“Now, I suggest you put your hand back on your dick, cause I’m sure it’s missin’ the attention.” Dylan orders.
From the sounds coming from the television, they must have either been watching porn or playing one of those interactive videos. “You were asked a question, you got a problem with me?” I kicked the edge of the couch, his bottle tips, but doesn’t spill.
“Did that fucking cunt tell you that?” He tossed back, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip. “Bitch better have sent my money.” He’s trying to act badass, but has all the signs of being a playground bully, but I’m about to end his reign.
Dylan steps forward before I can open my mouth. “If by cunt you mean the pussy I’m talking to, your dumb ass told me everything. The money she showed you is mine, and so is your fuckin’ass for treating her the way you did.”
Lucas looks at me, narrowing his eyes, his upper lip raised in disgust. “I know who you are. You’re the fucking jarhead my girl was getting fat as a tick off of.” One thing about being a Marine, you learn to let the name calling roll off your back. Only a few things will get one of us pissed off, and it ain’t a pussy like Lucas.
“You mean the fucking stripper? Dude, she was an easy way to get my balls sucked.” His eyes narrow further, Audrey was right, he does have deep seated feelings for Ginny.
“You better shut your fucking mouth about my Dragonfly.”
Dylan moved closer to me, his gun out and pointed at Clifford, who keeps drinking his beer and watching the girls I hear moaning behind me. “Son, even you use her fucking stage name like one of her regulars. Bitch asked my bro here to call her Harmony. Guess we know who has the bigger dick.” Dylan’s look is challenging, daring Lucas to react.
Something ugly comes to life in him as I fire a few pit shots at him. “You’re in love with her, aren’t ya? In love with a whore who would rather fuck her own brother than you.” Dylan snickers from the side. Austin has eyes on the street and my truck, his hand on his gun, ready to take on anyone who attempts to come through the doorway. “Tell me somethin’, Lucas, did you enjoy having Cash’s dick rammed up your ass or did they make you watch as they fucked each other? You and your tweezers to hold your needle dick.” I’ve touched another nerve as he lashes out.
“At least my Dragonfly didn’t lay there and cry. Fucking Ree Ree is like taking a bath with your clothes on.” He laughed, picking his tipped bottle up and twisting the cap off in an attempt to take a drink.
“Boy, she laid there because your dick is too fucking small to feel. Her tears were from the stench coming off you. As for you knowing what a fucking bath feels like, I doubt if you do more than take a piss in the morning.” His clothes were in better shape than Clifford’s, but his hair needed an oil change desperately.
“So what, you fucking her now?”
“It’s none of your fucking business what I’m doing with her.” I won’t let him get under my skin and show him how vulnerable she makes me.
“Whatever,” he shrugs. “You be sure to let her know she won’t be seeing Grace no more then.” He brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it back.
“Did this motherfucker really just say that shit to me?” I asked Dylan. Its rhetorical and he knows this, but looks at me then back to Lucas.
Placing myself closer, I wave the end of my gun in his face. “You’re gonna take the girls last dime so you can sit on your ass and play with your fucking dick. Steal from the baby you created, and then ask me what the fuck I’m doing?”
“Hey, man, don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
Clifford snorts as Austin turns to him. “You got something to say there Joe Dirt?”
Clifford scoots back further in his recliner, placing the Mason jar back on the end table. “Just watching the three of you waltz in here, threatenin’ my boy like ya have.” He points at Dylan with his index and middle finger, a cigarette dangling between them. “I know who you are, you fucking pig. Don’t think I ain’t gonna call your boss and let him know what kind of cops he has patrolling the streets.”
Dylan drops his gun to his side and takes two steps placing him directly in front of Clifford. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Dylan places his foot on the edge of the recliner, causing it to rock forward, bringing Clifford closer to him. “First, I ain’t been a detective in this town for quite some time. Second, you would have to walk out of here alive to be able to say anything to anybody.”
Terror is the only word I can use to describe for the look on Clifford’s face as Dylan pulls back, letting the recliner rock back and forth. Austin leans his back against the wall, his gun parallel to his face. “Eyes up, y’all. We got company.” There is movement in the yard, but the night has claimed any trace of light out there, including the struggling street lamp.
“Hey, Lucas, you finally get your Shelby truck?” Through the door comes a fat fucking man, his hair cut close on the sides and spiked on the top, with a lip ring through his lower lip. He has three tear drop tattoos under his right eye and I know enough from listening to Dylan, the man has done some time in prison. His eyes go wide as he takes in the scene before him, twists his neck a few times, and then starts backing out of the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” It isn’t until he is pushed further into the room, with his chest now facing me, that I see the baby in his arms. Perfect auburn ringlets surround a cherub face, a soft pink dress, with lace socks and pacifier. “Da!” The baby shouts, her pacifier dropping from her mouth and dangling from a ribbon attached to her bib as her chubby finger points to me. Her eyes tell me for certain this is Audrey’s daughter, Grace. It’s those big blue eyes which reach inside my chest, wrap around my heart and rip it out, leaving warmth and a new purpose in it’s place.
“Give me the baby, Lardo.” Carson is in the doorway, gun in hand as he circles around to the front of the guy holding Grace. “We’re going to do this nice and easy.” Carson holsters his gun as he takes the baby, “You keep those hands where I can see them and you get to keep breathing for a little longer.”
Carson looks to someone who is hidden behind the massive girth of this guy, Lardo. Austin has his gun pointed at the floor, but I can tell he knows whomever is about to take the baby. Carson coos at Grace as a familiar hand, with a thick gold wedding band and Cartier watch around a wrist I’ve know most of my life, reaches for the baby.
“Dean, take her to Sweetness.” I command, feeling in my gut that Audrey is most likely pacing a hole in my shop floor. “We’ll meet you later, after we do a little cleaning here.” Daddy doesn’t say shit as he takes off like a rocket down the steps, Carson hot on his heals. The sound of two doors slamming and tires moving fast against the gravel driveway, is the last thing we hear.
“Do I even want to hear how you know this motherfucker?” Dylan questions the big guy, as Austin’s face forms an amused smile, turning his head in an attempt not to piss Dylan off.
“Morgan, I told you I was helping my girl out when you busted me the last time.”
“He is the fucking Nanny. Fat fuck thinks he is in love with Dragonfly.” Lucas scoffs as he tosses his empty bottle to the end of the couch, joining the rest of the trash.
“And motherfucker, I’ve told you once already, the bitch has a name. Say it fucking with me, Virginia, a common whore from the system, like the goddamn state.” Dylan has a history of becoming an even bigger smart ass when he is provoked. “I blame you for this.” He kicks Clifford’s chair as he points his gun at Lucas. “You helped him become this pus filled boil on the taint of society.” Lucas is treading on thin ice with the overuse of this stripper name of hers, while Clifford is smart enough not to move or say anything back.
“Oh fuck me, you really think Dra—” Lucas stops and looks at Dylan. “Er, Gina is your girlfriend. I swear to God, one fuck and you’re in love.” Not many brains in this douche bag, Dylan is going to enjoy this.
“He’s right, Largo. Gina is everyone’s girl, giving out head l
ike it was a hug or somethin’.” Austin chimes in, his gun in his hand, but relaxed at hip level.
“She sucked his dick so she could get high.” Nodding his head in Lucas’s direction. “Sucked your dick so you would watch the baby.” He shrugged, “Not to mention pinching stolen property.” And the connection is made, I understand exactly who this guy is now, another criminal draining the life out of this city.
Lucas’s eyes shift between Austin and Largo, or Lardo…whatever. “What stuff?” He demands, his anger rising as he adjusts and Austin’s gun comes up aimed in his direction.
“Well, look who is butt hurt now?” He teases, “I ain’t even gotten to the reason she was sucking Chase’s anaconda. Crazy bitch was all hot and bothered when he pulled up in his Shelby truck. You know, like the one parked right outside your loser assed house.”
Lucas tries to look out the open door, but Dylan steps in the way, blocking his view of, according to Audrey, the object of his true wet dreams. “You really thought you were special? You weren’t nothin’ but a number. Another drop of spunk she had to wipe off her jaw before moving on to the next guy.”
Lucas looks from Austin to me, malice dripping from his pores. “Maybe so, but I know one thing. You can take my baby and give her back to her bitch momma, but I’m still her daddy. Something you’ll never be.” Maybe it was the way Grace looked at me or how she wrapped my shit around her finger, but something in me snapped. Not thinking of anything but keeping this motherfucker from hurting my girl ever again, I raised my gun and fire two bullets into his dick.
Clifford found his backbone and reached beside him to pull his own gun. Dylan is quicker and a bullet lands in the center of Clifford’s forehead, a single line of blood dripping between his eyes and into the wiry hair of his mustache and beard. His body slumps deeper into the fabric of the worn chair, causing the Mason jar to dump over and crash to the floor, letting the smell of moonshine free.
Lucas, who is holding his groin and crying like the bitch he is, looks to his dead father, reaches into the pile of trash by his head and pulls a silver handgun out before any of us can react. Two shots sound before all hell breaks loose. Largo falls with a thud and a cry to the filthy floor below, his hands holding his gut. The three of us fill Lucas with more lead than a duck weight, his body jerks with every hit until, lifeless, he slumps to the side. Taking a step forward, I rear back and spit into his open eye. “That was for Audrey.”
Largo is bleeding profusely from his wounds, a trickle has forming on the side of his mouth, falling like a stream down his multiple chins, and pooling in the crevices his skin created. He is struggling for every breath, and I notice a second blood stain forming on the left side of his chest. My vision blurs slightly at the memory of standing over Kakos in the desert, blood pouring from a wound in his chest. I remember his words of warning as Ghost radioed for an extraction. “Don’t live with regret” echos in my head and I shake the memory off, returning to the present and the dying man before me. I’ve stood beside Doc far too many times as he did all he could for a fellow Marine or insurgent. Being the last voice they heard as death claimed them.
Largo pulls Austin by his shirt, his ear to his mouth as he coughs and spits blood, trying desperately to tell him something. I grab a plastic grocery bag and flatten it out against the wound in his chest. It’s enough to give him the ability to utter his last words. “Twenty-seven Crest Street…false wall in the back of the pantry…the code for the firewall is getpaid.” Austin nods in understanding. “Promise me you’ll take care of Grace.”
Dylan grabs his hand, their thumbs circling. “I swear it, man.”
“Tell Audrey I’m sorry. She was always so nice to me. And Morgan,” his breathing labored again as he struggles to speak. “Audrey was never involved, he just wouldn’t let her go,” he gasps once, and is gone.
Dylan uses his two fingers to close Largo’s eyes.“Take care, Largo,” he whispers, leaving me bewildered as to what this means.
“We gotta clean this up, and then get the fuck out of here.” Austin reminds us. “I have a feeling this address he gave me is going to have the answers we need.” He pulls gloves out of his back pocket, handing each of us a pair. I give him a look as he stands with the latex in his fist. “Put these on, Chase. The last thing we need is for an investigator to find one of our prints in this house.”
His concern is amusing. His misunderstanding of what I can do with some common household cleaning items is insulting. “Not if there is nothing left to find.”
Dylan scans the street as we prepare to leave the house. Taking a slight detour as he breaks the chains on the necks of the dogs, setting them free. I’ve set the accelerators for the fire I’m about to create, one this city may never forget. The street is dark, and the boys who once circled the block on their bikes, are long gone now. Either hiding from the sounds of the gunshots or moved on to other things.
“Six tanks of propane?” Austin exclaims in disbelief. “Who keeps six tanks of propane laying around?” The once black sky is now glowing orange from the flames, licking the edges. Shattering glass and creaking wood fills the silence of the late hour. Part of the roof caved in not five minutes after the first fire truck arrived. Carson had called asking what in the hell we had done, as he heard the captain report they were letting it burn to the ground, as the flames were too high and the fire too hot to be put out by water alone. The fence, which housed the two dogs, was now bowing and melting from the force of the fire.
“How the fuck did you do this?” Dylan questioned, genuine amazement in his voice. “You went in with a tube of chapstick and dental floss,” he recalled, turning his head in my direction. “When did you become fucking MacGyver?”
As I was about to tell him of my extensive training on how to make water flammable, a news van pulls up behind one of the emergency vehicles. A beautiful reporter approaches bystanders, thrusting her microphone in their faces. Time to get the hell out of here, once her interview is broadcast, every looky-lou in the city will be over here snooping. Keeping my lights off, I back down the street and into the shadows, remaining in stealth mode until we hit the main road.
Austin plugged the address Largo had given him into my GPS. Crest Street was located off King. As we drove, several cruisers passed us, red and blue lights warning us to move over and let them by. As we waited for the fourth one to speed beyond us, I asked Dylan why he called the dead man Largo.
“Largo is his thug name. Since the first time I arrested him, I’ve called him Lardo, because he was such a big boy. He corrected me a few times on his name, but I didn’t give a shit what he wanted to be called. If what Austin suspects is true, I owed it to him to use the name he felt good about.”
The house stood quiet as a tomb, it’s bright white paint and dark shutters matched well with the surrounding homes. Dylan scanned the area before climbing out of my truck, then crouching at the front door. Many houses in Charleston, especially the ones in downtown, were built before the Civil War. Back then, having a private front porch wasn’t just a luxury, it was a necessity since air-conditioning hadn’t been invented. The private porches gave the lady of the house an opportunity to cool herself under all those petticoats, while remaining a lady.
This particular house was no different, the front door was actually the entrance to the porch, or veranda, as the uppity class called it. Dylan took longer to twist the knob, than to open the lock and let us in. The main door had a security pad, neon blue numbers glowing in the darkness. Austin pulled out his cell phone, scanning a few pages until he found what he was looking for. Dylan and I gave him puzzled looks as the door clicked open and the hall light came on. “Touch screens are tiny computers, waiting for a command to do what they’re programed to do.” He shrugged as he motioned for Dylan to walk ahead of him.
Inside the house was Priscilla Morgan’s wet dream. Rich fabrics covered high-end furnishings, heavy tapestries, in soft beiges, and creams, covered the windows and matched the furnish
ings. I had to question if this was a set up by a dying man, until I saw the portrait hanging above the fireplace. Virginia, Ginny, Gina, Harmony or whatever she would end up being named, was sprawled naked as the day she was born across a settee. Her hair long was draped over the arm of the chair, one hand at the crown of the head pushing the strands away from her face, while the other hand appeared to be caressing her nipples. Her skin looked flawless, absent of any tattoos or blemishes. Maybe this was how she saw herself, a beautiful woman to be appreciated and admired.
“Chase?” Austin called my name from down the hall, “You comin’?”
Leaving behind the illusion of a woman I thought I could love, a small slice of my heart and dignity in the coldness of her deception returns. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”
Walking down the hall through the rest of the house, pictures of Cash and Ginny line the walls. Black and white photos of them in a lovers embrace, selfies of them kissing, and even of one of him between her thighs. I’d always been careful with her, but after seeing how involved she was in drugs and other men, a trip to the doctor was in my immediate plans.
As I entered the kitchen, I still can’t believe this is the home of a girl who lived the way she did. Maybe it was wrong of me to pigeonhole her, but the way she turned out to be, placed her in a house like the one I just set fire to not one my Momma would move into. “Found it!” Dylan shouted, causing me to increase my pace as I followed his voice into the pantry.
A steep staircase opened to complete darkness. Dylan and Austin were searching on each side of the wall for a light switch, swearing under their breaths as they both came up empty. Pulling out my phone, I swipe the flashlight button on, illuminating the tiny space and the single light bulb which dangled above our heads. Reaching over, I pulled the beaded chain until the brightness of the bulb nearly blinded me.
“Motherfucker.”
Absolute Valor (Southern Justice #3) Page 18
