter just landed in the front yard.”
“Because a helicopter just landed in the front yard,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “I have to go to Los Angeles and find a precious package and return it to Texas. I am hoping two- or three-days tops and I’ll be back.”
“Is it dangerous Daddy?” Chad asked.
“No, my job is to just to find the package and get it to Texas,” Mr. Yield said. “I’ll be back in time for movie night on Sunday.”
“Brody, I’m worried,” Millicent said. “The client sent a helicopter?”
“Baby, this is a big job, high powered people and bonus attached,” Yield said. “We can have a really nice vacation this summer, combined with that honeymoon we didn’t take. Chad can spend some time with his cousins in Florida while we get away.”
“All that sounds good, but this is different,” Millicent said, holding tight to him. Chad held the other side as he embraced them in a strong grip.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few days. The security system is armed, you know where everything is, you guys will be fine until I get back,” he said, kissing them both.
“I love you Brody,” she said, reluctantly letting him go. Millicent stood in the doorway watching him walk to the helicopter. His head bent low as loose snow flurried in the air. In a puff of white the helicopter rose and her husband was going to work. Through the phone she heard two names, Saxton Blakemore and Yuñior Delgado.
She locked the front door going to the new computer Brody had given her for Christmas. Sitting behind the desk she typed in Saxton Blakemore, bringing up tons of images of him, his wife and three children. He was a part of some oil family in Texas. At the bottom of the page was a picture of him, a black man with an eye patch and a Hispanic man who looked like he ate small nails for breakfast. That image she clicked on next.
“Eduardo Benicio de la Marta Castanza Delgado launches new pharmaceutical deal with Canadian and American giants. Former Columbia Drug Czar, turned pharma God, supplies...”
“Holy rat balls!” Millicent said. “If someone took this man’s son, no one was safe. Dear Lord, please protect and watch over my husband.”
Chad stood close by, touching his mother on the arm. “Don’t worry Mommy. Daddy’s blind luck will lead him right to what he needs to find and he’ll be home soon,” Chad said with a smile.
The boy was right. Mr. Yield wouldn’t stop until he found Yuñior Delgado and he would be lucky enough to stumble right upon the kid and return him to safety. It was the thing he did best.
Well, second best.
She was lucky like that as well.
- Fin -
(Please do not give away the ending in your reviews or discussions. I want other readers to enjoy the surprise). Thanks- Olivia
Summer 2019
Blind Luck
The Blind Love Series
OLIVIA GAINES
Walking the Dawg
Chapter One – Gone Now, Git
Buster Padfoot terrorized the quiet subdivision of Pepperidge Estates with sheer brute force and unparalleled muscle. A menace to all of the neighbors, he set to work each morning as if being guided by an external force to seek, destroy, and cause fear amongst the residents in the community just off Peach Orchard Road in Hephzibah, Georgia. Every day he made his rounds. Most of the time, people avoided him merely because it was more comfortable than a confrontation, which often ended badly for all involved.
His morning routine started with whizzing on the wisterias in Ms. Phillips’ yard. Buster followed it by antagonizing the azaleas in Bertie Fullbright’s back yard, and he ended his rounds by defecating in Bertie’s daisies. It would be easier if that were the end of his morning reign of terror, that was until you heard the children screaming.
In a full-on gallop, he chased them down the road to the bus stop, his jaws flapping wide, tongue hanging to one side, running in glee as children called out for their mommas in fear. Several times the police had been called as well as the local dog catcher, but it always ended the same way. The men in uniform were also chased away, scared to return.
“What kind of cops are you?” Mary Ellison asked one morning. “You have a gun. Shoot that fucker!”
“Ma’am, we can’t just shoot the dog. He hasn’t bitten anyone,” Officer Westbrook told her.
“I haven’t killed anyone either, but if my black ass was wielding a gun, you’d shoot the hell out of me,” Mary spat back. “If you ain’t gonna do anything about the dog, then go talk with his brute of an owner.”
Officer Westbrook, under close scrutiny, went to the door of one Kieran Dunagan to have a friendly chat about Buster and his behavior. The conversation never happened since Buster wouldn’t allow the officer in the yard. His owner stood in the window watching as his pet maintained the privacy Kieran believed a homeowner deserved, and then the man they called Dawg, went back to bed and slept like an angel.
“That man is the devil,” Mary called out. “He and his demon dog need to be fined or at least cited. This is no way to live. Someone ought to poison that bastard and his owner, too. I just might do it.”
On that day, Mary Ellison received a warning for threatening her neighbor’s life with the intent to do bodily harm. Pissed, angry, and ready to wage war, the neighbors attempted to leave tainted meat for Buster. The meat only gave the brute a case of doggy diarrhea that he left in the daisies and smeared down the sidewalks. The slick shit caused Ms. Phillips to slip and slide, falling into the fence and breaking her hip. Her children were fed up with their mother being unable to enjoy her retirement, so they downsized the home and moved Ms. Phillips into a retirement community at Walton Oaks, thus leaving her three bedroom home vacant.
Real estate agents began showing the house that November and by March, thanks to Buster, the house still sat vacant. Ms. Phillip’s children, in a last-ditch effort to save their mother from the financial burden, dropped the price of the home by nearly $10,000 and got an offer right away. Linda Blaine became the new neighbor, closing in less than a month and moving into the well-maintained home that April.
By the middle of May, Buster was up to his old tricks and the new rhododendrons Linda planted in her yard had been uprooted, gnawed on, and left strewn about the lawn. Confused, she stood in the front flower garden, wondering what in the hell happened to her plants until she saw Buster, trotting by with one of her pretty pink plants dangling from his mouth. She knew how to handle the pesky pest and added a bit of cayenne pepper around the plants when she replanted them in the dark, fertile soil.
“Bring your little ass back over here again,” Linda challenged as she stood back and admired her work.
Thinking she had solved the problem, she woke the next morning to find a pile of warm poo on her front porch which covered her white high-end designer pumps, ruining her favorite pair of shoes.
“Whose mother loving dog is this?” she screamed out in frustration.
Mary Ellison, grinning because she wasn’t the only person being brutalized by Buster, leaned over the fence between the houses, providing a bit of neighborly information. To Linda, it was just gossip, and she didn’t want to hear it because her interest lay more in the owner of the animal.
“I see you’ve been introduced to Buster Padfoot,” Mary said, standing at the fence in her flowery house dress and matching pink hair rollers. “That damned dog is a menace. We’ve called the dog catcher and the police, and he terrorized them, too. My mama always told me when something seems too good to be true it probably is. I bet you got that house for a steal. Now you know why.”
“Good morning,” Linda said, looking at the neighbor leaning over her fence with the cup of coffee dangling from one hand and a menthol cigarette from the other. “I’m Linda.”
“Yeah, and I’m Mary, and that dog belongs to the man next door named Dawg,” Mary said.
“Excuse me? His name is Dawg?”
“Yes, and he’s as mean and spiteful as that damned dog of his,” Mary informed her. “I called Johnny Law on both those fuckers and Buster, that’s the dog, wouldn’t let the police in the yard. His owner stood in the window watching, almost daring Officer Westbrook, that’s the policeman, to come into the yard.”
“Johnny Law?” Linda asked unclear if that was a name or just a label.
“Yeah, that’s what we call the po-po in these parts,” Mary stated with pride. “Hey, you talk funny. Where you from anyways?”
“New York,” Linda said to the woman in irony for mocking the accent and for adding an extra S to the word anyway.
“You must have one of them cyber jobs downtown since you’re dressed all fancy,” Mary noted. “Them pretty shoes are ruined. If you ask me, I would make Dawg pay to get you a new pair.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she said, returning to the house, but leaving the shoes on the porch. Linda filled a mop bucket with warm water and doused her front stoop to remove the waste, then after putting on another pair of shoes, she marched next door to have face to face with the man named Dawg.
In her hands, she carried the fecal stained expensive pair of shoes as well as a half-dead stalk of her rhododendrons, prepared to have a civil and friendly conversation with the owner of the daring doggie. A small container of peanut butter was in her hand, and she marched with intention to the house next door. Buster, having tired himself from chasing the children to the bus stop, growled as he spotted the lady walking to his domain. The sound of his padded feet hitting the pavement beat in her ears louder than the blood rushing through her veins. Outsmarting the animal, she pulled the top off the container, lowering her hand just a bit to allow Buster to get a whiff of the Jif before she dropped it to the ground.
Happy to have a snack, the dog’s nose was buried deep in the travel sized jar of peanut butter, which freed Linda to continue her task of having a talk with Buster’s owner. Her head held high, she squared her shoulders as she walked up the monkey grass lined walkway to the front door and rang the bell. Mary Ellison got on the phone, calling other neighbors who also came outside to watch the interaction. Mary lit up another cigarette, trying to play it cool, observing with a bit of unfettered happiness as the new neighbor got her ass handed to her by Dawg.
Linda could feel eyes on her as she looked around, seeing people gawking at her attempt to rectify a bad situation while she pressed the doorbell and waited for the owner to answer. Her carefully prepared speech was swallowed when she saw Mary pointing at the house. Turning her head slowly, as if the Boogey Man had snuck up on her, she found herself staring into the middle of a broad, tanned chest that was attached to python-like arms, one which was covered in tattoos.
“Dayuuum,” she said, looking up at the man wearing no shirt, a full beard, and a what the fuck you want look. He
stood a solid six feet tall with a small waist, powerful, slim thighs, and muscles that seem to go on for days. The man called Dawg wore a black skull cap pulled down to his ears and looked as if he had just left a biker rally or the last meeting of the I’m Going to Kick Your Ass Club. Not wanting to appear intimidated, although she was scared out of her mind and about to leave the same present on his doorstep that Buster left her this morning, she swallowed hard. “Good morning, I’m Linda Blaine, I bought the house next door.”
“Yeah, and?” He scowled his angry face, squinting the green eyes while one edge of his lip curled up, showing a corner of his teeth. For good measure, he sucked on one of them to add to his impressive, intimidating form. Linda cleared her throat.
“You must be Dawg,” she said, holding out a hand for a shake that was ignored. “Okay then.” Being nice wasn’t going to work, leaving Linda to try a different tactic.
“Mr. Dawg, your dog shitted on my front porch and dug up my rhododendrons,” she said firmly.
He said nothing as he stood, his feet shoulder width apart, the leather belt holding up a pair of jeans that outlined how good God was to him that slid down into a pair of black boots. The green eyes narrowed as he took her all in, noticing the shitty shoes in her hand, waiting for her to try and make him pay for the cleaning and repair. As far as he was concerned, which showed clearly on his face, the lady could march her prissy ass right back over to her own house and stop bothering him.
“Mr. Dawg, I stepped in that mess, and it ruined my $600 pair of shoes,” she informed him, “plus, I paid a pretty penny for these plants that he ruined.”
“Six hundred dollars for a pair of shoes is a waste of money,” Dawg said. “You must be single with no kids.”
“Sir, I’m not sure what that has to do with the price of tea in India,” she stated, trying to understand where he was going with this.
Blind Luck (The Technicians Series Book 3) Page 10
