Doozer (Burning Saints MC Book 5)

by Jack Davenport

  “What’s with all the guys?” Tackle asked.

  The exercises Taxi had us running were designed to help us hone our undercover skills as much as our technical skills. We were to stay in character at all times during training, as if our lives depended upon it.

  “Don’t worry about them,” the red leader said, motioning to the three men behind him. “They’re here for my peace of mind.”

  “You named the time and place and we’re here. No bullshit, just like I said. So, we gonna do this or what?” Tackle asked.

  “You got the money?” the red leader asked.

  “It’s in the trunk,” Tackle said, pointing to the beat-up nineties Honda Accord training vehicle parked in front of the “coffee shop.”

  Hogan’s Alley looked less like a training facility and more like the back lot of Hollywood movie studio, and if you didn’t look too closely at the buildings’ façades you’d swear you were in an actual town.

  “How about you have your buddy there get it out of the trunk, nice and slow and we’ll make the exchange right here?” the red leader said.

  “You heard him,” Tackle said to Boots. “Get the bag out of the car.”

  “Nice and slow. So, I can see you,” the red leader said.

  “We heard you. Take it easy,” Tackle said. “I told you, we’re straight. No tricks.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t know you and I don’t like to take chances.”

  Just then, I spotted a second black SUV round the corner of the drop location, parking just out of view of my scope. My heart raced at the complication and I had to think fast.

  “Damnit,” I hissed, switching my mic on. “Blue leader, you’re gonna have company. An identical SUV just pulled up to the east corner. I have lost visual on it. Repeat, I have lost visual.”

  I knew Tackle wouldn’t be able to respond without blowing his cover but hoped he could at least hear me.

  “Hold up,” Tackle said to the red team leader. “I’m a cautious man myself, so how ’bout you let me see the product before we go any further.”

  “That’s not how this works. You bring me the money, and we give you the product,” the red leader said, his tone becoming more aggressive.

  “Jerry said this would be a no hassle deal,” Tackle said. “What the fuck is this?”

  “I sure hope you’re not thinking of backing out, because that wouldn’t be very smart of you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m thinkin’ that might be the smartest thing I do all day. Come on, Boots,” Tackle said, motioning for his partner to get in the car.

  “I said backing out wasn’t a good idea,” the red leader said, pulling out a pistol, leveling it at my team.

  I clicked off the rifle’s safety.

  “Be cool, and we can all just walk away, here,” Tackle said, calmly.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be walking away as soon as you give me that bag full of money.”

  “I told you. Deal’s off,” Tackle said.

  “This isn’t a deal anymore, now gimmie the bag.”

  “You really think we’re here alone?” Tackle asked. “You pull that trigger and you’re a dead man.”

  “You brought guys with guns. I brought guys with guns.” The red leader motioned to his goons. “We could turn the place into a bloodbath, sure. But you’re not gonna,” he said, just as the second SUV rounded the corner, the door swinging open to reveal Jette, bound and gagged in the back seat.

  “Make one move and the driver shoots her, Agent Tackle,” the red leader said.

  Taxi had obviously handed Jette over to the red team to be used as a hostage. He loved to throw curveballs during these exercises. Still, I had to play this scenario out as if it were real. After some quick figuring and a quick prayer to whoever might be listening, I slowed my breathing, put the target in my crosshairs, and let my mind go blank.

  In that moment, and possibly for the first time in my life, I trusted myself. In that split second, I decided on a plan, executed it, and felt confident that I’d made the right call. I didn’t act out of fear, impulse, or even the desire to beat the red team. Only to do what was best for my team.

  I held my breath and squeezed the trigger, activating the sensor in the driver’s hat, indicating a head shot. I targeted red leader and fired a second shot, hitting him center mass, giving Tackle and Boots time to draw their weapons on the three remaining bad guys and take them into custody.

  I was told most of this afterward, as I’d missed most of the event myself. I saw only flurries of activity in my scope as my mind swam in and out of a fugue state. I was aware I’d decided to take the shots, but after that, it was like I was on auto pilot.

  After a moment of silence, I heard the celebratory whoops and hollers of my fellow teammates in my earpiece, followed by Taxi’s voice. “Blue team, report to rendezvous point Charlie immediately.”

  My team was there to greet me by the time I’d packed my rifle and returned to the street level. I almost felt like I’d left another version of myself on that rooftop. Pride wasn’t a feeling I was accustomed to, but the looks on Tackle, Boots, and Jette’s faces made my heart swell.

  “Holy shit! I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire fuckin’ life. I swear to god!” Tackle shouted excitedly.

  “Seriously,” Boots said. “How the hell do you manage to get off two clean shots from that distance?”

  “Because she’s a badass,” the usually reserved Jette screamed, giving me a huge hug.

  “Thank you, guys,” I said, knowing I was fully blushing and not caring at all. For once, I couldn’t wait for our debrief with Taxi. I kept my shit together, did my job, and helped lead my team to victory.

  “Congratulations on another failed mission, blue team,” Taxi said, throwing the field report to the ground.

  “What the fuck?” I blurted out.

  “Did you say something, candidate?” Taxi bellowed.

  The entire team stood in line, at attention, while Taxi paced back and forth in front of us like a drill sergeant.

  “No, sir,” I replied, wanting to crawl inside myself.

  “I didn’t fucking think so,” he snapped. I’d never seen Taxi this angry. which only added to my confusion. I thought Taxi would be all hugs and high fives, but instead I’m worried about getting kicked out of the program.

  “Now, would one of you like to tell me what the hell happened out there today?”

  “Trouble took out two bad guys and saved all our asses,” Tackle said.

  “Is that right? Is that what happened?” Taxi asked, turning his attention to Boots. “Is that how you see it?”

  “Actually, yeah,” Boots said.

  “Well, please allow me to inform all of you exactly all of the ways you’re dead fucking wrong,” he shouted, before turning to me. “Trouble, what was blue team’s mission?”

  “To make contact with the red team and exchange money for drugs,” I replied.

  “For what purpose?”

  My palms were sweating, and I felt like I was gonna pass out. “F…for the p…purpose of furthering the relationship between ours…selves and the sellers.”

  “Very good. That’s right,” Taxi said, cheerily. “Now, let me ask a follow up question. How fucking good do you think our relationship is with them now that their brains are splattered all over fucking Main Street?”

  “The deal had gone south,” I protested.

  “Are you completely sure about that? In the training scenario, these were first-time buyers, right?”

  I nodded.

  “In the real world, sellers test buyers they don’t know very well. Who’s to say the display of power on the part of the red team wasn’t all just part of a test?”

  “They were holding Jette hostage,” I pointed out.

  “That’s how you saw it from two-hundred meters away.”

  “Boss, that’s how it looked on the ground too,” Tackle said.

  Taxi stopped pacing and turned to face us all. “You know, for a bu
nch of criminals, you sure think like cops. You must start thinking outside the box. Jette may have been a hostage, and she may have been a double agent, working with the cartel. Perhaps, she was loyal to blue team and was working on a strategy of her own. There were still many options on the table that could have led to a successful outcome, but Trouble’s itchy trigger finger eliminated all of them.”

  “I was protecting my team,” I said, trying to hide the quiver in my voice.

  “You made the wrong call,” Taxi said, unsympathetically. “In the real world, your little Annie Oakley routine would have torched an ongoing operation, exposed your team, and left two dead bodies in the street. If that’s not a failure I don’t know what it is.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Doozer

  IT HAD BEEN a month since Trouble left and I was climbing the walls. There was no place on Sanctuary grounds that didn’t feel haunted. No matter where I went, something reminded me of her, and it was driving me crazy. I needed to get the hell out of here and find something else to occupy my mind for a while.

  My phone buzzed and I picked it up to see a text from my sister, Gia. I was about to get a bigger distraction than I ever could have imagined.

  Gia: The family is having an impromptu lunch at Vincenzo’s today at 1:00. It won’t be the same without you. Please say you’ll join us.

  I started to type that I wouldn’t be able to make it but stopped. As much as I dreaded the thought of lunch with my father, I did miss my sisters and mother. I’d successfully managed to dodge every family get together since Trouble and I hooked up but knew that couldn’t last forever. Eventually I’d have to see my family again, and once they knew about Trouble, they’d want an introduction, but the mere thought of subjecting Trouble to my family made my feet sweat. At least with Trouble currently out of town, I could check in with my family without opening that can of worms.

  Two hours later I was shown to my family’s usual table at Vincenzo’s Fine Italian Eatery where my father was waiting for me, alone.

  “What the fuck do you mean Mama and the girls aren’t joining us?”

  “Please, Marco. Do you have to use that kind of language? Especially here, at Vincenzo’s. It’s our family restaurant.”

  “Yeah, Pop. Family. Which is who I agreed to have lunch with. So where are the rest of them?”

  “Sit down. Sit down,” My father said. “You always make such a scene. You’re like your mother.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, reluctantly taking the seat at the far end of the table, just as two bussers came to the table and removed the place servings set out for the mother and sisters. “They were never coming, were they?” I asked.

  “Marco, it’s time for you and me to sit down and have a chat, don’t you think?”

  “Clearly you do,” I said, dryly.

  “Please, son. This is important to me,” he said.

  “If it’s so damned important to you, why not just call and ask me to meet with you instead of having Gia set up some phony family lunch?”

  “Would you have said yes if I’d invited you? Would you have even answered the phone?”

  I gave my father a slight shrug.

  “Don’t be angry with your sister, she only did what I asked her to do.”

  “I’m not pissed at Gia. I’m pissed at you.”

  “Please, Marco. Hear me out. We’ve been at war for far too long, but I have something that I hope will bring peace between us.”

  “Where’d you find enough paper to write out an apology list that long?”

  “Again, Marco. Even if I did write an apology to you, would you read it?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

  “Son, please. Your language.”

  “This is why we don’t talk. Because you try to control everything I say and do. I curse, Pop. Get over it. I have tattoos. I ride a bike and belong to an MC. This is who I am.”

  “What if it wasn’t, son? What if I could offer you more?”

  “More what?” I asked.

  “Everything,” my father said, with a passion he usually reserved for when he was in court. “More of everything life has to offer.”

  “Pop, I thought I was coming here to have lunch with the family. I don’t have time for bullshit games,” I said, standing to leave.

  “Marco, I want to offer you a job. It’s a position that is especially important to me, and one that you will come to see is in your best interest to take.”

  “What the hell are you taking about? What position? You’re retired now.”

  “Sit down, have lunch with me, and I’ll fill you in on all the details. Once you hear what I have to say, you can decide whether to stay or go.”

  “I can decide that right now,” I snapped.

  “Marco, please,” my father said softly. His arms outstretched to the table.

  Maybe it was the rare expression of vulnerability on his face, but against my better judgement I did as my father asked. Throwing my weight down on the chair like a pissed off teenager.

  “Thank you,” my father sighed. “Shall we order first?” He asked, waiving a waiter to our table before waiting for my response.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mancini. It’s always nice to have you with us,” the waiter said, handing us menus.

  “I’ll have the Veal Parmigiana and an Arnold Palmer please, Jake,” my father said.

  “Very good, and for you, sir,” Jake asked, turning to me.

  “I’ll have a beer,” I said. “Something imported and large.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Jake said, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

  I could tell my father was itching to make a comment, but instead took a beat before restarting.

  “Now, as I was saying. Now that I’m retired from practicing law, I have time to focus on my other business interests.”

  “I didn’t know you had other business interests.”

  “I started investing in commercial real estate right around the time Carmen was born,” he said, and my mind went to the documents Kitty had discovered in his investigation of Judge Snodgrass. Whatever this was about must have something to do with their dealings together.

  “Real estate, huh?” I asked.

  “Yes, but always as a silent partner. I never had time for more. The firm and the family kept me more than busy.”

  “The firm kept you busy,” I corrected.

  “You’re probably right, son. I’m sure there were times when I did work too many hours. And maybe I didn’t spend as much time with you as I should have. But now I can change all that.”

  My father’s attempt at an apology, or whatever this was, made me feel far more uncomfortable than when he’d lay into me.

  “What is this all about?” I asked.

  “I told you. I want to offer you a job.”

  “I already have a job. I build bikes.”

  “Marco, my goal is to extend an olive branch. To offer you a position that could expand your world far beyond that of a mechanic’s.”

  “I’m not a mechanic. I’m a custom bike builder.” I snapped. “The work I do requires artistry and precision. I happen to be extremely proud of what I do, even if you aren’t. I’m also paid well for the work I do.”

  “Do you earn enough to start a family and buy a house in Portland?”

  “Who says that’s what I want? And who says it’s any of your damned business either way?”

  “I’m your father,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “And you don’t know anything about me,” I challenged.

  “That’s not true. I may not know everything about you, but if you think I haven’t kept tabs on what my only son has been up to over the years, you don’t yet know the depth of a father’s love.”

  “A father’s love? Are you fucking kidding me? When did you ever show me an ounce of your love? You spent my entire life either ignoring or disapproving of me.”

  “You’re wrong, son. I’ve
spent my life working in order to provide for you and your sisters. That’s how I showed my love. And I may disapprove of your lifestyle, but not of you. Not of the man I know you can still become.”

  “My lifestyle, as you call it, is who I am. That’s what you don’t get, Pop.”

  My father’s tone shifted from personal to business. “I’m offering you a starting salary of two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars a year.”

  “What?” I exclaimed, a little louder than I’d planned.

  “Plus, six weeks paid leave and an annual performance bonus.”

  “To do what?”

  “Logistics management.”

  At this point I began to worry that my father was suffering from dementia.

  “I don’t even know what a logistic is let alone how you manage one,” I said. “I don’t even know what this business of yours is.”

  “I’m in the middle of negotiating a land deal that is bigger and far more lucrative than anything I’ve been part of before.”

  Of course, I was aware my father had some sort of land deal cooking with Judge Snodgrass, but I wasn’t about to let him know about my intel.

  “Congratulations, but I still don’t see what any of that has to do with me,” I said.

  “This deal involves you, because once it’s completed, your future children, my grandchildren, will be set up for life,” my father said, excitedly. “And I want all of my children to work with me to help make it happen. As soon as we enter the next phase of development, I’ll be bringing Gia and Carmen on as the company’s private legal team, but I need you to make that happen.”

  “Gia and Carm can do what they want, but I’ve never asked for your money and I don’t need it.”

  “It’s not about the money, Marco. It’s about our family building something together. A legacy.”

  “I still don’t understand how I could possibly help you,” I said.

  “I’m bound by an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement, unable to say much more until you’re on the payroll, but let me assure you, son. You are in a unique position to help your family become a dynasty in Portland.”