“He was looking for you,” Nina said. “And Kai. Kai first, so he could get at you. He’s done that before. Targeted a girl on a visit, then came back and took her right out. Likes the drama, that one. Regular fucking cowboy. Likes to enter shooting. A caveman. Takes the woman by the hair and drags her off.”
She weighed her words and watched how Jimmy took it.
Jimmy could be a problem, one she would have to watch for. It would be a pity to have to take him down. She liked him, and Lizzy too.
Lizzy watched her, too, swung her head back and forth between Nina and Jimmy. Maybe she saw something too.
***
There was a karmic connection between these two, Lizzy thought. It was there in their energy, and the energy between them. Electric. Charged. With light and with darkness. Karma.
Lizzy smiled.
She loved it when the universe communicated so clearly with her.
It was interesting to see Jimmy so. He was clearly uncomfortable with Nina being here, in his home, and so comfortable; but there was an attraction there between the two of them.
Like a warrior king and queen, maybe of rival countries…maybe allies.
Maybe potential lovers.
She smiled, this time at herself, when she felt a little pang of something unfamiliar, something it took a moment to recognize, a little pang of ownership, of…jealousy?
That was funny.
And, after a moment’s consideration, a wonderful opportunity to exercise non-attachment. A stanza from the Dhammapada rose in her memory:
The master surrenders his beliefs.
He sees beyond the end and the beginning.
He cuts all ties.
He gives up all his desires.
He resists all temptations.
And he rises.
That was perfect.
Cut all ties.
Give up all desires.
But the truth was, a small dissenting voice within her said, she didn’t want to cut ties or give up her desires.
There was something she was meant to do with this man, and now, perhaps, this woman.
Bring them together?
Maybe.
Love them both?
Possible, too. She found Nina desirable, and thought of that moment when their eyes met across the carnage in the nightclub.
Something there…
Yes.
She would enjoy that.
But would Jimmy?
She looked at her two warriors, and sat with that thought.
Chapter Twenty Three
Deon sat across from Steep Ride and Leroi. They slouched at a table in a club called Soul Palace, which dated from the 70s disco era and still looked it, but it was a temple for the OGs who had started the gangs Steep Ride and his crew freelanced for -- Crips, Bloods, and every other flavor in between. The DJ would roll classic R+B as well as hip hop, even some blues, but only during the day, in between lunch time and the fall of darkness. Then the music had to play to the younger generation, the young guns.
Deon hated all of it, though he smiled and nodded his head to the music when it suited the social occasion.
“You got a problem with the Komarovs, oke,” Deon said.
“Why you say that, Deon?” Steep Ride said.
The two of them had an on again, off again, relationship fostered from commerce in things that went bang, and, occasionally, in things that went up noses or in arms, though Deon had drifted out of that as his under the shelf arms business took off.
“They’re looking at you for the rip,” Deon said.
“How you know that?”
“Irina Komarov came in the club, tried to brace me about you,” Deon lied smoothly. “Asking questions about you, what you bought from me if you bought from me…asking about whether you like SAWs.”
Steep Ride cocked his head, looked over at Leroi, laughed.
“I think you playing me,” Steep Ride said.
Deon let a little coldness rise in his eyes. That quieted Leroi, who shifted forward in his seat.
“Don’t disrespect me,” Deon said. “I came here to do you a favor. You don’t want a fucking favor, oke, say so and I’m on my way.”
“Why you want to do me a favor?”
“Forget what I said, then,” Deon said, pushing his chair back.
“Whoa, whoa, sit down, Deon. I ain’t dissing you. Listen…Komarov’s ain’t looking at me for nothing. Not for nothing. Irina…shit, that bitch gonna give it up for me.”
Deon laughed.
“Why you laughing?” Steep Ride said. “I say something funny, bitch?”
Deon held up his hand. “Not you, oke. You see…she’s telling me the same damn thing.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“I’m serious, oke. She was laying the same line on me when she came to see me.”
“You fucking her?”
“Not yet. Same as you.”
The two of them locked eyes.
And then burst into laughter.
“Fucking bitch,” Steep Ride said. “Playing me by my dick.”
“She does have a handle on us, doesn’t she?”
“Bullshit. What you say is going on? What the fuck?”
“She came to me. Asked about you. Hinted around that if I gave her something about you, she’d give something to me. Like some time with her. Made like they were looking to bring some hurt on you for the rip.”
“We didn’t do no rip,” Steep Ride said. “If I was ripping Komarov, I’d take more than two goddamn SAWs.”
“Me too,” Deon said reasonably. “You ever think maybe nobody ripped the Komarovs…except, maybe, them?”
“You mean they stole that shit so they could put it on somebody else?”
“Like you. Or me. Or both of us.”
“And that gets us out of the game. You, I can see. But I’m a customer. Why they do some shit like that?”
“Maybe they don’t like you. Or maybe there’s something else, some other part of your business they want in on.”
“I’m not running no corners. I tax some corners. We’re freelancers.”
“I know, oke. Hit and run. But maybe that’s what they want some of, too. You got the market cornered, at least one segment of it. And me, well…maybe I got a piece of that market too.”
“DeMOgraphics,” Steep Ride said.
Deon laughed. “Right oke. Economics 101. What did she tell you?”
“Bitch told me that this crazy bastard Darko, her muscle boy, was gunning for me. Wanted to take me out of the game for just what you talking about. He needs more money than Komarov giving him, he wants some of my freelance action, he some kinda heavy hitter from the old country. He been fucking up since he got here, they want to be shut of him, but they scared of him. So they let me know he’s coming for me, him and that Vietnamese he run around with, Ho. They shoot up that nice strip club the other night, fuck up the bouncer something bad.”
“I heard.”
“So they playing you and me, huh? Get us to shooting at one another, and this crazy bastard Darko, maybe then they pick up a couple pieces?”
“Sure. Hit and run, rips, more guns…leave them the only major players, everybody else fighting for scraps from the table.”
“That the case, they picked the wrong motherfuckers.”
“That’s the point, oke. You get the two hardest cases on the block going at each other, take each other out…does all the work without them lifting a finger, firing a shot, exposing themselves. They get to sweep in and take everything out all at once…”
“What are you thinking about, Deon?”
“I’m thinking about us combining forces, oke. Two minds are better than one, you know? Join forces, take the Komarovs off the table, split the proceeds, rape and pillage the Komarov village…you follow me?”
Steep Ride and Leroi laughed. “Rape and pillage the Komarov village…you one funny motherfucker, Deon.”
“Does have a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”<
br />
The two black men began to bop their heads, tap out a hip hop beat on the table…”Rape and pillage…the Komarov village…”
Deon grinned, nodded his head in time.
It would be a relief to kill these cocksuckers.
Chapter Twenty Four
Marcus wiped down the barrel of the M-249 SAW with a silicone cloth.
“Sweet treat, huh?” he said to Joe.
Joe checked the headspace on the SAW he was working on, slid the gauge in and checked it twice, then reset the barrel. “Beats the hell out of that old pig I humped on the Teams.”
“You guys had two of those in every boat crew, didn’t you?”
“Yep. Humped that and all the fucking ammo.”
“Fucking SEALs aren’t known for being really smart, but I’ll give you guys this --- you can hump a load.”
Joe grinned and shook his head. “Weren’t you a Chairborne Stranger, something like that?” He started to hum the tune from Strangers In The Night: “Rangers in the night, exchanging azimuths, which one was not right…”
They both laughed.
“Well, I think we should pop the cherries on these girls, what do you think?” Marcus said.
Joe locked back the bolt, took a 200 round belt, opened the top and threaded the belt, locked down the top. “Make sure you run some magazines through, too.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Eyes and ears.”
“Yes, mother.”
Both men slid Sordin active hearing headsets on, pushed the button that enhanced their hearing while silencing the range that would damage their ears, tucked Oakley M-frames over their eyes, threading the ear pieces under the form fitting headsets.
“Wock and Woll,” Marcus said. “Be vewy, vewy quiet…we are hunting I whackies….”
He shouldered the 20 pound weapon, rolled the trigger to get a short burst to see how the fully automatic weapon fed. Roll, release, squeeze off a short three round burst. Fine tune the squeeze to see if he could get just one shot off. The steel plates at 100 yards rang with the impact of the 5.56 rounds.
“Not bad,” Joe said. “Now let a man shoot.”
His first burst was long and continuous. The rounds chewed up the dirt in front of the steel silhouettes and he expertly walked the rounds up onto first one and then the other of the two silhouette targets, the ringing a steady clang as the rounds chewed them up.
“Show off,” Marcus said. “Typical SEAL. Shoot like a fucking chainsaw. Now me, I have finesse…”
He squeezed off a short burst into first one, then the other target, walking it back and forth, keeping the rounds on the plates, short burst of 3-6 as he fine tuned his trigger control.
“Finesse? Isn’t that a feminine hygiene product?” Joe said. “When the going gets tough, the tough go cyclic…that’s what these bad boys are for.”
He had a fierce wild grin and he held the trigger back and the belt clattered away till the bolt locked back, smoke rising from the glowing barrel, looked at his friend.
“That was good for me,” he said. “Was it good for you? I feel like I need a cigarette now.”
“Typical SEAL. I’m sure you fuck like you shoot, too. Run some magazines through that, dirt bag.”
Joe pulled a 30 round M-16 magazine from his hip pocket, inserted it into the side magazine well. “Otay.”
He touched the trigger and was rewarded by a short burst and a stoppage. He turned the M-249 on its side and checked the magazine well, smacked it sharply, reacquired his target and squeezed off some more rounds.
“They’re always touchy with the mags,” Marcus said. “Feed too fast for the magazine springs as issued. We’ll have to yank the standard springs and put some Wolff +20s in there. They’ll feed sweet then.”
“Why’s that?” Joe said.
“Cyclic rate is too high, the magazine can’t feed the rounds fast enough. You put them Wolff’s in there, adds 20% to the spring pressure, that takes care of it. I use them in all my personal mags anyway.”
“You know, for a useless faggot, you got some knowledge.”
“Fuck you, water boy. Pick up and shoot.”
They ran 1000 rounds through both guns, stopping to let the barrels cool, headspacing and adjusting the spare barrel for each gun, making sure that it worked well with its matching gun.
“We good?” Joe said.
“Yeah, bro. We good. It’s Miller time, don’t you think?”
“Hell yeah.”
They left the guns to cool on the wooden picnic table that served them as a makeshift work station in this isolated clearing. In the back of the Dodge Ram that Joe drove were two coolers, one full of iced down beer. Marcus yanked a Miller bottle out of the ice and tossed it underhand to Joe, who snagged it on the fly.
“Asshole,” he said. “Now it’s going to spray all over the place.”
“Just like you, right?”
Joe held the bottle away from him and twisted off the cap, watched the foam arc out, then tipped the bottle to his mouth and was rewarded with a long cool draught down his parched throat. “Now we’re talking.”
“Drink more, talk less.”
Joe did just that. The two men stood in amiable silence, tipping up their beers, enjoying the quiet in the forest.
“Life is great and life is good,” Marcus said.
“Got that right, brother. Guns, ammo, cold beer. Women later…does it get better than this?”
“I don’t reckon so, my friend. I don’t reckon so.”
They finished the beer, tossed the bottles back in the ice chest, took out two more.
“Think we should offer our friend one?” Marcus said.
“Sure, why not?”
Marcus lifted the lid of the other ice chest. The severed head of a young black man rested on top of blue frozen chiller blocks stacked neatly within. The dead man’s skin was blanched, and the eyeballs a bluish white color.
“Could I offer you a beer, friend? Long neck?”
Joe spat out beer laughing. “Try no neck.”
“No neck it is. No? Not to your taste? Pity. But then, I guess you’re cool enough in there, aren’t you? Suit yourself.”
He slammed down the lid. Tilted up his beer.
“It’s a fine day in the forest, Joe-seppi.”
“Dat be da troof, my brother.”
Chapter Twenty Five
“So what you gonna give me on this guy?” Nina asked Jimmy. “So I can get the jump on him?”
Lizzy was sitting in the erect posture of the dancer-athlete, legs tucked beneath her; Nina sat forward, her elbows resting on her knees.
Jimmy nodded. “He works as muscle for the Komarovs. You heard of them?”
Nina thought on that for a minute. “Yeah. Local Russian mob, move guns and some narco product. Husband and wife team run the show.”
“Got it. The very ones. Rumor is that this guy is their security.”
“Rumor?” Nina said.
“I hear things.”
“I bet you do.”
“Komarovs got taken off in a heist…some of their property lifted. This guy Darko has been around, asking about it.”
“He come to your club?”
“Yeah. Once.”
“Think he’d come there again?”
“Doubt it. Not with this heat on him.”
“He’s not going to hang with what Russian community we got here,” Nina mused. “There’s that little bar and tea-room and the Ukrainian restaurant, a church in the old Lindblad District…not that he’d be going to those places, but those people might now something…”
“Did you say he was running with a Vietnamese?” Jimmy said.
“Yeah. Or Hmong.”
“Big community down around Harriet Street -- that’s the Vietnamese and Cambodian ghetto. Big gang presence down there…if he’s running with a Viet or Cambode shooter, that’s where they’d be. Eating down there, hanging with the crews or else holed up in one of their party houses,” Jimmy said.<
br />
“I know Harriet Street,” Nina said. “Not well. Went down there on a case with the Hmong, rape case.”
“I know Harriet Street. I’ve got friends down there could point us in the right direction,” Jimmy said.
“This is a police thing, Jimmy,” Nina said mildly.
He shrugged. “Didn’t say it wasn’t. Just pointing out that if you think you got better contacts than me down there, then go for it. But I don’t think you do. And I’m willing to take a ride down there with you and introduce you around -- provided you make it clear to my friends your only interest -- today, anyway -- is in Darko and his Cambode buddy. I know some Hmong elders and some Vietnamese folks with standing in the community, they could sort it out fast. Won’t happen you go down by yourself, waving your badge or your gun.”
Nina considered this. “A true thing. I could use your juice. Let’s do it.”
“What about Lizzy?”
“She’s safe here, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine,” Lizzy said. “I’d like to stay here, if you don’t mind, Jimmy.”
Nina watched how he looked at her.
Mind? As if.
And for a moment, remembered what it was like when a man looked at her like that.
A lifetime ago.
And she killed that thought right there.
***
They took Nina’s car and rode in silence towards Harriet Street.
“So,” Nina said. “How long you and Lizzy…”
“It’s not like that.”
She laughed. “Yeah. That’s obvious.”
He turned to look out the window to hide his smile. “You a trained observer or what?”
“I’m not prying. She’s a beautiful woman.”
“That’s not it.”
“Shit, you think I’m stupid? Of course that’s it. She’s a show stopper anywhere she goes.”
Jimmy shrugged.
“I mean,” Nina went on. “You can tell she’s something special. She’s different…”
Jimmy laughed. “You could say that.”
“No, really. Smart. Sensitive. She’s not like any other stripper I know, and I know quite a few.”
Johnny Wylde Page 11
