Blood Lines (ncis)

by Mel Odom

  “Straight ahead,” Shel answered. “Go in. Introduce myself to Bobby Lee. Then take him down.”

  “Oh yeah, I really like how inconspicuous that’s going to be. Especially after Will called to give us the heads-up about the FBI.”

  “The fact that the FBI is involved at all is putting pressure on our timetable.” Shel glanced down the street and searched for any unmarked cars that might have been filled with FBI agents. For the moment, he didn’t see any. “If we had time, we’d go with my other great plan.”

  Remy shot him a look. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “We’d build a giant wooden horse and climb inside. Pretend to be a gift to Bobby Lee. On second thought, maybe we could disguise ourselves in a giant wooden Harley.”

  “Wow. I can see you’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”

  “I stopped thinking about how we’re going to do it after Will called. We’re all out of time.” Shel glanced at the tattoo-artist spider again. “I’m not going back without Bobby Lee.”

  “He could have friends.”

  “I don’t think his friends would be all that friendly. Bobby Lee doesn’t strike me as the dedicated friend sort.”

  “This part of your Father’s Day mad-on?”

  Shel shook his head. “Just me doing my job. I’m going to go check out tattoos.”

  “Why you?”

  “Do you see any black customers in that tattoo shop?”

  Remy looked, then shook his head. “That place has probably got a rear exit.”

  “Probably.”

  “Maybe I should slip around back and set up there. In case Bobby Lee somehow gets wise to your stealth ninja moves.”

  “Sure.”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  Shel nodded and reached down to pat Max on the head. The Labrador sat quietly and contentedly beside him as Remy walked down the block and crossed the street.

  Despite the tension that coiled in his stomach-more from the possibility of FBI interference than from the idea of facing Bobby Lee-Shel remained calm and cool. This was business as usual, no matter if it was Father’s Day.

  He scratched Max behind the ear, listened to the dog pant in the heat, and felt the sweat trickle down his back under the slim-line Kevlar vest he wore. A sleeveless flannel shirt softened the edges of the vest, and the tails of the shirt left outside his pants covered the matte black Mark 23 Mod 0 SOCOM. 45-caliber semiautomatic pistol in the pancake holster at the base of his spine. Extra magazines rode in his jeans pockets, but he doubted he’d be able to work a reload inside the shop if things went awry.

  Excitement flooded Shel’s veins with adrenaline. He lived for this.

  ›› 2027 Hours

  Bobby Lee Gant lay in the chair with his eyes closed, riding on a pleasant wave of alcohol and pills. He felt the sharp bite of the tattooing gun as it chewed through the flesh over his heart. The raucous buzzing echoed inside his head over the thundering bass of the heavy metal music blasting through the tattoo parlor.

  Someone slapped his forehead.

  “Hey!” Bobby Lee opened his eyes and tried to push up from the chair. “Don’t you be slapping me, you big piece of-”

  “Stop moving!” Spider spoke gruffly around a fat cigar shoved into his wide mouth. He was a big man in his fifties, with a flat, rugged face and beard and hair that roped down to his broad shoulders. He held the tattoo gun off to one side and dabbed at Bobby Lee’s chest with a wipe with the other hand. “You keep moving around like that, this tat’s gonna look like a three-year-old done it. And if you walk out of here with a bad-lookin’ tat and you tell everybody I done it, I’m gonna charge you double.”

  Juiced by the drugs and whiskey, Bobby Lee grinned. “Okay, okay.” He started to raise his hands in surrender.

  Spider cursed. “Keep your hands down!”

  Bobby Lee put his arms at rest beside him. It was hard to be still. With the drugs and the music working, he wanted to be up and dancing. More than that, he wanted to be with Lorna, his girl. He closed his eyes and thought about that.

  The tattoo gun started buzzing again. Pain seeped back into his skin.

  “You spell Lorna with two o ’s, don’t you?” Spider asked.

  “What?” Bobby opened his eyes again and tried to peer down at his chest.

  Spider barked laughter that echoed even over the heavy metal. He put a big hand on Bobby Lee’s forehead and pushed him back into the chair.

  “Man, relax,” Spider guffawed. “I’m just screwing with you.”

  Bobby Lee lay back.

  “I know it’s spelled with a u,” Spider said.

  Irritated, Bobby Lee reached for the pistol tucked into his waistband.

  Spider’s demeanor changed in a flash. He dropped a hand to Bobby Lee’s arm and trapped it against his body. “Hold on there, boy.”

  “Let go!” Bobby Lee shouted. “I ain’t in here for you to make fun of.” He held on to the pistol, but Spider’s strong hand prevented him from pulling it.

  “Chill, bro,” Spider said. “I was just havin’ a little fun.”

  “It ain’t fun for me. That’s the name of my woman. I don’t want it spelled wrong.”

  “It ain’t gonna be spelled wrong.” Spider held up a forearm. There in ink he’d written Lorna. “Got her name right here. As long as you spelled it right, I spell it right.”

  Bobby Lee stared at the man a little longer, then relaxed in the chair.

  “We cool?” Spider asked.

  Bobby Lee nodded. “Cool.”

  “Then you just get mellow, bro, ’cause we’re in the home stretch.”

  But before Spider could start in with the ink gun again, Bobby Lee’s cell phone rang. It was just a track phone, a cheap, disposable handset he’d had Lorna purchase for him. He waved Spider off, pulled the phone out of his pocket, and flipped it open.

  “Got some bad news, man,” a voice said after Bobby Lee answered. “Lorna told the cops where you are. They’re on their way there now.”

  Panic flooded Bobby Lee as he scrambled up from the chair despite Spider’s protests. He wasn’t going to jail. No way.

  1 2

  ›› Spider’s Tattoo Shop

  ›› Doggett Street

  ›› Charlotte, North Carolina

  ›› 2033 Hours

  “Something I can help you with, man?”

  Shel looked at the slim young woman behind the counter to the right of the door inside the shop. She was dressed in black jeans and a black Anthrax concert T-shirt. She was pale enough to pass as a vampire. Metal studs gleamed in her eyebrows and at the bottom of her lower lip. Her long blonde hair was the color of old bone.

  “I wanted to see about getting a tattoo,” Shel said. He let the Texas drawl slide naturally into his words. In the military he’d learned what he called “TV talk,” that flat Midwestern accent used by news anchors and sports announcers.

  The woman looked at him and smiled. “You don’t seem the type.”

  Shel smiled back and stepped toward the counter. His gaze took in the closed-circuit monitor hanging from the wall.

  “And what type do I seem like to you?” Shel asked.

  The woman folded her arms and leaned a hip against the counter. “Mama’s boy. Joe Average. Joe Military.”

  Shel knew he couldn’t help looking military. Even when he was in disguise-even better ones than his current effort-he still looked like a Marine poster boy.

  “Actually,” the young woman went on, “you look like you could be some superhero’s secret identity.”

  Terrific, Shel thought. But he kept his smile in place. “Actually, it’s worse than that.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and waited.

  “I’m afraid of needles,” Shel said conspiratorially.

  The woman looked at him askance. “A big guy like you?”

  “I know. Shameful, isn’t it?”

  “Well…”

  Shel nodded and shrugged. “If I hadn’t met this girl, an
d if she wasn’t into tattoos, I wouldn’t be here tonight.” He paused. “And I have to be honest-unless I see something I really want, I’m not even getting one.”

  “A girl, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty?”

  “Yeah.” Shel shrugged again. “I guess that makes me sound pretty dumb, huh?”

  “As long as you don’t do anything really stupid, you should be okay.”

  “What’s really stupid?” Shel asked.

  “Getting her name tattooed on you. Then you have to explain to all your other girlfriends why you got that one’s name… wherever you put it.”

  “Maybe I won’t show it to them.”

  The young woman grinned. “Oh, they’ll look for it. I would.”

  “I could just date only girls with that name,” Shel suggested.

  “Right.” The woman took a book down from a shelf over the counter. “Got some designs here you might like. Small. Distinctive.” She looked at his biceps. “Big as your arms are, I’d check out some tribal tats. That would look cool.”

  Shel grinned again. He’d learned a long time ago that women of all ages liked his grin.

  Noise erupted from the back. The door opened, and Bobby Lee Gant stepped into the room with a 9 mm pistol tightly gripped in his fist. He was young and thin, at least twenty pounds too light for his five-foot, nine-inch frame. He wore holey jeans, square-toed boots, a Confederate flag bandanna that held back his greasy hair, and a motorcycle jacket without a shirt. Drops of blood glinted in the center of a tattoo of a skull with a rose clenched in its teeth. Lorna was inscribed beneath the skull.

  “Hey, Bobby Lee,” a gruff voice said. “Get back in here, bro.”

  Judging from the young man’s jerky reactions and his unfocused gaze, Shel figured Bobby Lee was higher than a kite. Shel didn’t move. Beside him, Max set himself, hunkering low and getting prepared to separate and go for the pistol.

  Shel signed to Max, and the dog sat with a quiet but forlorn whimper. Max wasn’t used to quietly sitting out while guns were in evidence.

  Bobby Lee whipped his pistol toward Shel. “Get your hands up!”

  ›› 2033 Hours

  When Remy saw three unmarked sedans suddenly whip by the end of the alley, he knew something had gone badly wrong. Or was about to. He slid his Beretta out from under his shirt and held it ready as he catfooted through the alley toward the tattoo parlor’s rear exit.

  His cell phone buzzed against his hip. He braced against the wall in the deepening dark of the approaching evening and slid the phone out so he could read the caller ID as it buzzed again.

  A loud voice sounded inside the shop. Someone screamed.

  Caller ID showed that the call was coming from NCIS headquarters in Camp Lejeune.

  Remy pulled the earpiece connector from his shirt pocket, slipped it into his ear canal, and tapped it to open the line. “Gautreau.”

  “Remy.” It was Will’s voice, calm and intense at the same time.

  “Yeah.”

  “We just got word from Charlotte PD that the FBI is on-site at your twenty.”

  The sound of running feet echoed down the alley.

  “Oh yeah,” Remy agreed. “They’re here.”

  “Where’s Shel? He’s not answering.”

  “Shel’s inside.” Remy tried the back door. It was locked.

  “What’s going on there?”

  Remy watched helplessly as four men entered the alley from either end. They carried flashlights and military-style assault rifles.

  “Put the pistol on the ground!” one of the arriving men yelled. He wore an FBI jacket over his bulletproof vest. “Do it now!”

  “You might want to get hold of the FBI,” Remy stated calmly. He let his pistol drop to hang from his finger. “Let them know that you’ve got two men out here working this.”

  “They know,” Will said. “Maggie’s already sent them copies of your photo IDs.”

  “Good to know,” Remy said. But it didn’t make him feel any better.

  The four FBI agents locked into position along the alley.

  “Drop the gun!” the man bellowed again.

  Ruby lights glowed to sudden life against Remy’s chest. He knew he was only a heartbeat from death. Carefully he bent over and placed the pistol on the pavement and awaited further orders even though he was pretty sure he knew what they would be.

  “Get on the ground!” the man ordered. “On the ground now! Facedown! Hands on top of your head!”

  Remy followed orders and took care that his hands were always outstretched from his body so they wouldn’t think he was reaching for a weapon. His heart felt like it was going to explode.

  Memories of other times he’d been arrested back in New Orleans flashed through his mind. It was hard to believe that he was going to survive such an encounter when there had been so many close calls back then.

  The rough pavement chewed at his cheek. He had to force himself to lie there when footsteps pounded in his direction. In the next instant someone blinded him with a flashlight beam while someone else jumped in the middle of his back and raked his arms behind him.

  Hard metal bit into his wrists and secured his hands behind his back.

  “I’m with NCIS,” Remy said. “My ID-”

  Someone punched him in the back of the head and snarled, “Shut up.”

  “Hang in there, Remy,” Will said over the earpiece. “We’ll get you out of there as soon as we can.” Then one of the FBI agents stripped the earpiece.

  Blood from a split lip tasted warm and salty inside Remy’s mouth. He shut up and stayed where he was as he was roughly frisked. But he hoped Shel was still safe.

  ›› 2035 Hours

  Slowly, not offering any sudden movement that might panic Bobby Lee Gant, Shel raised his arms. “Hey, bro,” Shel said. “I don’t know what you’re smoking, but I just came in to check out tattoos.”

  “Who is he?” Bobby Lee demanded.

  The young woman behind the counter shook her head. “He just came in. He was asking about tattoos.”

  “Bobby Lee!” the big man from the back room roared.

  Shel recognized the man from the file Remy had downloaded. His name was Ralph “Spider” Gemmell, a known associate of biker clubs.

  Bobby Lee swiveled and pointed his pistol at Spider. “Back off, man!”

  Spider came to an abrupt halt. “You don’t want to do this, bro. It’s gonna end bad if you do.”

  “I ain’t going to jail!” Bobby Lee screamed. His eyes rolled in panic like an animal’s. “They ain’t gonna take me to jail!”

  “Dude,” Spider said, “it’s just jail. Ain’t like they’re gonna lock you up forever.”

  “They ain’t locking me up at all!”

  Shel thought about reaching for the pistol at his back. But he knew if he did, he was going to have to use it.

  Let it ride, he told himself. Let this develop. He’s smart enough to realize he isn’t going to get out of this without getting hurt.

  At least, Shel hoped that was true. Whether Bobby Lee was sober enough to do the right thing was another question.

  Outside, through the large windows that overlooked the parking lot and Doggett Avenue beyond, two unmarked sedans with flashing lights shrilled to halts. Car doors jacked open, and men in Kevlar armor and FBI jackets took up ready positions behind cover.

  “FBI?” Bobby Lee said in surprise.

  Well, Shel thought, he isn’t so high or panicked that he can’t read.

  “It ain’t supposed to be the FBI,” Bobby Lee moaned. “It’s the Marines. The Marines are supposed to be after me.”

  “Maybe they’re not after you,” the woman behind the counter suggested. “Maybe they’re here after somebody else.”

  “Who?” Bobby Lee demanded.

  The young woman flinched back. “I don’t know. I was just saying.”

  In the next minute, though, a man on a loudhailer stripped away that illusion. “Bobby
Lee Gant! This is the FBI! Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up!”

  Bobby Lee whirled around just in time to get lit up by ruby spotter lights. He glanced down at his chest and cursed.

  “Give it up, bro,” Spider advised. “They got you cold. You can still get out of this in one piece.”

  A lithe movement put Bobby Lee next to the young woman at the counter before anyone could move. He roped an arm around her neck and pulled her body back against his.

  “I’m getting out of here!” Bobby Lee declared. “Or I’m going to kill her stone dead! I swear I am!”

  1 3

  ›› Spider’s Tattoo Shop

  ›› Doggett Street

  ›› Charlotte, North Carolina

  ›› 2037 Hours

  The young woman screamed and tried to break free from her captor. Bobby Lee popped his forearm up and hit her in the mouth. She stopped screaming and remained still.

  “Try that again,” Bobby Lee yelled, “and I’ll hurt you bad! Do you understand me?”

  The young woman nodded and shivered in fear.

  “Don’t do that, bro,” Spider said. His voice was more calm than Shel expected. “If you just stay calm, Bobby Lee, you’ll come out of this all right. I promise. But if you go off half-cocked, you’re gonna get a lot of people hurt.”

  Shel forced himself to remain still. Any move on his part would turn the tattoo shop into a bloodbath. He didn’t know why one of the FBI snipers outside didn’t drop Bobby Lee Gant in his tracks. Shel also wondered where Remy was.

  Spider stepped forward slowly. “Give her to me. She don’t deserve none of your trouble.”

  “Well she’s in it now,” Bobby Lee snarled. “All of you are. Whatever happens to me is the same what happens to you.”

  Moving slowly, Spider took another step toward Bobby Lee.

  Shel’s breath locked down in his lungs. Don’t, he thought. Bobby Lee wasn’t holding together well. He wasn’t going to handle the situation.

  “Give her to me, bro,” Spider said.

  Bobby Lee shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t. ICANTICANTICANTICANT.”

  “Yeah, you can.” Spider took another step. “That there’s my blood, Bobby Lee. My sister’s girl. I promised my sister I wouldn’t let any harm come to her.” He gestured with one hand. “You got to give her to me an’ let me get her outta this. C’mon now, bro.”