"There's a problem out on the East Side." Marino picked up some papers and slid them across the desk. "My father ran a couple of insurance businesses there that mostly operated on the racketeering model in the area. One of the recently opened businesses resisted the marketing attempts of our local salesmen. When more persuasive measures were taken, the man resisted aggressively and involved local law enforcement."
The translation for that was obvious. The local racketeers failed to intimidate the business owner sufficiently, and when others arrived to inflict more painful persuasion, they had their asses beaten and handed to the cops.
"This situation is unacceptable. It must be known that trouble on the East Side will not be tolerated.” The mob boss tapped the file with a well-manicured finger. “I need a message sent and an example made so the rest of the local businesses don't decide that our insurance is not for them and move on to other providers."
Mike took one of the files off the table and inspected the contents. "Do you have any preferences for the kind of example you need us to make?"
"Nothing excessive," he said decisively. "We need to encourage repeat customers, not scare them off. Perhaps something along the lines of a ruptured-patella-based encouragement package. You merely need to make sure they realize we're the only business for them."
Which translated loosely to blowing this guy's kneecaps out to make sure he and everyone else knew there wouldn’t be another warning.
Jon nodded. "And what kind of commission do you think we would receive for peddling this…package?"
"I thought forty thousand each would be fair for your services. Twenty thousand now and the rest upon completion of your work. What do you say?"
Neither man wanted to show any kind of surprise and both nodded.
"Well, we would normally wrangle a better price out of you," Jon said in what he hoped was a suitably casual tone but strong enough to get a point across. "Negotiating is the silent skill of the best freelancers, after all. But, out of respect for you and your late father, we'll agree to that rate."
"Excellent!" The Mafia boss stood quickly and the operatives followed suit. "I'm really glad we could come to an agreement. Julia is waiting outside with your checks, to be deposited in a bank of your choice."
"We will focus on familiarizing ourselves with the files and the job immediately, Mr. Marino." Mike took the man's proffered hand.
"It’s a pleasure doing business, Mr. Marino," Jon said with a smile and motioned with his head for his new partner to join him.
Both men collected the checks the secretary had waiting for them. Once the doors closed behind them, they exchanged a knowing glance. They obviously knew better than to say anything in the building and didn't even try until they were off the casino floor.
"What did you plan to charge him?" Jon asked while they waited for the valet to bring their cars around.
"I was going to say ten grand, plus expenses. Although I would have seriously fucked him with the expenses, of course."
"Yeah, me too." He chuckled. "I guess this guy is desperate."
"Or he has no idea how much the going rate really is. Either way, it’s a good payday for an easy job."
Chapter Two
The drive from Vegas to Los Angeles would never inspire real complaints from very many people. The roads were smooth, easy to move on, and already accommodated the AI-powered vehicles. If Taylor wanted to simply lean back and take a nap for the duration of the trip, he could.
Maybe the easy journey was why the rich and the drunk or high of Hollywood headed to Vegas for an instant marriage that would immediately be dissolved once they sobered up. He still wasn't sure how an entire state had somehow legalized and profited off the business of rapid-fire marriages followed by rapid-fire divorces. He simply chose to assume that the people who cooked the crazy scheme up were both geniuses and unbelievably evil.
Still, that was thankfully not something he would ever have to worry about. He honestly couldn’t ever see himself being so slammed that he actually married anyone. His personal philosophy definitely precluded Elvis impersonators and cheap rings.
For this trip, he chose not to use the AI-driver function. He liked driving Liz and he would be able to cut the four-and-a-half-hour drive down by an hour or so as long as he kept the gas pedal down and he was careful about traffic cops and cameras.
He could always call Desk if he got any tickets for speeding, of course, but he would rather not. It was an annoyance for her, he could tell, and that was enough for him to try to avoid them, at least. Despite the fact that his feelings still rankled somewhat over what he considered her hacking of his suits, she had put effort into making his work with the FBI a little smoother. If only for that reason, it was the least he could do to return the damn favor.
The only downside of doing the driving, of course, was the fact that the AI knew how to make Liz an efficient gas guzzler, whereas he did not. He wasn't terrible, but he needed to pull into gas stops along the way to fill up perhaps a little more often than he might if he relinquished control.
Still, it was for the best since Liz wasn't the only one who needed to power up. It wasn't strictly legal but he liked to snack while driving. His first choice was always something salty with a preference for beef jerky, but there was time and space for sweets in there too, especially if they were the sour kind.
But first things first. Taylor stepped out of the truck, closed the door, and took a moment to stretch his sore muscles. It was technically a short drive, but he still needed to stop and get the blood flowing around his body.
He couldn't wait too long, though. Banks still needed him and from the sound of it, they wouldn’t wait for long. The chances were that they already had a couple of other cryptid hunters on the list waiting for him to fuck up.
Once he’d set the pump to fill the tank, he waited rather than head inside. Liz was a thirsty gal and she had a tank to match. When she was full, he replaced the nozzle, locked the vehicle, and entered the building to purchase snacks, drinks, and other items he needed for the rest of his trip to LA. It took only a few minutes before he paid for them and the gas at the register.
Someone had told him once that to save time, he should simply leave the pump to work while he did his shopping. It sounded logical, but in situations where a car had issues or the pump did, the tank could end up only partially filled or even too much.
Liz would obviously not present those problems. He had worked on her himself and was confident of that, but he couldn't say the same for the pumps. It really was better to be safe than sorry, especially when he was in a hurry to face monsters that might be the precursor to the Zoo apocalypse.
"Is that your truck outside?" the cashier asked.
"She's mine, yeah," he replied with a small, polite smile.
"She looks like a beast." The young man cast a quick look out the window.
"Thanks, I guess."
"That wasn't a compliment. Trucks like that are bad for the environment."
"Says the kid who makes a living working in a gas station," he retorted and snatched his receipt up as well as his purchases. "Besides, the environment's spent way too much time trying to kill me so returning the favor seems like the smart thing to do."
"What?"
"Never mind." He shook his head. "You have a nice day."
Maybe he’d been a little too sarcastic to the kid. He worked in a gas station, true, but with the economy the way it was, people needed to take whatever jobs they could get their hands on. And as social causes went, the environment wasn't a terrible idea—even if a little slow on the draw what with all the shit happening in the Zoo.
Then again, no one trashed Liz with impunity, regardless of their good intentions. She was his baby and he would defend her to his last breath, either physically or verbally.
As he returned to the vehicle, a powerful engine revved and drew his attention toward the other side of the gas station. A convertible Mustang pulled up and “Girls Just W
ant to Have Fun” blared from the juiced-up speakers.
The song made him cringe every time he heard it, but the young women who spilled out of the car to fill their tank definitely held his attention. They had the look of a sorority on a road trip somewhere, for which one of them had “borrowed” their dad's car.
The only reason for that perhaps incorrect assumption was that the Mustang didn't seem like a sorority-girl car. Then again, he didn't know what would be, so any assumptions he made would inevitably be from a position of ignorance.
"Hey there, honey," one of them called and waved to him. She looked a little beyond merely tipsy as she leaned back on the car to display the skimpy tank top and extra short jean shorts she wore.
And what was underneath, of course, which he could more than appreciate.
Admittedly, they were a little young for his tastes. He preferred women who knew what they were doing but in the end, when all you intended to do was look, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the view.
He didn't wave in response and simply smirked as he opened the door and tossed his purchases in.
"That's a nice ride you have there," the same girl called when she realized she hadn’t received the kind of attention she had so obviously fished for. "Where are you headed, matchstick? To Vegas?"
"Out of Vegas, as a matter of fact," Taylor replied.
"Do you think I could do anything to change your mind? We're headed to Vegas for a bachelorette party and we decided to start the party early."
The other three girls responded with a resounding and drawn-out “Woo” that was only drowned out by the sound of another distinctive rumble of motors. Three heavy motorcycles roared into the gas station. They were built to look like choppers but the shiny quality gave them away as straight out of a Harley dealership, as did the clean and shiny appearance of the cyclists' leather jackets. These guys had just bought their bikes and wanted to ride them on the open roads.
He could easily identify with that. There were few better feelings in the world than taking a new vehicle out for a spin.
All three seemed like they rode a little high on the testosterone their powerful machines had filled them with. The moment they saw the younger girls flirting with him, he could see it riled them a little. It had happened before. Hell, he'd felt the same way himself at times so he knew what the warning signs were.
Those particular signs were currently up like red fucking flags and he knew what was coming.
"You girls are wasting your time with fire-crotch over here," one of the bikers said and laughed. "If you ever need a real man, don't look for one hiding in a truck like a bitch. Find a guy who knows how to ride you like Lionel fucking Richie, baby—all night long."
Taylor narrowed his eyes as the four girls around the Mustang backed away quickly. They were used to being the ones to make the bold advances, and when the bikers looked like they needed to get some of their thirst out, they were suddenly no longer interested.
"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you," Taylor said and drew their focus away from being annoyed by the girls' reluctance. "They say spending too much time on a bike does funny stuff to a man's bait and tackle. The chances are you'd need an extra short night if you want to follow in the steps of Mr. Richie."
If things were going to escalate, he preferred that they escalate in his direction.
His instincts once again proved to be correct. The bikers strutted over to where he stood, which gave the girls an opening to escape into the convenience store.
They were safe. Him? Not so much.
"Do you think you want to say that again?" one of the men asked and tilted his head in an unmistakable challenge.
"What? Oh, you mean pointing out the well-known statistics regarding men who spend too much time with something vibrating between their legs?" he asked cheerfully but kept his voice down. There were a couple of security cameras in place around the building that would help him if the three decided to sue for damages.
Cameras would show him standing calmly while the other three began to lose their shit and became more and more aggressive before he acted in self-defense.
It was annoying that he needed to think that way, but he was technically a government employee and as much as he liked to piss Banks off, he didn't want to lose that particular job.
The three moved in around him to cut off any avenues of escape, which left him with his back to Liz.
"Do you have something to say now, bitch?" the man in the middle asked. He stepped aggressively into what he thought was his adversary’s personal space and tried to seem intimidating despite the fact that Taylor had about five inches and twenty pounds of muscle on him.
"Not really." He kept his hands down as he watched the other man's fist cock in readiness. "I merely wondered what three guys have to prove to a stranger at a gas station. Although it’s probably the same thing you had to prove to the cute saleswoman at that dealership you bought those bikes from, right? Do you need a little help to get your collective gear sticks up?"
As anticipated, that was all he needed to say. The first fist hammered forward with as much power as the man could muster thrust into the haymaker. Taylor could see it coming a mile away, but he didn't move.
The fist connected with his jaw and although it was a little low to be effective, he felt knuckles connecting with the bone. It was a little jarring and slightly painful, but not as painful as the man's hand would be.
"Fuck!" his assailant shouted as pain exploded across his hand and wrist. Still, it was nothing compared to what he had in store for him.
"You know, they say never to hit a man with a closed fist, but it is, on occasion, hilarious." He rubbed the place where he'd been hit. "Observe."
He ducked low and drove his fist into an enthusiastic uppercut between the biker's legs. The man was unable to manage a scream of pain and barely even grunted in agony. Taylor straightened, grasped his opponent by the collar of his leather jacket, and hauled him forward to pound his lowered forehead into the man’s nose and mouth.
The biker was already on his way down, and the headbutt merely sealed it. He sprawled into a groaning pile with one hand on his privates and other over his face.
"A crotch shot?" one of the other bikers asked and backed away a step or two. "Classy."
"Yeah, because three guys attacking one totally screams fair play, right?" he retorted and glimpsed the third man’s approach out of the corner of his eye.
He turned to face the second as if he hadn’t noticed the sly advance. Calmly, he mentally counted every step until his would-be attacker was close enough. At the perfect moment, he leaned back on his hip, snapped his right elbow back, and caught his target in the temple. The blow hurled the man into Liz and he slid soundlessly to the concrete.
The second tried to take advantage of what he obviously thought was a moment of distraction. He threw a wild jab that Taylor blocked with his left arm. He shoved it aside, which left the man wide open, and swung his right from above. The blow hammered into the side of the man's head and dropped him to his knees.
While he probably didn't need to, he brought his knee up under the last man's jaw to disable him completely.
"Like I said." He looked smugly at the three men, who were still conscious but wouldn’t get up anytime soon. "Hilarious."
They made no effort to respond and he rolled his neck, took a deep breath, and looked around the gas station. He didn't expect that anyone would run to help—not for him and not for the three who actually needed it. The kid behind the counter talked rapidly into his cellphone, though, likely calling the local cops.
The girls stepped out when they saw that the fight was over and it was safe to emerge. Most of them appeared to want to get out of the area as quickly as possible, but the one who had addressed him before was either a little bolder or a little drunker than her friends. She sauntered over to where he cleaned some of the blood biker number three had left on Liz's coat of paint.
"Thanks for the h
elp, giant stranger," she said softly. She seemed shyer than her previous overtures had suggested.
"I’m not sure how I helped you, but…you're welcome?"
"Well, I guess I should have opened with the fact that these bikers have given us trouble all the way from LA," she said and glared at the injured men. "So thanks for that. I honestly think they planned to follow us all the way to Vegas."
"Oh, well, it’s definitely no problem," Taylor said. "It looks like your bachelorette party will be safe. Wait, is that why you were trying to get me to join you?"
"Partially," she admitted. "There was also some intention to find out if the carpet matched the drapes if you know what I mean."
"I do, and believe me, I am tempted." He winked. "But have urgent business to take care of in LA that can't be pushed back. But they do match if you were curious."
"I won’t simply take your word for it," she said and glared at her friends who honked the Mustang's horn to tell her to join them.
"You'll have to." He pulled the door of his truck open and stepped inside. "Have a great party. Maybe raise a drink for…what was that charming little nickname you gave me?"
"Matchstick," she said. "Sorry about that."
"No worries." He started the vehicle and eased onto the road. He could see the girl watching him drive away in the rearview mirror.
Chapter Three
Desk took her time getting back to him, although Taylor wasn’t really surprised. She couldn't have been happy that he’d simply walked away and left a mess like that for her to clean up.
The woman was sulking, that was all. It was annoying but he had come to expect it from her at this point and he decided not to bitch about it. She'd earned a little silence from him.
He was about an hour away from the coordinates Banks had sent him when his phone rang. All he needed was a press of a button to answer as he had connected the device to the Bluetooth in Liz when he'd left her the other three voicemails.
"Desk, it's nice to hear your voice again." He deliberately laid it on thick. "How have you been doing?"
Silent Death (Cryptid Assassin Book 2) Page 2
