Rise of the Titan

by Pressley James

  Her thoughts caught up with Monique’s words again.

  “…looks or no looks, if he’s anything like Pops, he’s bad news,” Monique continued and adjusted the strap on the dress. “But, I’m sure the groupies around here won’t give a shit about that.”

  Suddenly, a stage call for the next dancers filled the dressing room, and Monique’s stage name was announced along with the others.

  “Well, shit, its show time.” Monique peered at her reflection in the mirror and then stood. “You wanna get a drink later? My treat, of course.”

  “As much as I’d love to, I can’t,” she murmured with disappointment. “The rest of my junk’s piled in the car, and I’m moving into my new apartment first thing in the morning.”

  “Moving is a bitch, isn’t it?” Monique sighed hard and shook her head. “Wish you woulda told me. Beau and I could’ve helped you get moved. But, as usual, you won’t take anyone’s help.” She frowned. “You probably won’t be getting too much done anyway. A storm is coming in, and we both know how afraid of storms you are. That’s it. You’re coming home with me.”

  “Monique, I’ll be fine.” She smiled at her. “I promise that I will be. It’s only a couple of boxes and a suitcase of clothes, and since when has a little rain hurt anyone?” She pressed harder. “And I’ve gotten over my fear of storms…somewhat. But, again, I’ll be fine.”

  Still, Monique didn’t seem convinced and frowned. “If you say so.”

  The stage call came again.

  “You better go before we’re both subjected to one of Larry’s tirades,” she suggested with a raised brow. “Don’t know about you, but the less he’s around, the better.”

  “Right on that. I’ll talk to you later, girl.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  When was alone again, she gave a relieved breath.

  Now, finally, maybe she could gather her scattered thoughts.

  Like now, since Titan wouldn’t be at the meeting, she’d have to get in contact with Rowell. Somehow, they’d have to devise a new point of contact---

  She jumped when the large hands closed about her shoulders. Frowning, she shrugged the hands off before meeting the stage manager’s amused gaze in the mirror. “Damn it, Larry, you just scared the shit out of me,” she scowled and released a fast breath. “Please, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “My brown sugar still has the dreamies, doesn’t she? Point of advice---get your damned head out of the clouds, sweetheart. There’s nothing but air up there,” Larry muttered with a sleazy smile and revealed a hint of the gold grill. “Deal with reality. Breathe it in. Fuck, live it. This place is it for you. There’s nothing else out there, and that’s why you’re back here. So, deals, baby.” He gave a throaty laugh, and it was so loud that the other dancers looked in their direction. “I’m your papa again in this world of good funk.”

  Her scowl worsened.

  The stage manager was a joke all around.

  Literally and figuratively…

  Dressed in a red plaid suit, hair perfectly coiffed in a fro, the stage manager’s appearance was reminiscent of the 1970’s disco era. Around his neck, the medallion necklace hung and met the center of his chest. His shirt was unbuttoned half-down and granted a peek at his chest hairs. The mustache lining his lip was perfectly trimmed, and his goatee beard was perfectly pointy.

  1970’s reject to the real…

  “Bella, get your shit together,” he snapped and gave three successive hand claps. Then, his disapproving glance fell to her white robe. “What the fuck is this? Why aren’t you ready? Trying to ride Larry’s time clock, huh? You know that I don’t put up with that shit.”

  “You’re so overdramatic.” She rolled her eyes skyward. “Would you relax? I have fifteen minutes before I go on. Stop riding my back.”

  “As long as I’m handing out the paychecks, I’ll ride you as hard as I want.” Suddenly, his cell phone shrilled, and he took a step away from her. As he answered, the irritation was evident in his tone. “Damn it, Willie! I’m back here with the girls, and you know that’s precious time. What do you want?” An exasperated look covered his face before he turned away from her. While he talked, he gestured wildly with his hands. “What the hell? Hillary has the shits? Did that bitch puke all over the bathroom? Nasty heifer!” He stomped his foot against the floor, falling into an all out temper tantrum, and it was enough to draw everyone’s attention to him. But, they all looked away at the sight of his hostile glare. “She can’t be sick! She has a private show tonight with one from the Wolf Pack tonight!”

  Pretending disinterest, she stroked the mascara along her thick lashes again.

  But, still, she was hanging onto his every word.

  And just who entailed the ‘Wolf Pack’?

  Was it the group of mafia kingpins attending the fray?

  Of course it was, and that meant that things were suddenly interesting, she mulled, passing a furtive glance at his backside in the glass mirror. No doubt, the current event could lend itself to new information for the case…

  Larry released a round of hard curses. “Yes, I know that Pops wants the best dancer.” He pulled the phone away from his ear before holding it against it again. “Would you let me think for a minute, muthafucka! Give a brotha some time!” Muttering under his breath, fuming openly, he spoke unintelligibly in a fast tone. Then, as he whirled around, his eyes met hers in the mirror, and now a speculative gleam shone in them. His smile widened so far that it seemed that his face would split. “Crisis averted. I just found our fix. Don’t worry. The show’s still on.” As soon as he ended the call, he stopped behind her chair again. “Get your pretty ass together. There’s been a change in plans. We’re scrapping your show and sending you to the private area instead.”

  Purposely, she screwed her face.

  If anything, just to hinder her need to punch his lights out at the insult.

  However, she’d take the verbal hit.

  Things were back on track with the case.

  Maybe just maybe, she’d get some kind of dirt.

  But, she couldn’t appear to be too eager.

  Still, the prospect of acquiring more info for the case was revving her determination to alarming heights, she mulled, holding back a satisfied look. Instead, she forced a frown as she stood up. “What do you mean a change in plans?”

  Larry grasped her elbow and maneuvered her away from the chair. “We’re going to The Quarters up on level 10. All I need is for you to have your tits and ass together, you feel me?”

  “But, I’m not dressed,” she protested feebly, following along behind him as he pulled her along. Again, she had to play the part of a distressed stripper well. “My outfit---”

  “Would you quit talking?” As they departed the dressing area, he veered towards the right and headed in the direction of the elevators. “Shit, you’re making me nervous, and my nerves are already on edge.” He shook his head to clear it. “As for the outfit, you’ll find what you need in the dressing room there.” When they reached the elevator, he punched the button for the tenth floor. Scoffing, he gave a quick laugh as he faced her. “Shit, it’s nothing but a thin rag, but it’ll cover your cootie at least.”

  “You’re disgusting.” Shaking her head, she released an irritated breath. “That’s it. There’s nothing redeeming in you.”

  He patted her cheek. “Just one reason why you love me---admit it.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Don’t touch me. You’re making me ill.” Then, after pausing, she hedged carefully. “Who am I putting this so-called private show on for?”

  He passed an impatient glance at the overhead icons above the elevator doors. Still, it didn’t make them open any sooner. “Doesn’t matter who he is. Pops just said that it’s one of the Wolf Pack.”

  Shit, she mulled, biting the silent curse back.

  Of course, it was foolish to hope that it’d be Titan.

  Especially, since the informant had mentioned his non-at
tendance at the event.

  But, any headway was good headway.

  “Just do your thang, Bella,” Larry murmured, spreading his arms wide. “Do it well enough, and you might get a little bonus out of it.” Leaning in closer, until he was a few inches away from her face, he warned quietly with a steely look. “But, don’t mess it up. Because if Pops gets on my ass, let me just say this. I’ll make your little stay here miserable.” He straightened before adjusting the lapels of his suit coat. He slid a fast look down her robed form. “Mess with me, and your ass will be waiting tables. Bet you won’t be all as pretty and shit then, will you, Bella? More than likely, you’d have an old haggard look.”

  “Am I really getting a lecture about my appearance from you of all people?” she wise-cracked and faced the elevator fully. “It is 2018 not 1970, and from the looks of you, you clearly missed that memo, jackbutt.”

  “Sticks and stones are the only things that hurt this soul, baby,” Larry laughed again, but still, it lacked some humor. Then, he turned serious again. “The meeting’s going to last a little while. So, you have sometime to catch your breath and think up some good moves. Keep your ass in the shield area until the signal light comes on. Then, you go in there and do your thing.” He pinched his nostrils twice before hunching his shoulders, and somehow, it made him seem all the more comical. “Didn’t want to say this, but, what the hell. Since, it’s one from the Wolf Pack, you might want to do a little extra.”

  “Do a little extra? Are you suggesting that I sleep with him? I’m not the one for the job if that’s what you’re after,” she huffed in disbelief and quickly caught onto his unspoken meaning, “I’m a stripper, not a prostitute.”

  “Tell that to the rest of society,” Larry shrugged uncaringly. “For shit’s sake, Bella, I’m not telling you to sleep with him, just shake your ass a little harder. Hell, if the bastard wants to, let him squeeze one of your tits---”

  She placed a hand before his face. “Talk to this. Better yet, go to hell.”

  The elevator doors opened.

  In silence, she stepped on.

  Chapter 3

  The parking lot was well lit.

  Just as Vitali had proclaimed, everyone was here, he noted while crossing the parking lot. As he passed the goon standing next to the black stretch limo, he gave a curt nod.

  He swept a fast furtive glance around.

  Henchmen and vultures were crawling everywhere, both in the light and shadows.

  At all points in the parking area, they were there and standing idle beside the luxury vehicles. Others hovered close to the alleys or near the back entrance.

  From the looks of things, and to no surprise, they were packing heat. As a matter of fact, they were all watching and daring the other. Yet, still, there was a brother code when it came to major meetings like the one tonight. Foes became allies when a substantial amount of drugs, weaponry, and money were the talking points.

  When he neared the entrance, he slowed his steps, and as he did, one of the goons trotted to the door before opening it. It was Santiago’s goon. The rich black dark business suit, sunglasses, and shiny slippers said as much. The man bowed before stepping aside. “Evening, Titan. Hope it finds you well.”

  “Likewise,” he muttered tightlipped.

  The bright lights nearly blinded him as he stepped inside, and the flurry of noise and activity was off-putting. On instinct, his hand fell to his waistband and found the slight bulge.

  The cold steel was still there.

  Right where he needed it…

  And fully loaded…

  Pausing, he looked around the upscale club.

  The place was an oxymoron itself.

  Beauty and ugly clashing together in one place…with the nastiness being the dark souls meeting tonight…

  The private entrance was impeccably designed and decorated.

  Mahogany-hued furniture was lined and strategically placed along the walls. The finely-coated opaque colored walls were dressed with paintings by renowned Italian artists. Crystalline chandeliers dangled from the ceilings and showed their rich value with every dripping diamond. The tiled floors were so shiny that he could see his reflection along with the security team that hovered at various points in the area.

  While they feigned disinterest at his arrival, he knew better. Easily, he caught sight as one of them murmured something into a mouthpiece. So, it was to no surprise when Akumu suddenly materialized out of nowhere.

  Spreading his arms wide in greeting, Akumu gave a fake smile. “So, we meet again, and on such short notice.” The henchman whirled around before leading the way. “The meeting’s going down on Level 5.” He gave a short laugh. “Guess you could say that they’re all impatient with your ass.”

  Rather than saying anything, he regarded him with stony silence.

  Moments later, they were on Level 5 and striding down the hallway. Apart from the two rooms on the left, there was only a huge conference room, the one where all of the business dealings were conducted. When they reached the conference area, Akumu stopped just outside the doorway, and then, gave two brief knocks. Once, a brisk ‘come in’ came from the other side, he pushed the door open slightly before turning towards him. “And this is where we part.” He clapped his right shoulder hard. “Good luck, you, poor bastard. You’re going to need it.”

  Frowning, he watched until the goon fell out of sight.

  Then, blowing an exasperated breath, he stepped inside.

  Upon entrance, the huge conference table and its occupants fell into view.

  Naturally, his attention fell on the occupant heading the table.

  Carlo Vitali…

  His lecherous murdering father…

  Like they always did, they sized one another up.

  The tension was so thick that a knife wouldn’t even cut it.

  Inside, his hatred boiled over.

  But, was it actually self-hatred?

  Self-hatred for what he was…

  Why did he have to be a close image of him, he mulled quietly, maintaining the mutual hostile stare across the space. Same hard rugged features, cold gray eyes, and matching stature in every sense…The only difference separating them was the years, or maybe the gray that tinged the edges of his father’s hairline. Now, his father’s gaze was chilly as he watched him.

  “Well, well, well,” Vitali surmised out loud and leaned back in the chair. After sending the chair into a rocking motion, he tented his fingers against his chin. His gray eyes turned colder if that were even possible. “Guess who FINALLY decides to make an appearance? My wayward son, Titan---the very bastard who refuses to be tamed---and that fact proves that he’s my son in more ways than one. Am I right, gentlemen?” The chuckles and comments rose in the room from others, and it was about 12 or 15 of them gathered at the table. When Vitali raised his left hand in midair, they all fell silent. “But, let me tell you a valuable lesson, son. While you are your own man in some regards, you should always remember that the biggest part of you belongs to me. I’ll let you exercise some freedom, but don’t go overboard, eh?” His eyes hardened further. The next time you try and pull a stunt like tonight, I promise that you won’t make it through the door on your two legs.” He gave a malicious laugh. “Hell, I doubt you’ll even have legs after I’m done.”

  “Is that a threat, Vitali?” he mocked in return, giving a tight smile. Slowly, he advanced across the room. When he met the table, he braced both hands against it. Giving a humorless laugh, he glanced at the other attendees. “Tell me, gentlemen. What kind of man says such things to his own son? I mean, isn’t family supposed to mean everything?” A murmur of comments abounded about the table again. But, they all fell silent quickly at his stony expression. “The only thing that this bastard and I have in common is our bloodline, and it’s a rather unfortunate thing indeed.” He looked at his father point blank before shrugging. Then, smiling coldly again, he settled in the vacant chair at the opposite end of the table, the other head, a
nd engaged in another visual lockdown with his estranged father. “So, rather than saying hello, I think that a simple ‘fuck you’ will be sufficient.”

  The loud boisterous laughter erupted in the room.

  While it did, his father passed him a warning look.

  A ‘don’t fuck with me look’ all around…

  But, in a flash, his father assumed his calm, polished composure. “Enough with jokes, alright, brothers?” Vitali interrupted smoothly with a false chuckle, and it was one that only he’d notice. “What kind of meeting would it be if my son and I didn’t trade jabs. I’d say it’s always the highlight of the evening.”

  With those words, they moved on to discussing business.

  “Everybody’s territory in the nearby states is being shanked by the Ricci’s. They want to extend their business all the way from New York to Alabama and Louisiana. It’s only a matter of time before the bitch is up in here trying to take over,” Vitali argued passionately, falling deeper into his persuasive speech, several moments later. “But, if we all band together, we’ll be a formidable front.”

  The rising voices indicated a consensus.

  Staying silent, he watched them all.

  “I say we hold our positions like a muthafuckin’ brigade. East, West, North, and South Georgia must be held hostage by at least one of our cells.” Vitali gave a satisfied huff before tossing the pen onto the table. “Lucinda Ricci’s organization and the east coast syndicate won’t stand a chance against that.”

  “While I agree with your assessment, Vitali,” one of the mob kingpins muttered thickly. “It must be clear that the turf stays ours once we stake claim to it. No backstabbing.”

  While his father soothed the man’s ire, he eyed him from the other end of the table.

  With Vitali, there was no such thing as backstabbing.

  He’d attack at all fronts.

  “But, what about Ft. Wallers?” one of them interjected. “How are we going to deal with that? Military cops, the local blue…they’ll be all over the place.”