Ebb Tide Ch. 04b

Jo was waiting for something else,

"The cot is rated for 300 lbs. and you are right on the cusp," ('of being too much weight when combined with mine' was left unsaid).

"We could sleep in my bed," she offered.

"With you?" spilled out of Reagan's mouth. Apparently Jo had a reputation ... as a soulless automaton.

"Of course with me," she frowned at Reagan.

"I didn't think you liked ... people," Reagan wouldn't stop.

"At least she didn't say the living," Kristoff muttered. So much could go wrong at this point, but I had already planned ahead. I leaned into Jo.

"Badger," I whispered in her ear.

There was no need to tell anyone else I'd bought her a gift. Sure, it was a cheap toy. It was also utterly unasked for and unheralded in her limited experience – her first gift on a date. As my head and torso retreated, she turned to look at me. She gave me an infinitesimal smile. The defiant glimmering in her eyes was a far greater reward.

"Don't try to get inside my head, or under my skin, Reagan," Jo stated calmly. "It won't end well." Reagan and Kristoff's eye magic indicated they expected me to do something about the threat.

"Yeah, Reagan. I brought you here to get inside of his head," I jokingly pointed at Kristoff. "Let me worry about Jo and Jo worry about me." My plan laid bare.

"Death threats will do that," Kristoff's humorous tenor belied his worry.

"Believe me," I told him, "last Sunday morning ~ this was not where I thought any of us would be. I'd retired from my military life, post-military life and was going to be a nice, quiet taxpayer, minding my own business."

"Reagan had no intention of talking to me ever again. Jo's life and mine would have never intersected. You and I would still be chatting, because I would have still screwed up my job, but then we'd have parted ways and most likely that would have been that."

"So, does Ford know any of this?" Kristoff gave a lopsided grin.

"Unlikely," Reagan finally answered. I doubted Lloyd would have found him criminally useful, but Reagan had kept in touch with the Pharris family dynamic for the past fifteen years, not I.

"Are he, Wynn and the latest Mrs. Pharris going to get hurt in all of this?" Kristoff asked. It was like him to care. He'd always been the 'good guy' without being ignorant of others' moral failings, or naïve about how the world really worked.

"I'm not gunning for them," I offered.

"If you do take Lloyd down, I want to ask Erika why the fuck she married Lloyd instead of Ford," Kristoff's brow furrowed. "That was all messed up."

"You have no idea," Reagan sighed. Kristoff's eyes went from her to me.

"Nothing?" was aimed at me.

"I didn't want to drag you into this, Kristoff," I met his gaze. "The second I put your Caller ID to a Vegas address, I knew we were both screwed."

"Like thunder from the sky – sworn to fight and die ..." he mused. That old damn song from our youth [* yes, the author is taking chronological liberties here].

"We're warriors, warriors of the world," I added to the chorus. "The stupid shit teenage boys believe in."

"Many stand against us, but they will never win," he continued then waited. I didn't want to continue, because I'd stopped believing in any of those ideals long ago. I'd also stopped listening to metal music too; another casualty of my purposely abandoned youth.

"We said we would return and here we are again," my lips moved of their own accord.

"To bring them all destruction, suffering and pain," his bright teeth shown thru.

"We are the hammer of the gods, we are thunder, wind and rain."

"There they wait in fear with swords in feeble hands."

"With dreams to be a king, first one should be a man."

"I call about and charge them all with a life that is a lie."

"And in their final hour they shall confess before they die."

"Romantic nonsense," Reagan confirmed.

"What is it?" Jo inquired.

"Warriors of the World by Manowar ~ a heavy metal rock group from our youth," I answered.

"And you recalled the lyrics?" she aimed at Kristoff.

"Yes."

"You listen to them much?"

"No. Not since I went to college ~ the Air Force Academy."

"Very well. I'll help. You are worth saving," she announced softly.

"Worth saving?" Kristoff wondered. Reagan's interest was piqued.

"Yes. I meet dozens, if not hundreds, of people on a weekly basis who are useless as oxygen-breathers, worse as sentient beings – who deserve death. You don't."

"Who made you the Reaper?" he challenged her.

"Life," she stated firmly.

"Kristoff, that is the best answer you are going to get," I cut him off. We locked gazes until he backed down. The rest was pointless chatter and Jo getting her replacement order of wings ... which she shared ... women. Kristoff picked up the check for this outing. Outside, we parted ways – first he and I, then he and Reagan and Jo and I. Before she could zip up her jacket, I made my approach. Her scrutiny was intense.

My hands went to her hips – no tensing – then around to the small of her back. I leaned in, she tilted her head up and we kissed. We exchanged a bit of tongue this time. Jo kept one hand between us, on my chest, while the other worked its way to the back of my head and a handful of my hair. She gave my hair a squeeze to let me know when to break contact.

"Nice," I smiled.

"Not 'thank you'?" she examined me, cypher-like.

"I'm not tying any emotional progress we make with business," I said. "With, or without you, I'm taking care of Kristoff and Reagan. We both know I have three ladies abusing my AC at home, so this isn't my dick talking. Killing folks isn't an issue for me. With you, it is just you and me ~ nothing more, Jo. Can I stop talking now? Because I really hate explaining myself."

Jo, who had been leaning against her bike, pushed up while bringing my head down so we could kiss once more. This time she gave it a great deal more passion. Yeah, she liked me for several semi-definable reasons and one crystal clear one – neither one of us liked talking all that much.

She didn't care about my family, or the ladies back home as long as they didn't interfere with 'us'.

"I prefer PANTERA," she confided. Of course she did. They were so loud, talking over them was a pointless effort. And they had expired violently ~ as a band.

I left her happy, if not smiling. Kristoff's look told me he thought I was a 'dog' and a 'fool' for showing up with Jo and I couldn't really blame him. Since things had gone so well, I optimistically called Lorenz and informed him I could still show up if it wasn't too inconvenient. He said it 'wouldn't be a problem' in a hushed tone, which suggested his wife was angry with me, and thus a problem.

While I was on the phone, Jo was nice enough to be obvious in tailing me back to my place. I imagined she was making sure my property address of record was actually the place I was driving to ... which I wasn't. I was driving to the place around the block, or would have, if something hadn't come up.

{WHAT CAME UP}

On the way back home I was overtaken by two events. One was the benefit of my area surveillance network – I had a late model sedan with four black gentlemen in it waiting up the street from my abode. Since neither Jo nor Reagan could find me, I suspect Mr. Rogers had been 'helpful' to this group. Though slouched down, they weren't particularly even trying to hide their Playboy Blood affiliation. The second event was related to the first.

The Vice Lords of Las Vegas had only a few 'visible' rules, but one of them was a ban on open street violence. Vegas wasn't a one-trick pony, economy-wise. But anything which endangered tourism was bad for business, which was bad for the Vice Lords. And the knowledge that they frowned on such things had trickled down to all the various low-lives – gangs included. The Wednesday morning shootout had broken that rule, so the perpetrators had to pay.

Each Vice Lord and Lady would exact retribution in their own way.

Circe was muscling out the Playboys from the various pornography operations they profited from and steering all her girls away from venues they frequented.

Sycorax, the Gluttonous, was arranging to kidnap people they cared about, or valued ~ human slavery was one of her things.

Archimago, the Avaricious, was freezing them out of every illegal gambling operation in the city.

Baphomet, the Envious, was ramping up police efforts against them.

Jareth, the Slothful, was helping the others with their goals with information utilizing his city-wide network of homeless and chronically poor.

Of most immediate concern to me though, was Thulsa Doom, the Wrathful. He was lining up various key Playboys for the grave. Killing people was his thing and Jo was his violent Right Hand.

Except for Baphomet, all of this was to take place behind the scenes. The dilemma for Jo was the four Playboys about to become a public spectacle trying to murder me in broad daylight in a nice, quiet residential area of the city. Violence was going to happen no matter what, so in her mind, it might as well be instructional violence.

My plan involved me NOT rolling down my home street, into my driveway and engaging in a firefight. I was going to drive around the block, park, and then sneak up behind them and screw with their car's exhaust so when they tried to follow me later, their car would inconveniently conk out. Jo, who caught my hesitation and bypassing the road leading to my dwelling, slowed down to examine the difficulty and spotted my 'problem'.

Her solution was very different. She could 'help' me and do her boss's work at the same time. She rolled her precision motorcycle straight up to the Playboy's car, stopped perhaps fifteen feet from it, unzipped her jacket, quick-drew her twin hand-cannons and fired four shots from each weapon. She holstered her guns, zipped up her jacket and sped away. Elapsed time ~ nine seconds.

The four guys never knew what killed them. It wasn't like Jo was a known criminal player, much less a calculable threat. To them, she was a skinny figure on a nice ride who suddenly and accurately showered death upon them. From my after-combat analysis, Jo's first four shots incapacitated each target. The second shot made sure each guy was D-E-A-D. For me, it was a matter of taking advantage of the situation.

In my neighborhood, on a Saturday a little after 8 a.m., everyone was sleeping in, or asleep from the nightshift. While Jo's shots were loud, they were rapid-fire and she was now gone. If gunfire woke you up, you were most likely wondering what the noise was and would soon drift back to la-la land. I parked in the driveway, then walked over to the car of the deceased. From the placement of firearms, tattoos and jewelry, I figured out who was in charge and carefully searched his corpse.

I rolled through the numbers on his phone, finding the one which appeared most. I made some adjustments, then dialed it.

"He there yet?" a bleary voice inquired. Someone hadn't been to bed yet.

"Did you seriously send just four guys to kill me? Four?"

"What? Who's this? Lil Kuku?"

"Lil Kuku is sucking cock and taking it up the ass in Hell, Dumbass," I related coolly. "He and three of his fellow Playboys had a tragic collision with technology which their purposeful neglect of our public education system left them totally unprepared for. Don't worry though. I'll be looking you up real soon so we can discuss the epic gravity of the error of their ways."

I was abusing a thesaurus for a reason. It takes the human mind a certain number of milliseconds to process words based on their familiarity. The less familiar the word, the longer it takes to either figure out what it means, or to discover you don't know what it means. All those milliseconds do add up.

"What?"

"Someone dumped four of your expired chumps on my doorstep and I don't fucking appreciate it, so you and I are going to have a chat about how unhappy you've made me. Clear enough?"

"What? Who is this? Where is Lil Kuku?"

"Listen up, Motherfucker. The previous owner of this phone is dead. Okay? Say 'okay' now."

"What? Okay? What?"

"Dead as in two big fucking holes in him. I have the sneaking suspicion you sent him, and three of his friends, to kill me. Now, is your gang so big you casually misplace four members?"

"What? No. Who the fuck are you?"

"Do you send your boys out to kill so many people you lose track?"

"What? No!"

"Okay then. I'm the guy you sent Lil Kuku to kill. Now, who would that be?"

"Mr. EMT?"

"Right. We are on the same page."

"Where is Lil Kuku?"

"He's dead. Do you want to speak to him?"

"Yeah?"

"Stick around. I'll make the arrangements, you dumbass."

"What?"

"He's dead. You will most likely talk to him again when you see him in Hell. Clear enough? I'll be seeing you. Bye now."

Smartass was using a burner phone. He was also at a location he parked his butt in at 8:15 in the morning, so most likely it was a place he frequented ~ like his home. Whomever he was, he had obligingly stayed on the line long enough to let me trace his call to his precise location.

Moron. By cross-referencing police files (using my illegal password) and property records, I learned I was most likely dealing with a senior Playboy Blood by the name of Roy 'BB 187' Thompson. Age 23. Impressive criminal record stretching back 9 years.

The Playboys were going to be even more furious with me ... right up until the Homicide Detective began asking them why someone would be killing their boys with signature .50 caliber slugs. While the .50 was not completely unique, I was willing to bet there weren't a lot of people running around Las Vegas killing folks with something that memorable.

I was also willing to bet when someone, or some bodies, ended up cooling their bones in the morgue with holes that big in them, it was a clear message to the Criminal Underworld. The corpses had crossed the Vice Lords and this was the result.

After slipping around back to get a spare tarp and some duct tape, I returned to the unfortunate sedan and covered it up neatly. I'd buy a used tow dolly later, have this bitch dropped off at BB's house and let him deal with the fallout ~ no need to involve the LVMPD this close to my home. Back at my place, G, Dabney and Sara were all up, dressed (kind of) and talking over breakfast burritos and coffee in my living room.

Dabney came at me first, sexy-hungry and wanting to put her mark on me. G sent me happy, semi-domestic bliss vibes. Sara was blissfully basking in her adventurousness.

"Hey," Dabney sighed sleepily after she finished taking her tongue out of my mouth. "You were gone when we woke up."

"I had some things to take care of," I patted her ass. She was still my No. 1 Girl. "Right now, I have to take Sara to the Expo. When I get back, we can discuss what we plan to do today."

"Oh ..." from Dabney.

"Oh, I was hoping we could do something tonight," Sara beamed hopefully.

"Let's see how last night's difficulties clear up before we make any definite plans," I cautioned her. She wasn't as upset as she should have been.

"Okay," Sara agreed as she and G stood. G dressed for going out = trouble.

"Let's go," Dabney grinned.

"We will go right past having Sara associated with you, Dabney, being traced back to anyone else last night and go straight to ~ Et tu, G?" I moaned.

"You are the one who suggested we should expand our employment opportunities, V," G countered. "Sara needs help on the sales side of her business. Dabney was close to completing her Hospitality degree and I've hosted numerous affairs in my day. Let us do this ... please?"

"It is not my place to say 'yes', or 'no', G. And you are right – I do want you two to be able to stand on your own. But I want you to be careful as well, because there are some mean damn people out there," I wrapped up G and Dabney in my arms.

"G, didn't you work last night so you could have tonight and Sunday night off?" I gave it one last shot.

"The Stratosphere is blocks away from the Convention Center, and it isn't like I'm collecting a pay check anyway," she resisted.

"I don't know," Sara spoke up. "I was thinking a 3% commission for every sale you two make."

"Yay!" Dabney jumped up and down with all the accompanying benefits.

"Yay," I mumbled. "For my sake, pay them in cash." Sara just stared at me; she clearly didn't get it. "Let's just say their finances are complicated right now and leave it at that."

"Okay. I'll arrange something," Sara happily agreed to the skullduggery and cheating the IRS.

[...]

We departed for the Expo without further ado. I dropped them off without too much fuss, though Sara insisted upon a kiss on the lips since G and Dabney got one. As I pulled away, Ms. Xi gave me a call. From the background noise, she was at an airport.

"Senior Chief Hospital Corpsman Vardanyan," she began.

"Former-Hai Jun Shao Xiao Xi Baozhai," I answered. "Call me Vance, or Mr. Vardanyan. I'm retired. I figure you already know, but I want to be absolutely sure you are aware of that fact."

"I don't care," she simmered.

"Cool. What do I call you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"I think you know."

"Not really. You and I have never met, yet you called me earlier this morning informing me you are going to show up at an undisclosed later date. After making a few calls of my own, I have reason to believe you've lost your damn mind and you are throwing your life away. I'm sure people you trust far more than me have already told you variations of the same thing. So, what do you want?" I said calmly.

"You wish me to say something incriminating so your Homeland Security can arrest me?" she spat.

"No. Engage your brain, Ms. Xi. To tip off Homeland Security, I would need a reason. What reason would I have? We have never met. Officially, our lives have never intersected. Unofficially, no one will admit our lives have ever intersected. Precisely who would be telling Homeland Security what about us which would allow them to detain you and not me?"

She paused. From the background clutter I had been able to piece together she was at International Terminal at San Francisco International due to the BART noises. She'd wisely only called me after passing through security.

"I will see you soon," was what she finally came back with.

"Why?"

"We've been down this road."

"Except you failed to answer me last time. What is this trip going to accomplish?"

"If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand."

"What is it going to cost you to enlighten me?"

"We will have this discussion in person," she shot off then hung up. Oh well ... I had other things to take care of and I doubted she understood the trouble she was in.

[...]

I found a tow dolly for sale at a junk yard. Paid for it in cash. Hooked it up to my Audi, drove a roundabout way to BB 187's abode and pulled up in front of his house. At the corner were a few homeboys doing the normal gang shit. I was sure they had lookouts about as well. Their problem was I wasn't a LVMPD patrol car, acting like a rival gang, or even plain clothes cops doing surveillance. I had the car unhooked, the tarp off and was stuffing it in my trunk when two finally approached me.

"What ya doing, Man?" the mouthpiece of the two tried to look around me into the trunk.

"BB sent some guys to kill me. They are in the car. They were dead when I found them. Tell him, 'if he sends anymore and my Guardian Angels don't get to them first, I will.' I am not at war with the Playboys. I am not allied with the Florencia 13's. I am not going to waste my time hunting you fuckers down," I enlightened the two gangbangers.