Building Empires (MidKnight Blue Book 1)

by Sherryl Hancock

  Randy held up her hand. “I promise.”

  Joe smiled at her. Then giving her a cavalier wink, he walked across the street, pulling on his FORS jacket.

  London, England, 1980

  Joe had a run in with a new gang leader in town, his name was Jake and he was the leader of a gang called the Destroyers. Joe had heard about the guy; he had heard that he was a crazy Irishman and his whole gang was a bunch of lunatics that liked to hurt innocent people. He’d also heard that they dabbled in drug deals and hits on people. Joe had driven into town to meet with his father for lunch. For that reason, he wore black slacks, a white collared shirt, and black boots. The gang jacket spoiled the look of business casual, however. Joe was wearing his black leather jacket with the Black Knights logo of crossed black and silver swords and the words Black Knights written in silver in calligraphy script.

  He was getting out of his car when he turned and ran right into someone coming the other way. The guy he’d run into tried to shove him back, but Joe stood firm. The man had to look up at Joe, since he was only around five foot eight. Joe recognized Jake right away from the descriptions he’d heard, and Joe could see recognition dawn in the other man’s eyes as well, as his look took in Joe’s jacket. Jake took a step back and looked Joe up and down. Joe just looked at the man, his face set in a mask of boredom.

  “Yor Sinclair ont you?” the man said, his Irish-brogue very thick and clipped.

  The man was fair-haired but it was cut short and spiked. It gave him a sharp look. His eyes looked crazed, they were such a pale blue that were almost white, and the whites around them were a mixture of a sickly yellow with harsh blood red veins. Joe wondered idly if he put tabasco sauce in his eyes to get them to look so hideous.

  “Yeah, I’m Sinclair,” Joe answered. He was chewing gum and smoking a cigarette looking very relaxed, but his eyes missed no detail of the man, nor the details of his surroundings.

  He was aware of someone standing just off to the side, out of his direct line of sight. He assumed that person was with Jake, so he was on his guard. His hand was in his jacket pocket and wrapped around the switchblade he always carried, although he preferred to fight with his fists.

  “Bin lookin’ fer ya,” Jake said. His smile, missing a couple of teeth, was cold and menacing.

  Joe shrugged. “I’d say you found me.”

  His hand tightened on the switchblade as Jake looked over at the other person. Joe’s eyes flicked over to take in the girl Jake was looking at. She was almost as strange looking as Jake, with red hair and fuchsia makeup.

  “’e says it looks like we found ’im,” Jake told the girl, and without warning went for a punch at Joe’s midsection.

  But Joe was no longer standing as close as he had been a second ago; he had stepped back and brought his right hand across to block Jake’s punch. Jake was shocked to have been outsmarted, shocked and mad. The girl laughed wildly. Joe turned and flicked his cigarette away.

  “Shut up you whore!” Jake yelled, once again making a play for Joe, this time going for his face.

  Joe simply ducked and in turn punched Jake in the face, the force of which knocked Jake back a few feet. Jake stood frozen for a minute trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

  Joe chuckled at him. “Give up yet?”

  But Jake wasn’t finished; he pulled out a knife and grinned at Joe.

  Joe shook his head, as if not believing the guy could be so stupid. He kept his eyes on the blade though; he was in no mood to get stabbed. He brought his hands up in a fighting gesture, and motioned with his fingertips for Jake to bring it on. Jake hesitated, not having expected Joe to react that way. He had expected Joe to either be afraid or at least bring out a knife. He figured Joe must just be stupid or really crazy. Jake and Joe circled for a few long moments. Jake tried to fake Joe out by doing some false parries and half jabs with the knife. Joe did not react; he continued to watch the knife and its owner carefully.

  There was a crowd gathering now, but Joe paid them no attention. Most of the crowd was Jake’s own gang, and they were yelling encouragement to Jake, which was pumping up the smaller man’s ego. Joe waited and watched, and Jake finally made his move, attempting to come at Joe from the side, lunging at him with all of his weight. With skill born of patience and experience, Joe spun, bringing his arm down in a chopping motion, and effectively blocked Jake’s move. Then turning back, he grabbed the still outstretched arm and twisted Jake’s wrist painfully, until he had to drop the knife. Joe stood holding Jake’s wrist, while Jake writhed around, standing on tiptoes to try to relieve the pain.

  “Give up yet?” Joe asked again, his eyes mocking the smaller man, his lips curling in a sarcastic grin.

  “Yeah, man, yeah!” Jake yelled. Joe released him so quickly that he fell to the ground. Jake’s gang laughed.

  Jake’s head snapped up his eyes narrowed, hating Joe more than anything at that moment.

  “You basta’d,” Jake spat.

  Joe could see that his was readying himself for another charge. Canting his head to the side Joe simply said, “I don’t think you wanna do that.”

  Jake realized he had been not only defeated but humiliated too. A deep burning hate started in Jake’s stomach as he listened to his own gang laughing at him. He saw Sinclair standing there so cool, not even breaking a sweat, leaning against his Porsche with his legs crossed at the ankles, looking down at him.

  “I’ll get you fer this Sinclair,” Jake said. His voice was deadly calm and so low that his gang stopped laughing. They looked at Joe, watching for his reaction.

  Joe shrugged, looking confident. “I think you just tried that.” And with that he walked away.

  Looking back later, Joe realized that had been a turning point in his life, but he’d had no idea how crazy Jake really was, or how determined he could be.

  ****

  Joe walked in the front door of Moose McGillicuddy’s. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior, and he looked around for Bondy. When Joe’s eyes came to rest on a man wearing a jean jacket with large scorpion and the word “Scorpions” in red, he knew had found his man. He walked over to where Bondy was leaning against the bar, talking intently to a young lady. Joe leaned against the bar just behind Bondy, listening in on the conversation. Bondy was turned to the side, so he couldn’t see Joe.

  “So you cut him?” the girl was saying, impressed.

  “Yeah, ain’t no big thing, I cut cops all the time, hell they’re afraid of me now.” Bondy was smiling down at the girl, just knowing he was going to get some play out of this.

  He was feeling really full of himself right up until the time that Joe picked him up by the scruff of the neck. Bondy was jerked off his feet and turned around to face the man he had just been bragging about cutting.

  “So,” Joe said looking down at Bondy, “you’re a real big man, Bobby. That so?” He shook him a couple of times for emphasis.

  The girl had skittered away, probably going for help, Joe thought.

  “Hey, Sinclair,” Bondy said, “nice slice you got there.”

  Bondy was still being cocky and Joe couldn’t believe it. He outweighed the guy by about fifty pounds and stood about four inches taller.

  “You like it, Bobby? If you want I can give you one to match …” His voice trailed off ominously.

  Joe saw Bondy’s eyes flick past his shoulder, and Joe knew instinctively that someone was coming up behind him. Dropping Bondy to the floor with a resounding thud, Joe turned and ducked in the same movement, narrowly missing the assailant’s first punch. He didn’t, however, miss the unexpected kick to the side from a second guy he’d not seen. Wincing in pain, Joe jumped aside bringing his elbow up into the second guy’s face. The man fell back, clutching his now-broken nose. The first guy came at Joe immediately though, so Joe didn’t have time to recover. The guy managed to land a hard clout on Joe’s left cheek breaking the cut open again; it started to bleed profusely.

  �
�To hell with this,” Joe said, bringing his foot up and kicking the first guy away from him.

  He drew his gun and backed up, glancing behind him to make sure there were no more of them. Joe unclipped his badge and showed it to the bartender.

  “I need a phone,” he told the bartender authoritatively.

  He called dispatch to request a black and white who informed him that Lieutenant Chevalier had already sent them to Joe’s location and they should be in the vicinity any minute.

  Joe hung up grinning, keeping a watchful eye on the three men he was holding. Bondy was still on the floor and Joe had his foot on Bondy’s chest. He wasn’t getting away again.

  A few minutes later, the police showed up and a few minutes after that Randy walked into the bar. She looked around for Joe. She spotted him talking to a police officer holding a towel to his cheek. She made her way over to him and stood by quietly while he finished up with the officer.

  “Hey,” he said, once the officer had walked away.

  “Are you okay?” Randy asked. She gestured to the bloodstained towel he was holding to his cheek.

  He pulled the towel away and looked down at it, then looked back at her.

  “I guess so. Took one good shot to the side, but that’s the only new one,” he said, keeping his tone light.

  Randy grimaced. He smiled at her, and shrugged. He took a drink from the glass the bartender had given him, and winced at the amount of tequila the guy had put into it. He looked up at the bartender, who just shrugged.

  “I figured you needed it,” the bartender said.

  Joe smiled and nodded his thanks.

  “I better get you home,” he said to Randy. “Before I stay here and order a few more.” He smiled slyly at her.

  He took a couple more swallows of the drink, and tossed a twenty on the bar, giving the bartender a two fingered salute. Putting his arm around Randy, he steered her to the door.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, grimacing.

  Joe shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

  Randy shook her head. How is anyone ever used to violence? Without stopping to think, she reached up and touched a small drop of blood that had formed at one corner of the cut. She took in his light blue eyes that simply stared back at her. He was surprised. Suddenly she realized what she’d done and immediately pulled her hand back and looked away. She’d just touched her boss in a very intimate way. Have I lost my mind? What was I thinking?

  Biting her lip, she took the chance to look back at him. She saw a soft smile playing at his lips. She wasn’t sure what to think, but she felt a tug at her heart at the look in his eyes. He wasn’t giving her a sarcastic, knowing look, it appeared to be appreciation. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I did that, I was just …” she began, trying to think of a reasonable explanation for her behavior. Finally, she shrugged, unable to come up with suitable words.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Joe said softly, his eyes still not leaving hers.

  Randy simply stared back at him, unable to think of something else to say.

  The day was fading, the sky was a red orange color, and his eyes sparkled with the sun’s dying rays. He didn’t seem to mind that she had touched him. And Randy found she could barely breathe.

  Joe’s phone rang, breaking the spell. Joe looked almost irritated as he pulled it out.

  “Yeah?” he said, his voice short. He was looking down the street now, his face lit by the sunset.

  It was Midnight. “Hey, did the black and whites show up?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, trying to keep the tension he was feeling out of his voice, “thanks for that.”

  “Figured you might like some backup,” she said, then. “Is there anything left of you?” she asked, half concerned, half joking.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe said, glancing over at Randy.

  “Good,” Midnight said, sensing Joe’s tension and wondering if he was making light of new injuries. She had no way of knowing about the moment she’d interrupted.

  “See you tomorrow,” Joe said, getting his composure back finally.

  “10-4,” Midnight said briskly.

  She knew something was wrong, but could tell by Joe’s tone he wasn’t about to say anything. He hung up and started the car. He reached for his cigarettes and glanced over at Randy.

  “You mind?”

  “No,” Randy said, shaking her head.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of his tension, she could feel it easily, but wasn’t sure what it meant.

  Joe lit a cigarette and reached over to turn up the stereo. Def Leppard was still on, but Joe hit the CD changer, changing it to Whitesnake, and the song “Love Ain’t No Stranger.” It was much harder driven. Once again Joe sang every word.

  Joe wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction to Randy Curtis. She wasn’t usually the type of woman he was interested in. With women like Midnight in his life, women who took what they wanted without hesitation, this beautiful little wallflower seemed a polar opposite. Joe wasn’t sure what to do with that.

  After a few directions, they made it to Randy’s house. She turned to Joe, to thank him for giving her a ride home. He was watching her intently again. When she smiled at him, he gave her a half grin. These odd silences seemed to be happening to them a lot. It amused Joe no end.

  “Thank you, for the ride home,” she said, as she noticed Darrell’s car in the driveway.

  Joe saw her glance at the car, and grimace.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Randy shook her head, and tried to look nonchalant. She didn’t succeed. “Nothing, I just noticed that my brother is home now, that’s all.”

  She reached for the handle, but his hand on her arm stopped her. She turned back and he was giving her a knowing look.

  “He’s going to be pissed because your late, isn’t he?” Joe asked.

  Randy shook her head, not saying anything.

  “Or is it that I gave you a ride home? A guy …”

  Randy looked at him for a minute, how did he know what she was thinking? Then she nodded at him.

  “My brother wasn’t really happy with me for taking this job. He’s real funny about cops.” She shrugged.

  “Why?” Joe asked. “We’re the good guys, or doesn’t he know that?”

  “Well, he does, but, he just he thinks that cops are, um, kind of … you know.”

  “Always trying to score?” Joe supplied, and he knew instantly from the look on her face that he’d hit the nail on the head. “And you’re so young and very innocent, he doesn’t want you around guys that have such loose morals, like myself, right?”

  “No!” Randy almost shouted. “Not like you, I mean well you’re not like that. I mean, I don’t think you are. I better go,” she said reaching nervously for the door handle again.

  “Randy,” Joe said, and she turned back to him, “relax. Do you want me to talk to your brother?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, it’s okay, I’ll just talk to him. It’s okay.” She then opened the door and hopped out of the car.

  She leaned back down looking shyly at him again. “Thank you again for the ride, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “If you need a ride tomorrow, call me,” Joe said, pulling out his wallet and handing her a card from it.

  She took it and smiled at him. Then she closed the door. He watched as she walked up to the house. Before she reached the front door, it opened and Joe could see a stocky blond-haired man talking to her. Then he looked over her head at Joe’s car. Joe waited to see if the guy was going to come down the driveway. He could see that Randy was arguing with him, her hands held up to keep him from doing just that. Joe was about to put the car in park and go up and talk to Darrell Curtis, when Randy finally managed to turn him around and push him into the house. The front door closed and Joe shrugged to himself. Just as well, he thought to himself, he didn’t need to get into another fight today.

  Chapter 5

  London, England, 1980

&n
bsp; Joe Sinclair sat in a pub watching his gang, the Black Knights, celebrate. They were in their usual hangout, a place where the owner knew that most of them were under age, but served them anyway. The owner didn’t care, the Knights paid for the beer they drank and they always kept their fights outside. Joe watched his second, Rick, make a move on Sherri. Rick’s proposition was well received, of course; she’d had her eye on him for weeks.

  Rick had a reputation for moving from one girl to the next, never staying with one too long.

  Richard Debenshire was eighteen, with a magnetic personality. He was a heady combination of handsome and gregarious. Everyone liked him. He stood an even six feet, with a swimmer’s-style body, long and lean. He had shaggy light brown curls that fell two inches past his shoulders and deep blue eyes. His skin tone was almost a golden color, setting off his finely boned face and eyes perfectly. He also had a perfect smile. His smile dropped them every time, and he smiled a lot. He was the perfect antonym to Joe.

  Joseph Sinclair was twenty years old, with a dark brooding nature that attracted women to him constantly. His height of six foot two made him imposing to most people. His build was stockier than Rick’s, with broader shoulders, but a slimmer waist. What caught many a woman’s attention were his eyes, since they were almost luminescent in their color. They’d been compared to the ice that many swore flowed through his veins.

  Rick was the social one, Joe was the quiet, cool one. Everyone liked Rick, whereas everyone was afraid of Joe. Joe was known for his abilities in a fight. He had a temper that, when pushed, could ignite into cold fury. Instead of making him careless in a fight, his temper tended to make him better. His anger made him hit harder, move and think faster; that’s what made him dangerous.

  With his arm still around Sherri, Rick walked over to where Joe sat leaning his chair against the wall. Sherri eyed Joe appreciatively, but she was equally happy to be with Rick. She’d heard a lot about both men’s sexual prowess, and was eager to confirm the stories. Rick sat down, taking a chair from another table and turning it around, so he could lean his arms on the back of it as he sat.