Ebb Tide Ch. 03

"Dinner is here," I struggled to keep the relief from my voice. It was TC and Soledad. The takeout bags weren't takeout bags, they were grocery bags from the India Fiji Market. Either we were going to eat the ingredients, or someone planned on cooking. I examined and discarded the possibility that I'd been poisoned earlier, making my instructions slurred without me realizing it.

It was far more likely that the two cops were stamping their independence on our first meeting by relegating my suggestions to the ash heap. I opened the door, pistol in my left hand hidden behind my back. The cops had guns after all.

"TC - Soledad, welcome," I greeted them in a neutral voice.

"TC knows where the kitchen is," I stepped, back to the opened door with my gun still concealed. Of course the cops would have to be idiots to not realize I had something in my left hand. They didn't press the point.

"Still freeloading, Dabney?" TC sniped.

"Still crying tears of loneliness while humping your vibrator?" Dabney volleyed right back. I wasn't going to let TC call Dabney a whore and I wasn't going to force Dabney be equally creative in her insults.

"Nympho."

"Ice Queen."

Soledad watched the exchange with veiled amusement over TC's expression of emotion.

"Okay, who knows how to cook ... besides TC?" I intervened. No one said anything.

"I always eat out," Dabney bragged.

"I only eat pre-packaged goods," G volunteered.

"I've set fire to a microwave dinner," Soledad stated. "What about you, Vance?"

"I'm an awesome chef, but I'm not leaving you here to interrogate my guests without me," I countered.

"What about you?" Soledad looked to Reagan.

"I employ a cook," Reagan regarded the Homicide Detective.

"What's your name?"

"Li Zhangsun," Reagan lied. I had no idea who 'Li Zhangsun' was. At least she hadn't used her previous false identity of Virginia Hill.

Soledad was too good at her job ~ also a good thing to know.

"Do you have an ID I can see? I like exotic names," Soledad matched lie with lie.

"Enough, Soledad," I interrupted. I also pulled Dabney to a standing position. "Dabney, why don't you go help TC in the kitchen making dinner."

"What?" she scowled my way. "Why me? Why not ..." I spanked her ass.

"You'll do it because I asked nicely and since you, G and I are roommates, we share in household chores," I stared her down. "I didn't ask G to go because G and TC don't have a problem. You and TC do and you two need to agree to some kind of truce before we can proceed."

Dabney frowned, and spun so fast her hair whipped against my neck and chest before strutting off to the kitchen. Soledad and G held off from speaking until she was gone.

"V, I don't mind," G looked at me speculatively. She'd always tried to be a moderator between Lloyd and her two step-children and now she was taking on that role in my house.

"G, if this grouping is going to function, then Dabney and TC need to figure out - on their own - how to deal civilly with one another. If they can't, I can't work with Soledad and TC. I feel that would be a mistake. Forcing them to put aside their differences won't work. At any point Dabney, TC, LZ and Soledad can walk away.

Now that's wonderful for freedom of choice. Lousy for creating a coherent strategy. Sure, I can create tactic on the fly, but that's a highly flawed and ultimately doomed means of conduction an operation. Off-the-cuff plans have a higher chance of failure and those chances stack up. We might be able to survive one colossal screw-up - not two."

"Hold on," Soledad raised her hand. "How did you know I'd come here with Crowe (TC)? We aren't exactly the closest of friends ... which means I'm her only friend. We came up through the Academy together. I came to truly admire her, though she's more than a bit obsessive."

"You are TC's friend and you are obsessed with Special Forces operators," I stated, "as you consider us all borderline sociopaths."

"You think so?" she clearly believed I was bull-shitting her, acting on my own delusional world view and my over-inflated sense of my place in things.

"A cop who doesn't like to exercise their authority doesn't remain a cop for along. A cop who isn't interested in solving crimes doesn't become a detective," I laid it out for her.

"A good cop goes beyond the facts and looks for the motivations behind the crime. A basically decent person can't understand how trained killers can do what they do and don't want to accept that people who chose that lifestyle aren't somehow compensating for something."

"In my experience, they are compensating for something," she studied me.

"That is an incorrect assessment based on skewed data."

"How so?" Soledad gave me some leeway.

"You only talked to the ones who were caught screwing up."

"And you don't screw up?" she scoffed.

"No. People like me screw up, but you never hear about it. Either we fix the problem, or our family gets 'the Secretary of Defense regrets to inform you ...' letters. My kind deal with the problem until it is no longer a problem. Now, before you start trolling down the retarded social empathy route, Soledad, I brought every trooper under my care home alive," I said.

"Every last one, and I did it because I have never cared what people like you ~ you 'everyone must play by the rules' types ~ thought of me. In your prejudiced view, something must be wrong with me. What you don't understand is that you 'the authority' not mattering is not the same as no one mattering."

"You and your 'teams'," Soledad cut me off. She said 'team's in the same way mainstream religious aficionados would say 'cult'.

"Except you haven't examined how I operated in a team," I pointed out. "I never picked my mission commander or Chief Petty Officer. I never picked a teammate."

"That's not how I worked. This was my vocation and, to me, placing an artificially high value on all human life was counter-intuitive because no one not aiming for sainthood does that. They lie. They have to because in too many places violence happens, everyone is rating the worth of the lives around them at all times. You are as much an oddity as I am, Soledad."

"How do you see that?" she was back to being less than certain I was a con artist.

"I am completely honest about the way I rate people's worth. You are honest in that you don't rate the value of people's lives. You are honest in your concern," I studied her right back.

"And you figured all that out from less than two hours talking to me?" she wouldn't back off.

"You are TC's friend, she's got zero-tolerance for deception and she's a good judge of character. Like you, she's good at her job," I kept at her. "We both know you can't rely on information gathered from one source. You build profiles from as many snippets as you can get."

"It helped you that TC and I didn't know we were being interrogated," Soledad gave me her first 'official' brownie point.

"What did you do in the service again?" she asked.

"Don't insult me," I grew cold. "TC didn't feel bound to honor my request for secrecy because she considers me to be a criminal - just like you do."

"You aren't?"

"Oh God!" G snapped. "You are such a condescending cunt - you and TC both. I always assumed that it was my ex-husband who corrupted the police. Now I see you are all the equivalent of sleazy, scum-sucking strippers and Lloyd was one of many slipping dollars into your willing orifices. You are a bunch of God-damn whores!" she finished on her feet and screaming.

Soledad hammed up her surprise for dramatic effect. "Where did that come from?" she turned on her emotional probes.

"For two years I've lived in fear everywhere I go. I've woken up with strange men in my house. Someone gave them my house keys. I've filed three police reports. Two were 'misfiled' and the last one was flipped on me and I was charged with filing a 'false' police report," G glared. The judge gave me two weeks in jail and 500 hours of community service."

"I had nothing to ..."

"Shut the fuck up, Pig," G shot back. "I tried to hire a lawyer except whenever the Pharris name came up, they dropped me like a glowing hot rock. I finally found a man willing to take my case. Two filing later and he was KILLED in a traffic accident. He rear-ended a car in an intersection then was T-ed by a dump truck."

"As far as I know it was ruled a traffic accident and that was that. While you cops had your heads up your collective asses, the legal community got the message loud and clear. No one would help me. I put up with abusive act after abusive act until I was thrown out on the street. They repossessed my car. I have no checking or savings accounts."

"The court REQUIRES me to pay my husband's court fees to the tune of $1,800 a month while he lives in a 9,000 sq. ft. house sitting on 4 acres of prime Clark County real estate. I have been living through Hell, you bitch. I felt safer today with V defending me, even with bullets flying every which way than any time in the past two years I've spent under your protection, Officer Useless Tin Man," G finished erupting with her fear, despair and rage.

"Listen," Soledad tried to placate G as she stood up, "I had no idea. If I had, I would have gone after the people harassing you." G looked from her, to me then back to Soledad with a look of incredulity.

"Are you deaf?" G mocked her. "You can't touch Lloyd Pharris. Your whole justice system can't touch him."

"I would find a way," Soledad's face hardened. Rogue Crusader of Justice.

"Ha," Reagan laughed. "Who would you trust, Cop? Whose information could you trust? Which superior could be relied on to keep your investigation hush-hush? What would you do when they found a half-kilo of heroin in your house after two reliable drug dealers told some narcotics guys that you were shaking them down?"

"That case would never stand," Soledad responded. "I have friends on the force too. They know I'm not that kind of cop."

"It wouldn't matter," I shook my head. "Now you are playing defense instead of offense, plus you would be suspended. A few PI's would watch over you all the time."

"A citizen's accountability group would start making accusations about your actions, dragging your name publically through the mud," G added, "and Lloyd would be in the background pulling all the strings."

"You three sound pretty convinced that Mr. Pharris is unstoppable and untouchable," Soledad hardly sounded convinced with our cautionary warnings.

"That's what I've done before," I looked her up and down. "Ruin someone as a credible source is insanely easy. Personally, I'd set you up as a phantom drug persona ~ convince rival drug dealers that you are a corrupt cop horning in on their turf. Then all I would have to do is lure you down to a meeting, tip them off and then let criminal nature take its course."

"Even if you survive the shoot-out, you have to explain why they were trying to kill you, there would be an investigation, a lab tech would be paid off to put trace drug evidence on your clothing and you've lost your job = threat ended," I explained.

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"I'll let you figure that out," I shrugged. "You owe G an apology."

"For what?"

"For being stupidly arrogant, for assuming that you being right means you will eventually win, and most of all for thinking you are somehow better than she is," I said.

Soledad didn't see herself as arrogant - she felt she had the best grip on reality of anyone in this house. She did think that she would always solve the case, and she was sure that she was better than some washed-up, bitter ex-trophy wife who had allowed herself to be victimized.

"Why is she here again?" Reagan chided me.

"When bodies go missing, we are going to need someone on the inside that Lloyd's people aren't crawling all over to feed us Intel," I replied to Reagan while studying Soledad.

"Bullshit," Soledad snorted. "In my experience, those leery of law enforcement have something to hide. Who are you again?" was directed back at Reagan.

"Vance and I are childhood friends," Reagan didn't lie to Soledad for once. "The only man I ever truly cared about considered him a valuable and loyal friend and until very recently, I didn't believe it. I now consider myself properly educated on the matter of Vance's integrity."

"He said that about me?" I was a tiny bit surprised.

"Yeah. I wondered if he wasn't a bit 'gay' about you," she snickered. "He thought you were the one guy he could always count on to not only move, but ..."

"...move a body," I chuckled. Memories of 'Grosse Pointe Blank'.

"Oh my God!" Reagan laughed. "That's you. You are John Cusack's character, Martin Blank."

"No, I'm not," I disagreed. "I never detonated some rich guy's poodle. I am also retired from the 'People Killing' business ... well, I was."

"That doesn't seem to be working out for you?" Soledad pointed out.

"I'm not doing it as a business anymore," I countered. "All of these people dropping dead around me has been purely coincidental."

"Why am I having dinner with you?" Soledad joked. "With all those "coincidental" homicides you are starting to rack up."

"He probably invited you because he knows you are not very good at your job, so he's going to keep you around for the next set of accidents, just so you can see for yourself how things play out," Reagan chided her.

"So, are you Debi Newberry?" Soledad smirked. Blank's unrequited love interest.

"No, I'm Grocer," Reagan snickered. "Though I'm in far better shape."

"Workers of the World, Unite," G finally took a non-ragged breath after her rant. "I mean, is this the birth of an Assassin's Union?"

"How about a Misfits Union?" I suggested as a bit of levity. There was a break in the barbs.

"That I could endorse," Soledad confessed.

"Endorse what?" TC said as she came back down the hall with Dabney walking silently behind her.

"A Misfits Union - mission unknown," Soledad joked.

"Count me in," Dabney perked up. Her talk with TC must have not gone abysmally as both women were unmarked. "I'm an ex-escort with nothing but a high school diploma and very few promising prospects."

"I'm a dead-broke Casino Hostess," G jibed. "Options haven't been an option for some time."

"I don't like the term misfit," TC resisted. "It makes it sound like there is something wrong with us." Where we really sitting around talking about something as ridiculous as a team name? What was next? A motto? A billboard maybe? I hated amateurs.

"Well, Disestablishmentarians is more than a mouthful," G said.

"Not for this one," TC tossed a thumb over her shoulder, indicating Dabney. "I don't think she's met more than a mouthful in some time."

"Not until I met Vance, anyway," Dabney rapidly retorted. I was about to intervene.

"Play nice, children," G shook a finger at those two. "TC, I'll show you the door," she glared at the cop - Dabney snorted in amusement. "And Dabney, I'll give you a blanket and let you sleep in the backyard tonight." TC returned the insult to Dabney.

"It is V's house," Dabney protested.

"And V wants some domestic tranquility," I stated firmly.

"Considering the paranoid comforts of Fort Vegas, I have the feeling you were hoping for a domestic bliss for one," Soledad.

"I may have wished for a solitary existence, but I'm not someone who whines about the world not being the same today as it was yesterday," I stated.

"V is a true and loyal friend," G smiled my way.

"Kind of like you and Trixie here," Dabney said.

"Stop calling me Trixie," to Dabney, "Or TC. I'm Officer Buchanan to you three."

"Let's put it to a vote," I countered. "Trixie is off the table."

"Who wants to call Officer Buchanan - Officer Buchanan?" No one raised their hand. Soledad had a wait and see attitude and TC refused to let us vote on her name. Tough luck for her.

"Who votes for TC?" Dabney and I quickly raised our hands. G reluctantly followed.

"TC it is then," Soledad conceded.

"Not you too?" TC grumbled at Soledad.

"This is the only time I've met you at a stranger's house that wasn't a crime scene - ever. I have only been to your house twice in the seven years we've known one another enough for a visit to be even a remote possibility for you. Let him call you TC."

"He's an asshole," TC griped.

"So?"

"I don't even like him."

"So why did you drag me over here so that you could cook him and his friends dinner?" Soledad skewered her.

"I'm researching an investigation off the clock," she snapped. Her hair whipped about as she turned, shouldered past Dabney and returned to the kitchen.

"Dinner will be up in twenty," Dabney sang out. She traipsed after TC and went out of sight.

"We could be the Loyalists?" Soledad revived the 'team nickname' idea. "Loyal to one another? Loyal to the city and what it could be?"

"We aren't loyal to this city, or this system of justice. If anything we are being 'opposing' to the oppressors and the creeps who think they run this city," G pointed out.

"Disloyalists then?" Reagan suggested.

"I like that. Vance?" Soledad looked my way. The other two women found themselves looking at me.

"Whatever," I shrugged. "Anyone paints a sign proclaiming that on my front door is going to have a serious discussion with me about not advertising a subversive conspiracy. Then they will help me move to another house, because damn if I would remain here like a bug waiting to be squashed."

"The 'aye's have it. The Disloyalists we are. Now let's discuss our agenda," Soledad kept on rolling. It was going to be a long, fucking night.

{Epilogue One}

{The first meeting in months}

It was a little past midnight when the sixth and final member of the Vice Lords arrived at the Fontainebleau Las Vegas, the city's (current) largest flop. It was also the second largest building in the Las Vegas Valley. It was unfinished, hovering in limbo as her masters decided her fate.

It also an excellent place for the Vice Lords to meet as it was no one's home ground, gaining an advantage was very difficult and the chances of detection were small. No one resisted the call to meet and they all knew the issue to be discussed, though only three knew the specifics.

The last group to arrive looked out of place, compared to the other finely-tailored twenty (each Vice Lord was allowed one assistant and two bodyguards). This group looked shabby, scruffy and unwashed. Even their leader looked like a 'homeless bum'. The bound, hooded man they were dragging along with them was positively middle class in comparison.

"Jareth, what is the meaning of this?" Sycorax, the Gluttonous Lady motioned to the captive. She was too wise to be rude. Jareth was the last of the original Vice Lords, having disposed of all internal challengers and external threats in his twenty-five years at the top of his own garbage heap.

"Since I am not impartial in this matter, I have asked Jareth to look into this internal Vice Lords investigation," Thulsa Doom spoke up. Mimicking his 'vice' title, he let anger boil threateningly just beneath the surface.

"Why are we just now hearing about this matter?" Archimago, Lord of Avarice grumbled.

"Someone tried to assassinate Jo at lunch today ..." Thulsa Doom spat.

"And my daughter, Reagan -my designated successor," Circe added.

"Was this the fiasco at the Lake Vegas Hilton?" Baphomet spoke up, "And, if so, what were your two lieutenants talking about?"

"I've asked Jo that very question. Circe has done the same thing with her 'designate',"Thulsa Doom answered. "I'd like to ask Reagan a few questions myself except she is lying low for the time being. I can't say I blame her, since Jo insists she arrived unarmed and alone to the altercation."