“We all hold our breath every week, but yeah, so far they’ve declared these gatherings temporary cease-fires. They’re probably scoping out the other side for weaknesses, but we’re hoping over time walls will start to fall for at least some of them. The cops step up their presence during the events, just in case.”
“It looks kinda like junior high when the girls sit at one table and the boys sit at another.” He tucked his hands in his jeans pockets, faded denim pulling taut.
She swallowed hard and looked away. “A kinder, gentler image, but basically there.”
“What’s the scoop on the two gangs?”
Her need for distance from Vince took a backseat to her fervor to help these kids. “Apocalypse and East Street Mercenaries.”
He looked back and forth from the basketball court to the parking lot. “I see the similar clothes, almost like a uniform of sorts. But which is which?”
“Apocalypse wears more traditional gang-style clothes, saggy pants and oversized white T-shirts with a crisp crease down the front. ‘Tall tees,’ they’re called around here.”
“So those kids with polo shirts buttoned all the way to the top are Mercenaries? That boy, Kevin, wore a T-shirt.”
“He also had a brand-new tattoo.” She forced the image of his slashed chest out of her mind. “The Apocalypse tat is of the Grim Reaper, hood with the eyes.”
“Ah, that’s why he carried the machete.”
She shuddered. “Exactly. Sadly, the clothes, the darkness, aren’t an anomaly. East Street Mercenaries tattoo FEAR across their knuckles on each hand. They also wear an arm torc, a leather thong on their bicep. The wider it is, the more important that person is in the hierarchy. The Mercenaries use guns and brass knuckles with raised letters spelling FEAR, so during a beat down, the bruises leave their tag.”
“You really are prepared for this congressional hearing.” He stopped her with a hand to the arm. “These kids could be torqued off at you for that.”
His callused touch jolted her to a stop and taunted her with a reminder that she hadn’t changed so much after all. Somewhere inside her still lived that same screwed-up girl.
She eased her arm free. The neighborhood needed help, but she could well be breaking the thin thread of trust with these kids with her public statement. Hey wait . . . “How did you know I’m speaking at a congressional hearing?”
He hesitated for a blink. “Your father told me.”
Her inner lie detector sensed another half-truth. She opened her mouth to push the issue.
Four Apocalypse members abandoned the basketball court and walked toward the back entrance, even though the signs clearly said to enter from the front.
“Nice kicks, Miss Bassett.” Two piercings along his eyebrow glinting, Caden nodded toward her yellow gym shoes, signature low rise Chuck Taylors.
“Thanks, Caden.” She smiled until he dipped back into the crowd.
Rickie pulled an Eli move and studied Vince through narrowed eyes, especially his bald head. Vince stared him down, both of them like dogs in a pack, alpha holding the longest, taking this past the more normal exchange with Eli.
Rickie shrugged away with something that sounded like, “Fuck you, old man.”
Vince turned back to Shay with an I told you so look. “Kicks are shoes I assume.”
“Oh my, how our own resident bad boy has fallen behind the times.”
“Tell that to F-U boy.”
“Rickie? Yeah, he’s bucking for a higher position in the ranks. But back to kicks.” She extended her foot. “Caden’s a suck-up.”
It helped her tamp down the fear by looking for whatever normal teen behavior she could find in each one.
“So that one is Eddie Haskell busting a sag and packing heat.”
“Bingo.”
Vince waited while she lifted out a bag of paper plates and cups. “I’ve heard the baggy pants originated from prison life.”
“You heard right. Prisoners can’t have a belt in jail, and the clothes are often ill-fitting. Prisoners have to make do with what they get. When they leave jail, they continue to wear their pants low as a testimony to the time served, to garner respect. They went to prison for something they did for the gang.”
“Damn.” He watched her intently.
“What?”
“You sound just like your father.”
“Are you trying to rile me up?” Good God, could she make it any clearer to him that she and her dad were on the outs? “Just because Don and I have both worked with teens does not make us alike in all other ways.”
He held her gaze, not as he’d done with Eli and Rickie, but with an elemental buzz all the same. Forget playing the stare-down game. Her ego was just fine.
Vince stepped back into her line of sight. “While you unpack those bags, how about I unload the rest from the car?”
They would spend less time talking that way. Less tumult. “Sure.”
“Do you mind if I look around the place after I finish? Check out what you’ve got going on here?”
All interest in her job aside, his request struck her as odd. “Is this another excuse to play bodyguard to make my daddy happy?”
“I’m just genuinely impressed and curious.”
Why couldn’t she accept his words at face value rather than assuming he had some sort of hidden agenda?
Suddenly Vince smiled. “Go ahead and say it.”
“What?” she snapped this time.
“What Rickie said. Tell me to fuck off. You know you want to.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from accommodating him. Denying him access would sound petty. His looking around wouldn’t harm anything. “Feel free to wander around. And thank you for your help. People are showing up sooner than we expected.”
“You’re welcome.” He sauntered away, his butt looking too good in jeans that fit.
A baggier fit to those pants would go a long way toward reining in thoughts she did not want when it came to Vince Deluca.
She had other concerns tonight. She looked out over the sea of teens and wondered. Was the boy out there? The one who’d called her earlier this week? No one else on the staff had heard from him. She’d dealt with other calls in the interim. Why did he stick in her head so? Because of her own past? Or Vince’s?
Regardless, she had to accept she might well never have closure on a kid who faced machetes and brass knuckle beat downs.
Vince ducked out of the Cleveland Community Center, the listening device in place and ready for flight. He’d done his job.
So why did he feel like that bee was stinging him all the way back to the parking lot?
He scanned past the cars to his Ducati loaner. He tensed. Two males were checking out his bike: adult males. Vince relaxed.
A shorter man he didn’t recognize stood beside the center’s activities director, Eli, the dude with the head full of blond dreadlocks. Vince tucked around the last car between him and them. He needed to make this quick and get to the hangar.
“Anything I can help you gentlemen with?”
The stranger turned first, a young guy in khakis and a yellow polo shirt. Given his uptight haircut and prep school look, the preppy would probably be horrified to realize he wore anything hinting of a gang “uniform.” Of course that open top button saved him from totally fitting the bill.
Eli stuck out his hand. “Hey there, Major Deluca. Remember, we met earlier during setup?”
“Eli, right?”
“You got it. And this is Anthony. He’s an aide for Congressman Mooney from California.” Eli’s chest puffed as he hooked his thumbs in his khaki pockets, sporting an outback look. “Anthony’s here to check out the lay of the land, gather more information for the congressman to take back to the congressional committee.”
The preppy guy thrust his hand forward. Vince clasped back, careful to stay clear of the bandage he noticed on the guy’s wrist. “Nice to meet you.”
“Cool ride.” Stepping away, Anthony s
troked the handlebars. “Where did you pick this up? I thought all us public servants made poverty wages.”
“A good friend hooked me up with a loaner while I’m on vacation.” Vince tied his do-rag over his head, itchy to get to work.
Eli whistled low. “Generous friend. You have a sugar mama?”
“Afraid not.” He strapped on his helmet, hoping they would get the hint.
“Ah,” Eli answered. “I wish I had your connections. My bike tends to stay in my garage, but I enjoy just owning it, showing it off on occasion. The women do go wild when you crank the engine.”
Vince stifled the urge to tap his boot restlessly. “Well, I should be—”
Anthony stroked the leather seat. “What kind of ride do you have?”
Eli shrugged. “Nothing as cool as this. Just a 1098 S Tricolore.”
Vince paused. “Not too shabby.”
About a twenty-five-K bike, if he remembered right. He eyed the activities director—an activities director for an underfunded community center.
Eli winked. “I do have a sugar mama.”
Anthony shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his loafers. “I need to start taking notes from you two.”
Eli glanced over his shoulder. “I think I hear Angeline calling for my help. Anthony, get your notepad ready.” He nodded to Vince. “Nice meeting you, Major.”
The duo walked away.
Vince muttered, “Waxer.”
Guys like Eli spent more time washing and waxing the bike than riding it. For guys like that, the bike was all about impressing the babes, not honoring the ride.
And hell no, he wasn’t jumping to snap judgments just because the activities director seemed to be exactly the kind of guy Shay admired.
They’d made him come to this stupid “party” even though he might run into her.
He wanted to go home, but he couldn’t wimp out. Nobody was here for the forced fun. They came to scope out the other side. Get the lowdown in order to make the next hit for their own.
He bounced the ball three times fast before arcing it at the net for . . . a miss.
His fellow banger snagged the rebound and shot. “How lame is this?”
“Food’s good.” Better than anything at home. Except Shay Bassett had come to restock the tables, and he’d been forced out here in case she recognized his voice from that suicide hotline call. He’d disguised his voice, and it wasn’t like she knew him that well. Still, he wasn’t risking jack shit when it came to her.
So he continued to shoot hoops with the jag-off he called his brother. He shot again, ball rolling around the rim.
His brother shot. Nothing but net. The chains rattled and settled. “I get food at that corner market anytime I want.”
“Not me.” He wanted to hurl even thinking about standing beside that building in case someone realized he’d dis respected another gang’s tag. Kevin’s tag, and now Kevin was dead. “The old bitch that runs the place has it out for me.”
“Then pop her. Don’t let her get away with dissing you.”
He stayed quiet, swatting at a bee buzzing around his head. Memories of his blood-in to the gang made his hands shake and made him long for his inhaler even though he managed his allergies with meds these days.
“You weak with the women?”
He couldn’t stop himself from checking out the window where he could see Shay Bassett opening another box of pizza. He looked away fast to scoop up the rebound and make sure she didn’t feel him eyeballing her.
At least her big-ass bodyguard had left after his good citizen tour of the place. Was she screwing the guy? The big dude with his shaved head and no-fear eyes looked like a major player. Must be nice to twitch her tail and have all that protection. “Fuck no, I’m not a pussy.”
“Are you sure you’re not some kinda mama’s boy?”
The mention of his ma sent the pepperoni pizza tumbling around in his stomach faster than the annoying bee that kept flying by. “I said no.”
“You know what a real man has to do to keep his people safe.” He held out his fist.
He bumped fists with his brother, FEAR across their knuckles.
Marked for life. However long that would be.
Anger burned up his throat until he chucked the basketball at that fucking bee. No life. No choices left for him—or Shay Bassett.
Soon, really soon, she would pay the ultimate price for messing in a war where she didn’t belong.
Sitting at the flight controls, Vince flinched as the basketball soared near the camera image. Damn, that was a close call with the thug arcing the ball at their remote-controlled nanosensor “bumblebee.” He adjusted the altitude.
The small plane housing the mobile command center was parked at a small local airport, conveniently located near Shay’s gathering. Berg, Jimmy, and Smooth sat at screens, monitoring the different angles of video feed and sound. He could have the plane airborne in minutes for alternate sensoring, or he could zoom out on his motorcycle straight to her if things erupted.
Good thing Shay had been cool with him wandering around the center, making it all the easier to plant the nanosensor. Not a surprise, actually, that she’d cut him loose to roam, since the woman only put up with him as long as groceries needed unloading.
How much longer would the FBI agent insist on keeping Shay in the dark? Especially now that all signs indicated she was innocent.
Eventually, she would have to know. What would she think about hearing she’d been observed? Hopefully she would understand the need to keep her in the dark initially. But he suspected otherwise.
He’d heard the zeal in her voice when she’d spoken about the teens and the danger they faced daily.
Working the joystick, he scanned the outdoor basketball court, recognizing the activities director standing with a trio of teens he’d met earlier. So far, everything in the Eli dude’s background check appeared clean. Nothing they’d heard tonight indicated otherwise.
Actually, nothing they’d heard from anyone offered up clues. They would scrutinize the feed again after the event.
He tapped a series of buttons on the controller, easing the bee up a bit higher. Satisfied with the altitude, he programmed the sensor to fly a lazy circle over the court and an outdoor food stand. A few more taps, and he had the pin-size camera on the nano-bug centered up in the area he wanted to watch. Sweet. Technology rules.
The suck-up who liked Shay’s “kicks” helped himself to three slices of pizza while his friend, the F-U kid, stuffed an abandoned cell phone into one pocket and a snack-size bag of chips in the other. The camera was so good Vince could make out the label. He remembered well never feeling full enough, too prideful to admit it, and gut determined to do anything to gain control of his life.
Vince adjusted the flight so it followed some of the kids in buttoned-up polo shirts and baggy jeans inside. A sweep of the room showed Shay restocking the drink table. He tweaked the focus until her face filled the screen.
Smooth tapped the buttons up and down the edges of the screen. “Your zoom looks a little close to me.”
Vince scrubbed his hand over his do-rag, civilian clothes and no shaving a definite perk to this low-profile assignment. “Just trying to hear what she’s saying.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re also swearing off doughnuts.” Smooth backed off the zoom with the tap of a button, switching his screen to another view of Shay.
“Easy there, dude,” Berg warned. “We don’t want to fire up the big guy.”
“Does he have a prior claim? I never would have guessed from all the time he’s spent watching her.”
“Hello, dirtbags.” Vince waved a hand. “I’m here.”
“Sorry about that,” Smooth said without a hint of contrition.
He needed to nip this in the bud. Rumors spread like crazy with his gossip hound pals. They had so much classified information to hold secret that they went to the opposite extreme in sharing every detail about each others’ social live
s. “No claim, but I do know Shay Bassett. We were in high school together.” He couldn’t bring himself to call it a brother-sister connection. “I owe her father more than I can repay. He’s the reason I’m in the air force today.”
“Shit,” Jimmy snorted, workout clothes rustling as he twisted in his seat toward Vince. “Who started piping in the violins?”
“Screw off, my friend.” Damn, he even sounded like the thug tonight. “How about just take it down a notch.”
Jimmy grinned. “Like you did when I met Chloe?”
“I was just yanking your chain.” He’d gone easy on the guy, considering what a sap Jimmy was for his conductor girlfriend. “It was obvious you were gone on her from the second you met her a couple months ago. Things are different here.”
Smooth typed in commands to scroll through video feed. “Then you won’t mind if I make a move.”
“Of course not.” Shay was an adult. She could pick and choose her own dates. He was cool with that. Totally. “She’s older than you are.”
Smooth whistled while fine-tuning his camera view. “All the better.”
A growl started low in Vince’s throat before he even realized it.
Jimmy clapped him on the back, eyes still on the screen. “Dude, take it easy. You just got punked.”
A phone rang over their headsets, coming from the sensor feed. He followed the sound in flight until it got louder, louder still, bringing the nano-bee to the welcome table manned by the woman with a cane.
Vince pressed the seal of his headset firmer against his ear. “Hey, Berg, can you crank the volume? I’m going to fly closer in so we can figure out if that call’s anything of interest.”
“Wilco,” Berg answered, his fingers tapping in commands that increased the chatter over the headphones.
The microphones on the bee were good enough to pick up the conversation, easily hearing the person on the other line as well. Years spent flying aircraft gave Vince plenty of experience weeding out the chaff in order to listen to what he needed to hear.
The woman at the reception desk nudged aside her clipboard and picked up the receiver. “Cleveland Community, this is Angeline. How can I help you?”
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