Retaliatory Justice

by Tawa M. Witko

  “She’ll be fine, Valentino.”

  “I don’t feel right about leaving her in there,” I say, feeling panic rise within me.

  He shakes his head at me. “She’s right. They expect her to be there. The question is, why are they there? She said they rarely come in on Mondays,” Clayton states simply.

  I nod and blow out a breath. “Let’s go watch for their departure and FaceTime with the team. We have a lot to go over.”

  He nods as we drive around the block and then come in from the side, parking so that we can see Beauchamp’s vehicle. Clayton exits the sedan, trots to his rental, which is parked two cars from us, and comes back shortly after with the iPad he brought with him and the camera. He tosses the camera bag in the backseat where it lands next to the binoculars.

  “We’ll Skype with the team on this. It will be a bigger screen than the phone,” he says, connecting his iPhone’s Bluetooth to the device so he can have an internet connection. I nod as we call in.

  “O’Neal, connect us on the big screen,” I say before he has a chance to say hello.

  “Where are you?” Jeff asks with his hands on his hips and looking around us.

  “We’re staking out the exit of the restaurant.” I motion to Clayton and he turns the iPad around, surveying the neighborhood, but primarily focusing on the door. “Somewhere through that door is a passageway that leads directly into the storeroom of the restaurant. O’Neal, I’m sending you some pictures of markings I found on the floor. It looks like it could be from a cart.”

  “Got it,” he says and I can see him looking at his phone. He then connects it to another computer and begins fiddling around with it.

  “What’s happening on that end?” I ask.

  “We still don’t have eyes on Martin, so maybe he is still down there,” Michelle begins. “Enrico has been out and about. Jeff has been tailing him,” she turns to him.

  “He’s gone back to Gino as his primary protection. I haven’t seen Aryana though, so who knows what she’s up to right now.

  “We need to get eyes on her as well.”

  “Boss, Enrico met with Komarovski last night down by the Pier.”

  “Father or son?” I ask.

  “Both,” Jeff replies. “He was with that big guy, his right-hand man.”

  “Viktor,” Michelle interjects.

  “Yeah, Viktor, Dimitri, and his kid.”

  “Damn it!” I mutter.

  “I couldn’t get close enough to get sound but I did get pictures. I’ll send to your phone.”

  “Organized crime is in a panic right now,” Michelle begins again. “I called my buddy and he said they are watching the entire Komarovski family. They want to be kept in the loop on this. I told them we were following a few leads and would let them know if they panned out. I didn’t give them anything specific.”

  “Good job, Jones. Paulson, stay on Enrico. I want to know what he’s doing and, more importantly, who he’s meeting. There is something about to go down. We need a better handle on who is doing what so we can predict their next move. See if you can find Aryana. I don’t like the idea of her off on her own.”

  “I’m on it, boss,” Jeff states determinedly.

  “What about Adams?” Michelle asks.

  “He’s definitely dirty and working something on the side,” Clayton states angrily.

  He’s got that right. I think back to this morning. We had arrived a little early and Adams had actually made us wait for him. Montgomery seemed pleasant enough but I think he’s naïve in regards to Adams. He said Adams was one of his best agents, always going above and beyond, working late, and putting in the extra effort. He also said he gave him a lot of leeway because he always made the case. That’s not good for us because Adams probably doesn’t report to Montgomery at all, and as long as he produces the hits, Montgomery doesn’t question it.

  “He was pissed we were there and that we didn’t check in with him first. He has done nothing on the case,” I add.

  “He’s supposed to send us the case file but I doubt we will get it,” Clayton finishes.

  “So we ignore that asshole,” Jeff states, crossing his arms.

  “Based on the dimensions from the photo you sent it looks like it could be some form of industrial platform trolley. The wheels appear wide, something necessary to carry heavy loads,” Zach says, interrupting our dialogue.

  “That’s what I was wondering. The grooves seemed recent.”

  “Which means we were right,” Paul interjects. “A shipment of guns arrived like we thought.”

  “Yes, it looks that way,” I concur. “O’Neal, any word on Garrison?”

  Zach steps closer to the screen. “Whoever wiped him out of the system did a thorough job of it.” Zach looks down and then back up. He is contemplative. “This man is a ghost, either he was a rogue agent or he’s working undercover. An outsider would not have access to the systems we have. Not even a great hacker. We have firewalls and encryption that protects that. Someone from the inside removed his information. Who gave you this Intel? Are we sure this name is accurate?”

  “It’s legit,” I say with confidence. “The officer that discovered it spent the last three weeks going through old newspaper articles on microfiche. This information came from a Tribune article from 1998. There would be no reason for that to be inaccurate.”

  “Oh man, you should see everything Officer LeBlanc collected,” Clayton adds. “I trust the source, one-hundred percent.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Jeff asks.

  “Adams,” Michelle replies.

  “Are we sure it’s Adams?” Zach asks.

  Everyone says some form of affirmative on that. The question for me is not whether Adams is involved, but how. What side is he working for? Enrico, Carmine, the two people in the picture that Jackson took? And who was Garrison? How did he go from some kid trying to resurrect a Boys and Girls Club to selling guns?

  “All right, Hoffman and I have one more day here. We will…” I stop when my phone buzzes.

  D: They’re on their way out

  I show it to Clayton who nods and starts the vehicle. The rest of the team is looking at us confused.

  “Beauchamp and the woman are leaving. Paulson, stay on top of Enrico and find Aryana.”

  “I’m heading over there after this call.”

  “Good, O’Neal, look into Adams, discreetly, you understand,” I say and he nods. “Jones, keep digging, we need to get eyes on Martin and we need to deal with this connection with the Komarovski family. I want no surprises,” she nods as well. “We will check in later,” I say quickly before hanging up.

  We disconnect the phone from the iPad and I lean over the seat snatching the camera case and binoculars off of the backseat. I hand the camera to Clayton while I take the binoculars. We only have to wait a couple of minutes before Beauchamp and Badour step through the doors. He has his arm around her shoulders but her arms are crossed and she is nudging him away. She looks angry while he is clearly amused.

  “Lovers spat?” I question out loud.

  “Based on the outfit Dominique had on, my guess would be he looked too long for his woman’s liking,” Clayton replies casually, snapping pictures.

  I move my binoculars slightly and eye him but he isn’t looking at me, he is concentrating on the pictures. He is probably right though. Dominique was hot today. Even the old man at the shooting range was ogling her. I’m suddenly concerned that Beauchamp said or did something to her while they were inside the restaurant. He better not have! I bring the binoculars back up and watch them again. She keeps trying to push him away and suddenly he isn’t laughing anymore. He pushes her against the car, grabbing her face in his hand. He is talking intently to her and she starts nodding before she kisses him heatedly.

  “What the hell,” Clayton says, shaking his head.

  “Those two deserve one another,” I concur.

  We watch them kiss for a good five minutes before he pulls her hair,
causing her head to tilt back. She has a smile on her face before he kisses her once more and then releases her, strutting to the driver’s side of the car like some arrogant jerk. He exits the parking lot and we slowly pull out to follow them when I bring out my phone.

  V: Are you okay?

  D: yes, are you?

  V: did they say anything to you?

  D: they always say something but they don’t suspect anything.

  V: we are following them. Do you have a way home?

  D: I’ll be here another 30 minutes and then I need to go shopping. I’ll catch a cab to my house

  V: can I see you tonight?

  D: you better

  D: be safe Neo

  V: I will

  I smile at our exchange and then chance a look at Clayton who has his eyebrow arched with a cheesy grin on his face. He looks back at the road, still smiling. We follow them for another ten minutes before he breaks the silence.

  “I take it things are progressing with Dominique,” he says causally.

  “Yes,” I say not elaborating.

  “And did you take her to the shooting range?” he digs further.

  “Yes,” I state simply and a moment later I add, “She’s a great shot.”

  My mind shifts to earlier today at the shooting range. How hot she looked in those leather pants, firing the Smith and Wesson. I can’t believe I took her right there. I can’t believe she let me. She seemed so surprised that I gave her that gun, but she needs it and I feel better knowing she has it.

  “Was she now,” Clayton snickers through his response, bringing me out of my thoughts. I start to retort but my phone buzzes again.

  D: can I cook for you and Clayton

  V: I’d love that but Clayton is being a jerk.

  D: :-)

  D: bring him anyways. I need tasters. Usually Jackson and Santiago do it.

  V: we’ll be there. What time?

  D: will you be done stalking my crazy bosses by seven?

  V: LOL, should be, if not I’ll just shoot em.

  D: you’re kidding right?

  V: of course

  V: maybe

  V: well…

  D: you’re messing with me aren’t you?

  V: yes, I won’t shoot em unless they deserve it

  D: I’ll see you tonight

  I am laughing as I type and now it’s me with the big cheesy grin on my face. God, am I going to turn into Clayton, all smiling and laughing all the dang time? I shake my head and glance at him again and he is giving me a quizzical look.

  “Dominique invited us over to eat.”

  “YES!” he exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.

  “Can you not crash the car, or worse, draw attention to us?” I say disapprovingly.

  “Sorry,” he replies with a slight shrug.

  We continue to follow them until they reach the outskirts of town and can’t go further without being spotted.

  “We need to figure out where they’re going,” Clayton laments with a shake of his head.

  “They cover their tracks well.”

  We both sigh as we turn around. The plates of the vehicle he’s driving belong to a Mrs. Olivia Johnson, deceased. Clayton and I did a cursory check on her and she had nothing else in her name.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel and do some research, see if we can find any building or housing down this road. No one is that good. They had to have missed something,” I suggest as he nods at me.

  ~*~

  Glancing in my rearview mirror, I see Clayton following close behind me. We decided to take separate cars since I would be spending the night. I’m sure it’s wrong to be so attached to Dominique but I can’t seem to turn it off. I wish I could as it makes this case much more complicated. What I need to do is talk to Kailee about this, or maybe even Joseph. Perhaps when I get home I will do that.

  “When I get home,” I say aloud.

  My stomach churns as I realize that my time in New Orleans is almost up, meaning my time with Dominique is nearing an end as well. I can’t think about that right now. I need to focus on making the best use of the time I have left. I park and see Clayton park beside me.

  “I’ll leave early tomorrow so we can scope out some of the places we mapped out.”

  He nods at me. “The aerial footage O’Neal sent will be helpful. I’m going to the dock tonight. I wanna see if I can get close to that boat Martin and Beauchamp were at.”

  “Good, if you get something, call me. If I need to leave tonight I will,” I say, hoping it won’t come to that.

  “Will do,” he hesitates for a moment before looking at me thoughtfully. “Are you…”

  “Am I what?” I ask annoyed.

  “Are you going to be able to leave her?” he asks as I knock on the door.

  I sigh. “I hope so.”

  “I have some concerns …” he starts to say but the door swings open so he doesn’t have a chance to finish.

  Dominique stands in the doorway with a smile that brightens my heart. She takes my hand and pulls me inside, Clayton following close behind. The house smells amazing and Dominique is beautiful in a short blue skirt and white top. Her hair is piled on the top of her head, being held in place by what looks like one of her braids. She leans up on her tip-toes and kisses me. As is usually the case, our kiss deepens until we hear Clayton clearing his throat. She giggles and steps back.

  “Have a seat,” she says, motioning towards the table.

  Clayton is watching me, well, us and shaking his head with a slight frown on his face. Here he was all pushing me towards her and now he seems to be telling me to pull away. Make up your damn mind. We both take seats on opposite ends of the table while Dominique goes back into the kitchen.

  “What?” I whisper to him.

  He frowns and shakes his head again as Dominique turns around, happy and beaming as she brings over two plates. I don’t know what it is but it looks amazing and smells fantastic.

  “For your appetizer I am serving you some of my special Fried Green Tomatoes.”

  Clayton stares at it and touches the tomato. Dominique smiles as she looks directly at him.

  “You must try it, Clayton. I use only the best tomatoes so they are thick and plump and encased in a thin yet crispy cornmeal crust. I am serving it with chunks of Louisiana crab meat on a bed of greens and drizzled with remoulade. It’s heavenly.”

  I watch as he takes a bite and a huge smile spreads on his face. She turns to me expectantly, so I take a bite and the tomato just bursts in my mouth.

  “Now take a bite of the crab,” she says, practically bouncing on her toes.

  “This is wonderful!” I say truthfully.

  She smiles and nods appreciatively as she turns back around. She starts bobbing around in the kitchen, completely in her element as she puts the finishing touches on our entrée. I glance at Clayton and he is completely focused on the appetizer. I don’t blame him at all as it’s superb. Soon she is back, removing our appetizer plates and then setting another plate in front of us.

  “Sticking to my southern theme, I decided on shrimp and fried grits with Andouille and smoked tomatoes.”

  To this, my eyes raise. First off, I’ve never had grits, and secondly, I wasn’t aware they could be fried. She is snickering as she looks at our faces as it is painfully obvious that we don’t know how to eat this because these shrimp still have their heads on. I look up at her.

  “You guys have never had shrimp like this?” she asks, looking between our shaking heads. “Okay, well,” she reaches for one of my shrimp, “do you mind?”

  “No, go right ahead.”

  “Just tear the shrimp here,” she shows us as she separates the shrimp from the shell. “Once you eat the meat, you suck the heads in your mouth, its good. It’s a southern thang,” she says in a drawl that causes me to smile.

  Clayton and I are still both looking at the meal. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it looks great, it’s just nothing I have ever had before, and b
ased on the expression Clayton has, it must not be something he has eaten before either.

  “Oh come on, guys, two bad ass agents aren’t gonna try this?” she teases.

  Clayton grins and then does what she says. “Holy crap! That’s good. I wonder if they make it this way in Chicago.”

  She turns to me, so I take the shrimp she had demonstrated with and eat it. This is good. The buttery taste is fantastic. I smile and nod with a mouthful of shrimp and then tap the crisp exterior of the grits. I break a bit off and taste it, smiling around my fork. The inside is creamy and almost pudding-like with a touch of what tastes like bacon. Soon there are no words as Clayton and I consume our meal. Midway through the meal, I realize that Dominique never sat down to eat with us.

  “You’re not eating?” I ask.

  “I taste as I go. This is to help me see what I need to correct before I serve it to people.”

  “Dominique, this is amazing. I’ve never had grits before but if this is what they taste like I’m going to order them.”

  “There are a lot of ways to make grits but I’m glad you like it.”

  “Come here,” I say, reaching my hand to her.

  She doesn’t hesitate, and when she reaches for my hand, I pull her on my lap and then bring my fork to her mouth, feeding her some of her delicious grits with part of the Andouille. I continue to feed her while she giggles and kisses me in between, and by the time we are done and she says she needs to get the dessert, I am already hot and bothered. I glance at Clayton, who is eyeing me.

  “What the hell is the problem?” I whisper, my brows furrowed.

  Before he can answer, Dominique turns and brings each of us a plate. It’s some form of three-tiered red cake with a strawberry on top of it. It looks really good.

  “For dessert, I have made you my version of a red velvet cake. It is made with red wine and I use a German butter cream frosting. It’s topped with a strawberry and fresh mint leaf.”

  Clayton hums around his fork, which causes Dominique to smile. There is so much pride on her face right now. Her skill in the kitchen is extraordinary. I can see why she wouldn’t want to leave Le Creole, even if her bosses are shady. She had told me she didn’t have any formal training but you would never know it. What she has made for the past few days could best any classically trained chef. The phone rings and Dominique excuses herself, and just as I’m about to give Clayton a piece of my mind, he starts in.