2 Brooklyn James

by James, Brooklyn

  “You think this is a good idea, Sarge?” Marks apprehensively inquires.

  “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Tony leads his entourage confidently toward their table.

  “Ante up,” Vinny orders, a mound of chips in front of him.

  “I’m out.” The man at the end of the table stands, forfeiting his chair.

  “Pussy,” the suit across from him taunts.

  Tony elbows Marks. “Umph,” Marks groans at the shot to his ribs. Tony gives him an apologetic, yet leading look. “May I?” Marks eyes Vinny.

  Vinny takes a puff from his cigar, exhaling coolly with a nod. Holding his hand up at the exterior of his shoulder, the two Zeuses refrain from interceding. Marks sits down nervously at the end of the table. Aubrey stands behind him. “Not your usual stomping ground, Detective.” Vinny gathers his winnings from the kitty.

  “Got the night off,” Tony chimes. “Thought we’d come see what all the fuss is about.”

  “So long as you’re not here on official business, we’ll get along just fine,” Vinny checks him.

  Tony pulls a wad of cash from his pocket, exchanging it for chips placed in front of Marks. “Maybe a little personal business. Nothing official. Far as I can tell, you’re in good standings with New Orleans PD.”

  “Better be,” the man to Vinny’s right scoffs. “Seeing how Gambini Automotive provided the squad with a convoy of new cruisers.”

  “I’m well aware of the charitable efforts of the Gambini Family,” Tony acknowledges, a hint of sarcasm resonating in his inflection. “Nice touch...the Charger,” he refers to the choice of police car. “Runs like a champ.” Max stands between Tony and Aubrey, taking it all in.

  Vinny prods the dealer. She efficiently delivers one card upside down to each man at the table, another card face-side-up on each pile.

  “Hit me.” Vinny takes another card.

  “Me too,” the man to his right follows suit.

  “I’ll hold.” Marks eyes the black Jack of spades staring back at him.

  “One more time,” Vinny says. “Ahh,” he growls, the last card pushing him over the limit of twenty-one total points. The man to his right grins, setting comfortably at twenty points. Marks reveals his bottom card—a black Ace of spades.

  “Blackjack!” Tony beams proudly. Aubrey catches his hand in mid-swing preventing it from landing encouragingly on Marks’ back. “Nice,” Tony comments on her swift reflexes, his apology for once again forgetting Marks’ current condition.

  “You better speak your mind, Detective,” Vinny orders, a grin surfacing across his handsomely-aged Italian face. “If your friend’s luck continues, I’ll have to ask him to leave my table.”

  Tony grins back, swiping the kitty in front of Marks who uncomfortably adjusts himself in his chair. “Manny Briggs. You seen him around?”

  “Go ahead, darlin’,” Vinny addresses the dealer, speaking through his teeth, his cigar hanging from his lips. “Can’t say as I have. You see him, you tell him I’m looking for him. Son-of-a-bitch took my money for a job left undone.” He motions with his hand toward the bunny. She gives him another card.

  “Hit me,” Marks says quietly. The man to Vinny’s right holds.

  “Undone?” Tony questions. “Apparently you haven’t read the obituaries. Angelo ‘G-Lo’ Tulane was in them.”

  “Are you insinuating I’m in the business of murdering folks?” Vinny removes the plump cuban from his mouth, mashing it out, perturbed at another hand won by Officer Marks.

  “The way I see it, justice was done.” Tony eyes him.

  Vinny holds his tumbler over his shoulder, only ice cubes residing. Zeus One tends to the beverage, giving the cocktail waitress a reprimanding look.

  “That’s the problem with you cops,” the man to Vinny’s right begins, “you make a big show about equality, when in reality you’re just as biased as the next guy.”

  “One more.” Vinny nods to the bunny who diligently deals another round.

  The cocktail waitress approaches setting Vinny’s drink at his side. He seductively slips one of his chips into her bustier. She eyes the rest of the chips on the table in Marks’ favor. Snuggling up to him, she asks, “How about you handsome? Can I get you anything?” She licks her lips provocatively. “Anything you’d like.”

  “No. No thank you,” Marks replies.

  “You come in here hustling the man’s money, but you can’t spend any?” the man to Vinny’s right rebukes.

  “It is customary to tip your waitress.” Vinny eyes Marks’ chips, his eye trailing up to the waitress’s bulging breasts.

  Aubrey huffs, grabbing a chip from Marks’ pile shoving it into the woman’s bustier. “Take it elsewhere,” she impatiently responds.

  “You know, your luck can run out at the table.” The waitress places her calling card in front of Marks. “I’m a guaranteed jackpot.”

  “Oh shit,” Marks mutters, knowingly.

  Aubrey swipes the card up shoving it against the waitress’s chest knocking her aback. “How about a guaranteed ass-kicking?” Aubrey follows through with her momentum, prepped to deliver. Tony interjects, a protective arm around Aubrey’s waist. Vinny waves off the Zeuses. The waitress gives her a dirty look walking away. Aubrey smooths her hands through her hair reestablishing her composure.

  Vinny lets loose a loud, boisterous laugh. “Got yourself a real live one there,” he commends Marks, returning to his cards, holding with a nine on the bottom of his pile and the queen of hearts on top. Marks and the man to Vinny’s right receive three more cards apiece before tapping out.

  “Rumor has it you’re into the fishing business now,” Tony prods Vinny.

  Vinny looks up at him sipping oak-colored whiskey from his glass. “Word travels fast in this town.”

  “Seems Manny Briggs is a bit of a pyromaniac these days. Wouldn’t have anything to do with the string of fires along the bayou south of town, would it?” Tony continues, piquing Max’s interest, his head cocking to the side.

  “I told you Manny Briggs doesn’t work for me anymore,” Vinny replies, waiting as the man to his right reveals his hand, his cards totaling nineteen. Vinny reveals his bottom card, a ten of clubs.

  “Ah shit,” his neighbor exclaims, pushing his cards toward the dealer, her pile also totaling twenty points. Marks turns up his bottom card, an Ace, laying it beside an eight, a two, a three, and a seven of diamonds—totaling twenty-one.

  Vinny shakes his head, his forearm meeting the chips in the kitty, swinging them agitatedly in front of Marks. “You ask any of those coon-asses,” he slings the derogatory term for the inhabitants of the bayou. “I paid them good money for their shacks. More money than they make in a year.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Max lunges across the table at Vinny, grabbing him by the black tie around his neck. The two Zeuses react, causing Tony to fly to action, grabbing Maxim, prying his hands from Vinny’s collar. A standoff ensues, Zeus One and Zeus Two awaiting Vinny’s orders.

  Vinny adjusts his tie coolly, eyeing Max. “I believe it’s time you and your party make a quiet exit,” Vinny speaks to Tony, his voice controlled and demanding.

  Tony keeps one hand on Max, scooping Marks’ winnings into Aubrey’s purse. “New Orleans PD thanks you for your charity.” Tony winks at him.

  Vinny casually picks up his whiskey tumbler. “Might I suggest a leash for your pup,” he says staring down the young Maxim Keisel, memorizing his face for future reference. Tipping the glass to his lips, his thirst is unquenched as the liquid turns to ice.

  Tony wops Max’s chest, knocking the steel blue shine from his eyes. “Not here,” he reprimands quietly through clenched teeth. Aubrey closes her purse, taking Marks by the arm. Vinny waves off the Zeuses. Tony pulls forcefully on Max, the four of them backing aw
ay from the table.

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning at Lon’s ten-thousand-square-foot warehouse (one he inherited from ETNA) in downtown New Orleans, Gina works out, sparring against a state of the art simulation dummy, Robo-Spartacus. Her auburn hair coiffed into a thick braid slings off the middle of her back adorned in a black tank top, her black gi pants snapping effectively with each fluid extension of her legs delivering perfectly executed kicks to the opposing dummy.

  “I see you’ve met Spartacus.” Lon enters, a timely excuse for Gina to recoup. She holds her hands up over her head, breathing deeply through her nose, pursing her controlled exhales through her lips. “Breakfast is ready, if you’re so inclined to join,” he offers politely.

  “That depends,” she begins, sucking wind. “Does it come with a side of handcuffs and shackles?”

  “So long as you behave yourself, you’ll have full command of your appendages.” He scans her taking note of the bruise over her cheekbone.

  “Seems I’m not quite myself...still adjusting to my lack of Vigilare instinct,” she explains, her breathing finally beginning to settle. “My reaction time is a bit off. Placebo effect, maybe,” she dismisses.

  He refrains from the urge to assist her, only commenting, “You may want to put some ice on that.”

  Pulling the tape bundle from around her wrists, she changes the subject, “Well, how’d the transformation go?”

  “It hasn’t yet. Her system will need some time to adjust, to receive the dose.”

  Gina looks up at him from her kneeling position, removing the protective tape from her feet, her eyes suspicious. “Sure you’re not stalling?”

  “And why would I do that?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe you’re waiting on me to change my mind,” she says knowingly. “Emily’s ready. Chomping at the bit to assume my position from the first time she laid eyes on me.”

  “You speak as if her ambition is a bad thing.”

  She shakes her head denying such a claim. “It’s not like you to drag your feet.”

  “Have you? Changed your mind?” he inquires.

  “I never wanted it to begin with.” She powers Spartacus down, patting the dummy on the head, departing, “Until next time.”

  “You wanted to remain with me and Braydon, even in our death. What is the difference now? You can be with us...me and Maxim...in our life.”

  “Life?” she crows. “You don’t have a life, Lon. You think Manny Briggs is beholden to you? You’re a slave to yourself.” She paces. “You do nothing but plan and scheme and monitor ETNA. For what? Reckoning? Power?” Her hands flit about in time with her stream of consciousness. “Sure. It’s intriguing at first. The whole Vigilare thing. You’re faster, stronger...supernatural. Until it becomes a liability. Until it rules your life.” She stops moving about, her gaze settling on him. “No one should be immortal...it’s inhumane.”

  “Who said anything about being immortal?”

  “How do you propose a Vigilare is mortal when their powers only enhance when they are cut open...when they bleed?” She tilts her head curiously realizing by the look on his face that he does, in fact, have the answer. “How did you figure all of this out?”

  “By giving into it.” He circles her. “You’ll never understand something you’re continuously fighting against, Brianna.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “And just exactly how are you...Max...Emily...Hell Hound,” she exaggerates the filthy moniker, “mortal? Do you plan on taking the Vigilare pedigree from all of them? The way you did with me?” Her questions exacerbate her panic. “Where’s Emily? What have you done to her?”

  He snaps his head in her direction, his eyes pained and angered beginning to glare the trifecta of colors—violent red, steel blue and emerald green. “Is that what you think of me?” his voice verging on distortion.

  “I don’t know what to think of you anymore.”

  “He’s poisoned you against me. The great detective.” He chuckles, low and sinister. “What a grand idea you’ve given me, Gina,” he spews the name, walking from the room. She follows loosely behind him, her investigatory skills commencing. “Breakfast is that way.” He points down a long corridor before entering his monitoring station, forcefully slamming the door behind him.

  She makes a detour, headed for the blood lab. Pushing her weight against the monstrous steel door, she peeks inside unsure of what she may find. Her auditory sensors are hit with soothing classical music. Emily wakes from the cold mechanical table to which she is shackled at each joint. The insides of her arms bearing the same intravenous setup as Gina endured a few nights previously.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” Emily warns, a call button ready in her hand. Her thumb hovering over the trigger, stalling, awaiting Gina’s intentions.

  “Did he take it from you? Your telekinesis?” Gina urgently inspects the IV lines surrounding Emily.

  “No. I don’t think so.” She attempts to call on Gina’s Vigilare abilities.

  “It’s not going to work. He took mine. Remember?”

  “Well, then, how could I know?” Emily barks, jerking against the restraints. “Why would you think that, anyway? He’s been nothing but nice to me. Even turned on some music to settle my nerves.”

  “Did you know about him...Lon? And Braydon? Did you know they were kept alive the same as me?” Gina searches Emily’s face desperately.

  “No,” Emily affirms adamantly. “You think even I would keep something like that from you?”

  “Your mother didn’t seem to think I needed to know,” Gina fires back, her adrenaline pumping with the thought. She jerks on the table and its shackles impatiently.

  Emily’s teeth grind uncomfortably, “My mother does a lot of things I wouldn’t. And for that, I am sorry.” Emily twists her hand around in the shackle at her wrist, her fingers tightly encompassing Gina’s hand busily attempting to figure out the workings of the locked cuff. Her action successful in causing Gina to look at her directly. “She will get her comeuppance for this, Gina. It will not go unpunished.”

  Gina squeezes her hand, letting go. “Another time. Right now, we have to get you out of this thing.” Gina inspects the table. “Do you think you can put those in me?” She eyes the IVs in Emily’s arm.

  “Are you crazy?” Emily’s voice on the rise.

  “Shh! Keep your voice down,” Gina whispers vehemently. Eyeing the blood in the large vial, her blood that swirls around, hints of emerald green shining through the crimson red. “We have to put that back in my system.”

  “Thought you didn’t want it?”

  “I don’t, but we’re presently out of options. Is there a key or something...for these things?” She tugs on the cuffs holding Emily’s wrists firmly to the table.

  “He wants me to have it,” Emily defends, gripping the call button more firmly trying to decide whether to ring it. “Someone who wants it should have it, Gina.”

  “I know!” she exclaims in a whisper. “But I can’t just shove it into your body. We don’t even know how you’d react. I have no idea what he may or may not have added to the mix.”

  “Do you even care?” Emily scans her, her eyes guilt-ridden. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me,” she refers to betraying Gina to Hell Hound.

  “I think a hell of a lot more of you than I ever did before.” Gina tinkers with the IV lines, tracing them to their ends. Finding a port, she inserts the end of the tubing running from her vial of blood into the IV line inserted into Emily’s right arm. “It was either me or Max, right? I’m glad to see you’re loyal to him.”

  “But I compromised the entire compound,” Emily argues, still holding herself accountable.

  “You had no choice.” Gina continues busily with the configuration of IV lines and pum
ps. “Now, help me figure out how we get these things out of you and into me,” she coaches.

  “Just tell him...Lon, that you want to be Vigilare again. That’s what he wants anyway. Why do you think he’s taking so long with me?”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Gina warns. “We’ve got to get to Tony before Lon does.”

  “Don’t you think if he wanted to get to Tony he would have already?”

  “I don’t know what to think. He’s a loose cannon, Emily. He’s not my Lon.” Gina stops the pump to Emily’s left. “Okay,” she eyes the pump her vial of blood is attached to, “all we have to do is turn this thing on. I think.”

  “You think he’s going to take Tony’s pedigree, too?”

  “I don’t think. I know he will. Maybe even Max’s, once he sees how well he and Tony get along. I mean, the man plans on turning a group of the world’s most intelligent scientists into a militant army to set them loose on the mob of New Orleans. I don’t think all of his synapses are exactly firing on all levels.”

  “Did you hear that?” Emily listens intently at the sound of footsteps approaching.

  “Shit!” Gina whispers.

  “Just turn it on.” Emily prepares herself to accept the serum.

  “I don’t know what it’s going to do to you,” Gina argues. The footsteps grow imminent.

  “Push the button, Gina.” Emily looks warily at the door, the handle turns, the lock keeping it from opening.

  “Ahh,” Gina mutters.

  “Push it!” Emily charges. Gina mashes down on the start button. The pump begins clicking away, delivering her vial of blood to Emily.

  Knock! Knock! Knock! goes the door. “Emily?” Lon’s voice calls agitatedly from outside.