Chapter 130.7 The LC at Play
Les’s POV—Day Two of the review
Lacing my bros meals with laxatives yesterday was child’s play. Literally. Now it’s time to make them pay but I decide to pull in the queen of payback herself for the biggest target.
“Hey, Steph.” I smile, hoping to relax her, but she tenses up. “I could use your help.”
“With?” The tone is both guarded and aggressive. Sigh.
“A little payback.”
“For who?”
“Well, I was hung out of my window naked. Seems only right I get them back.”
She puts her pen down and crosses her arms. “You do fine with payback on your own. Why do you need my help?”
“When’s the last time you got to prank Ranger? Bobby? Tank?” I raise a brow. “Hector?”
On one hand, there’s the pleasure of sticking it good to my brothers. On the other, she doesn’t get to get me and she won’t. I can see this is a tough call for her but she finally stands.
“I’m in. What’s the plan?”
—oOo—
“Welcome to RangeMan Newark, sir.”
Jorge flashes his badge in front of the detector and opens the doors. Manny and Jose Rodriguez are standing in the lobby. “Sir. Welcome,” Rodriguez says.
“The ever elusive Rodriguez,” Steph says, smiling. During Steph’s first week as CO, she requested to meet the only man with the power to force her to stay in her cubicle. Rodriguez didn’t understand what she meant, at first, but he presented himself promptly. Steph rolled right by him, unaware Rodriguez was waiting on her, and stayed in her office until Rodriguez poked his head in and asked her what she needed.
It’s Rodriguez’s skill. He goes completely unnoticed by most people because he’s so incredibly average looking. Five foot ten, black hair, black eyes, average weight for his height. Absolutely nothing about him is memorable. That’s why he’s the head of research. We relied on him to get us the information we needed for years. Jose could hang out in places and eavesdrop and no one would remember him.
Rodriguez’s smile widens. “We made a cubicle for you too and there are search requests waiting.”
“Time to go,” Steph says playfully. Rodriguez gives her a hug, laughing, and the oppressive feeling of this lobby lessens. “You guys ready?”
“Yes, we’re ready.”
“Why so much security on this building?” Bobby asks. The guys have been scanning the entire time but this is a very small lobby, about the size of my Mami‘s living room. One man is manning the desk and at our entrance he stood. Manny motions for him to sit again. Once the front door closed behind us, we were locked in.
“Are you asking why the lobby is so small and secure?” Rodriguez asks. Tank nods. “The building came configured like this. We wanted to maximize office space, so we skimped on anything that would force us to limit that. Ergo, we didn’t renovate this lobby. Besides, there’s no reason for clients to come here. The results are sent back to NYC or Trenton for dissemination, so a small lobby works for those purposes.”
Tank grunts, still looking around. Jorge, Manny and Rodriguez share a look. “Shall we go into the main area?” Jorge asks.
“Yes,” Ric replies.
RangeMan Newark is a nondescript three story brick building on the south side of Newark and it only houses the Investigations unit. We walk through the second set of double doors and get our first glimpse of the true size of this office. It’s the size of a small warehouse. There are TVs mounted to the walls posting the stats for each investigative unit and there’s a small group of men clustered around one, bragging about their stats. Men rotate in and out of here, three weeks here and one week back at their home office.
I don’t like the cubicle feel in the room. I’ve always thought it limited sharing and brainstorming. “Cubicles?”
“On this floor and half of the second floor,” Jorge replies. “There are seventy five cubicles and we aren’t using the second floor yet. The rest of the space is small conference rooms, to allow the men to get together and brainstorm, put stuff up on the walls, and have room to spread out and brainstorm, if they need to.”
Ric, Tank and Bobby all turn to me, smirking. I’m smiling in relief. The guys know how I feel about cubicles. Tank and Bobby split, which throws the guys off, so they each split and follow one, Manny going with Tank and Jorge following Bobby. I stick with Steph and Ric, with Rodriguez following us.
Mask or no mask, the Trenton men know Ranger. They also know that if he’s disguised they should ignore him. I see them pass that info over to their NYC bros as quickly as they can because the NYC men stop staring openly and give Ric the barest acknowledgment before skittering away as fast as they can. Ranger dismisses Rodriguez so we can talk privately.
“Who’s in charge of this location?” Ric asks.
“Manny and Rodriguez are sharing it right now,” Steph says. “It’s a compromise for them. This should be Rodriguez’s, but it works for Manny too.”
“Juana?” he asks, frowning.
“Rodriguez is in love,” Steph says. “I’m relieved.” He smiles. “He’s teaching her to run everything as fast as he can. She’s good.”
“It was a good central location for Manny when you were … you know,” I add. “I like it. He’s mobile. He’s close to Trenton and can get there in an hour or less if they need him but he’s an hour from NYC too.”
“No, I mean … the man’s a newlywed,” Ric says. “You’re OK with this? He’s almost … officeless.”
I follow his drift. “Yeah, I prefer it. I want to break his loyalties to Trenton. I want him loyal to the entire company so I’ve told him not to plant roots. Putting him here encourages that and Juana is reporting out of Trenton so she and Candy can train together. If we still intend to have a branch closer to DC, I’d prefer to stick him there.” I smile. “Manny will be happy about that. Juana dreamed of living in Montgomery County for years. If we start a branch in Baltimore or DC, they could live there. He’d have his wife and she’d have the home she always wanted.”
Ric smiles and opens his hand. Steph immediately laces her fingers with his, but there’s a frown on her face.
“They won’t be involved in the other side of the business, right?” she asks.
“No, but Juana still has her clearance. Manny’s is up for renewal. They could parley with other branches of the government for work.”
“OK.” Ric lets go of Steph’s hand and starts moving around as Steph slides close. “Want to help me out here?”
“Huh?”
She crosses her arms, staring. “Manny? Is he being promoted?”
“Yeah. Assistant Chief Strategist, but he doesn’t know yet, so don’t tell him.”
She stares at me. Ric returns and takes her hand. “I told you that was in the works, Babe.”
“When?”
“When we were planning the road trip.”
I watch her consider that then blush. “Right. You did, but I didn’t know that it was a done deal.”
“It’s not.” Why do I keep opening my mouth? She whirls around to me again. “We’ll discuss it at tomorrow’s management meeting. Just because I think it’s a good idea doesn’t mean it’s a done deal. Everyone else, including you, needs to weigh in and vote before it’s done.”
“Well, you’re talking about it like it’s a done deal.”
I shrug. “It’s rare that a recommendation requires debate.”
“What’s the last one that required debate?”
Yours, I think to myself. We had to drag Bobby into that decision kicking and screaming, but I doubt that this is the time to tell you that. “Mark. Last time we promoted him to interim CO.”
“Oh.”
I catch Ric’s eye. He knows I’m lying and he knows what the last debated decision was. Both are giving him some amusement.
Just in time. Victor from Trenton approaches with two files, one containing the info about Pytr Mildiani and the other with Ranger’s target for the day. “Sir.”
“Ready?”
“When you are, sir.”
“Today is good. While Jorge is here. Go.”
“Yes, sir.” Victor nods at Ranger and hugs Steph before leaving. Ranger raises a brow.
“Jorge’s issue?”
“Yup.” We start walking again.
“Hello?!” We turn. Steph looks pissed. “Standing right here. What’s going on?”
I give Steph the Cliff Notes’ version of what’s going on and her lips thin to the point of disappearing. “So you just sent a RangeMan to threaten a grandfather with the loss of his granddaughter—”
She stops short looking at the pictures I have. Pytr Mildiani likes to use his wife and daughter as punching bags and the pictures show the best pictures we could get of Tatiana’s injuries. His wife is now in a wheelchair after years of taking the blows. Tatiana is headed down her mother’s path and Cheryl, the social worker staying with Jorge, is cataloging everything she can find out as fast as she can. She’s made no secret of her desire to get Annie out of that house. All she needed to hear was Bratva. If Annie, a four year old, is aware that her family is Mob-connected (even if she doesn’t know what that means), that was the tipping point for Cheryl.
I want Annelise out of there before her grandfather thinks she might make a good target. Then I’ll have to kill him before Jorge does. Jorge is good at a lot of things, but I don’t think he can manage a clean kill yet. I’d try to save Tatiana but I’ve learned that when you meddle in the lives of adults, they don’t appreciate it. Tatiana will need to ask Jorge for help before I do anything. I’m not getting in the middle of her family issues.
Steph’s mouth drops and her eyes fill with tears. “Oh my god …” she murmurs, flipping through the pics. Ric’s put his blank face into place. His eyes lift to me and I see in them what I feel every time I look at those pictures: pure rage.
“Nice to know your opinion of me,” I state tightly.
She looks up. “Les … Les … I didn’t know.”
“And you didn’t ask any questions either. You just started accusing me.”
“Hello? I have first-hand experience with your manipulative ways,” she hisses. “It seemed really low to threaten an old man just because Jorge wants his daughter.”
“Yeah, I know. I’d ask Annie how she’d like me to rearrange her life, but unfortunately she’s just not old enough to ask for an opinion,” I state bitterly.
Ranger’s head has tipped back and he’s closed his eyes. Steph’s white. I take the folder back. “I’m sending someone else off to threaten this family into giving that little girl up voluntarily, legally, to get her out of that house. At least in this case the government seems to agree with my opinion. I’m just hurrying along the inevitable. Helping them save the money they need to use to pay the Bratva instead of dragging Jorge into court all the time.” I turn to Ric. “FYI? Last week’s hearing was continued. That’s why I pushed this plan forward.” Ric nods.
We’re all frozen, me pissed, Steph white, Ric clearly wishing this shit was not happening right now. I sigh and decide to be the bigger man here. “We get it, Steph. You didn’t appreciate it. Our judgment was shit in your case. Got it. However, I’d like to think that you’d at least ask me why, after the disaster that sticking my nose into your life was, why I might feel inclined to interfere in Jorge’s. Maybe because he knows? Maybe because he wants me to? Maybe because he doesn’t mind me using my skills to help him get his daughter out of a bad situation? Maybe because I can’t stand by and watch a pretty little girl become a punching bag? Or are none of those reasons good enough?”
Ric cuts in before Steph can answer. “Does Jorge know that Victor is headed there now?”
“No. I don’t want the right hand to know what the left hand is doing.” She lets out a disgusted noise. “That way, if Jorge is called to testify, he can be absolutely sincere. That’s important in Family Court. If they suspect that Jorge’s involved, he’ll never get sole custody and nothing about this situation changes. He could pass a polygraph right now without a problem because he has no clue what I’m doing in the background.”
I wave the second folder. “Anyway, second folder is a job I need to do myself, but I could use backup. Feel like taking a ride?”
Ric shakes his head. “Nope. Staying in the building.”
I stare at Steph. If she won’t go, Ric won’t and my plan dies. I have a backup plan, but it’s just not as good. Steph’s staring at me, something flickering across her face. Hurt, longing, curiosity, mischief, and hurt all over again. I unclench my jaw and try to smile.
“I’m in.”
Ric looks at the two of us for a moment. “I’m in.”
“Thought you were staying in the building.”
“I’m in,” he repeats. I‘m not sure what you’re up to yet, but you two need a chaperone.
Maybe we don‘t. Maybe we should have it out alone.
Her fingernails are digging in my hand and drawing blood, primo. Trust me, you need a chaperone.
—oOo—
“Split up! He can’t have gone far!”
Ric and Steph head in one direction and I head further down the street, trying to remember where I’ll need to cut over to be in position. I find the right alley and put some extra speed on it, trying to beat Ric into the position. I spot Javi and head down the alley. Javi’s listening for Ric and Steph’s approach. I pat his shoulder as I pass and run to get in position.
The set-up was simple, again borrowed from Steph’s history of unfortunate events. Sam, one of our fastest new NYC RangeMen, is pretending to be a skip and he’s running from Ric and Steph. He scouted this out yesterday and told me he would be able to run it at a nine minute mile. Perfect. I know Steph hasn’t been exercising (Bobby’s almost certain she’d just skate over if she had to pass a physical right now), so Ric won’t run his normal nine minute mile in order to ensure he doesn’t lose her. So Steph will have to haul ass, Ric won’t run behind Sam as fast as he normally would, and Sam will lead them directly to the setup.
The dumpster.
That’s how I sold Steph on this. I promised her that Ric would end up in the dumpster, not her. After watching Ric avoid getting dirty for so many years, the possibility of seeing him get dirty, even once, appealed. The dumpster appears to be closed, but it’s not. It merely has cardboard covering the openings. Ric’s muscular 185 pound frame will go directly through that.
I hear Sam hauling ass down the alley. He scales the chain link fence perfectly, hops over and scrambles down it just as Ric reaches it. Javi starts running for the car and Sam disappears around the corner; Javi will drive Sam back to Brooklyn so he can change and pretend he was never here.
“Alex!”
Ric’s at the top of the fence. “Babe?”
“Go! Once we make it over, I’ll start thinking of another way to catch him.” Steph’s halfway up but getting hung up.
“Sure, Babe?”
“Yes!”
Ric’s torn. I know he knows he could catch Sam without Steph slowing him up but he loves her. He won’t leave her.
“Go, Alex!”
Ric flashes her a grin and hops over the fence.
Directly into the dumpster. He thought it would hold him, just as I knew he would.
The scream is delicious. I mean, if you could eat an angry scream, Ric’s would taste like a perfectly cooked steak with creamed spinach and asparagus with Bearnaise sauce.
I peek out and Steph’s red, trying not to laugh. I catch her eye and she grins big.
She’s waited for this moment all her life.
I’m forgiven my sins.
—oOo—
Ric’s furious. He’s completely covered in mud, shit, food waste and whatever else was in that dumpster. The sight of a rat causes my normally calm, unflappable cousin to swear impressively in English and Spanish. He’s been spending too much time with Hector. Steph’s trying her best not to laugh but she’s losing the battle. I toss a rope bridge over the side, trying not laugh, and Ric climbs out, white-lipped and furious. Shit up to his nipples. I’m dying of laughter. Steph finally walks over to him and picks some wilted lettuce out of his hair.
“To paraphrase you, I don’t have a lot of maternal instincts, but I’m really tempted to take you somewhere and hose you down.”
His lips twitch. “Really?” She nods, still picking lettuce out of his hair. Ranger strips his shirt and she freezes. He drops the pants and I thank god he’s wearing boxers, but it’s not doing a lot to hide his condition (which begs the question: Boxers? Why?). “Well? Get to it, Babe.” He kicks the dirty clothes over to me and unlaces his boots, tossing those to me along with his socks. I sigh and decide to take one for the team. It’s thirty degrees out here; he can’t go barefoot. I toss him my boots, thankful I wore two pairs of wool socks, and he stuffs his feet into them. I stare at the pile of clothes before grabbing the trash bag I brought and stuffing them in.
“I love you, Carlos” she whispers. Ric stares at her in shock as she continues to pick shit out of his hair while trying not to laugh. “Oh my God, you look terrible.” She starts giggling. “Is this how I looked? How in the hell did you love me like this?”
“Your hair can be fixed, Babe, and clothes can be replaced. You can’t.” He hugs her and she screams.
“Alex! You’re covered in shit!” He’s naked except for the boots and boxers.
“True. And so are you.” He kisses her and I tip away to give them some privacy.
Well, both Steph and I won on this one.
I check my watch and clear my throat. “Primo, I’d say there’s a shower nearby that you can use, but if you’re gonna use it, we gotta go now.”
Ric checks his watch and stares at me. “You sure?”
“I checked.”
Ric nods and picks up Steph. “Come on, Babe. Hose me down.”
—oOo—
“So where are we?”
Steph’s drying her hair, having changed into the spare outfit she brought. Ric’s still in the shower, babying his hair.
I very tactfully ignored the moaning from the bathroom and thanked myself for having the foresight to take my shower first.
“My parents’ home.”
“Really? This is where you grew up?”
I nod. “The bedroom you changed in? My childhood bedroom.” Mom’s redecorated again. All my trophies are still on the walls, but everything else is gone. It’s a generic guest room now. I don’t know how I feel about that. I kinda miss knowing that it was my room.
She’s quiet. “This is a nice house, Les.”
“I’ll tell my parents you said so.”
I hand her the bottle of water I filched from the fridge. I’ve already written a note to my parents to let them know I was in the house so they don’t panic, although I’m sure the bouquet of roses I’m leaving will also be a dead giveaway. I start a load of towels, then stop it to wait for Ric’s. I’m trying to make sure I leave home as clean as I can.
Steph’s drifting from room to room looking around. I hear her laugh when she finds all my childhood and teenage pictures on the walls in the den. “Les!” I walk into the den. “You were a blond?”
I smile. “As a baby. My natural hair color is light brown.” Hmm… time to do the roots. The inky black color I’m currently rocking is growing out.
She’s clearly having a great time taking pictures of the wall. “Who’s this?”, she asks, pointing at one picture of two little boys in duckie shirts and shorts with sandals.
“Three guesses and you should only need one.”
Her mouth drops. “No way.”
You can see the differences between me and Ric in that pic. He’s always been slightly bigger and slightly darker than me. He’s eleven months older too and you can also see that difference. We look related, not quite like brothers, but something close. We have our arms around each other and we’re mugging for the camera. I’d say we were Mijo‘s age in that picture, around three or four.
My first, best, and oldest friend. Mi primo.
I leave Steph to enjoy laughing at my baby pics (and Ric’s) and survey the house. Our house is the detached version of her parent’s home. I’ve always been amused at how similar our childhood homes are. My mom wanted her house painted blue and the shutters painted white, so that was my job in the summer. Everything inside looks good, so I head outside, open the shed, and find the snow shovel. I shovel the front walk and spread salt on the front steps before returning everything to the shed. That’ll be a clear signal to Papa that I’ve been here before he even walks in.
Steph’s watching me from the porch. “Sweet of you.”
I blow into my hands. “Whatever I can do. I’m not here enough.” I head inside, get the big broom, and start pushing snow off the front porch.
Jeez! What is Ric doing with his hair?!
“Why? It’s close to Trenton and NYC.”
I smile wanly. “I’m close to my family. Ric’s not. When I come home, it’s never about me. It’s always about Ric.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet, looking out at the neighborhood. It’s gone from being a nice, quiet lower middle class neighborhood to something less hopeful. Many of the families that lived here for years lost their houses in the mortgage crisis, so I’d say that twenty percent of the houses in this neighborhood are abandoned and boarded up. They’ve been tagged too, crowns everywhere. Thirty degree weather outside but there are still young boys hanging out on the corner, watching us. They know me, though, and they keep their distance. I wave to Mrs. Diaz across the street, who quickly disappears behind her curtains. Nosy. I’m sure Mom will know I was here with a non-Latina before the end of the night.
Half of the neighborhood will wonder if they saw Ric then dismiss it. Ric shows up twice a year and if the guy with me was Ric, his entire family would be here.
Mom and Papa refuse to move. I’ve offered to move them to another neighborhood a thousand times. I told Papa, the first time there’s a burglary or robbery within three houses of them, I’m moving them. Papa dared me to try. His home. He paid for it and he’ll be damned if someone makes him move. As far as he’s concerned, the boys on the block now are no worse than the ones that lured Ric into the gang when he was young. Nothing’s changed there. Young men like to gather together and when they do they look suspicious.
An argument Tank and Bobby make often. Young black and Hispanic teenagers congregating together should not be a sign of criminal activity. I know the argument is right in my head, but that’s my Mommy and Papa. I don’t want anything to happen when I have the means to move them to a safer area.
I head back inside, Steph behind me. The shower’s stopped and Ric’s tossed the towel down the stairs, so I add it to the washing machine and restart it.
“He’s the family Val?” she asks quietly, staring at the stairwell.
“And you think I don’t understand.”
—oOo—
Ranger’s scowling at his hair. OK, mi primo isn’t vain about a lot of things, but he is vain about his hair. It’s perfectly silky and has the perfect amount of curl and wave. He’s usually quick to go shampoo his hair when something goes wrong and his perfect hair is affected. My hair? After years of abuse from the sun, multiple color changes, styling products, and a general ignorance of the importance of conditioner until a few years ago, my hair looks best kept short.
Steph and I are both smiling. I’m smiling at Ranger’s annoyance with his hair’s behavior right now. He keeps muttering the words matted and dreading. Steph’s smiling and glowing, so I’m not asking a single question about what happened in that bathroom. I just noticed that they both came back damp.
Ranger’s wearing my clothes right now. Mi primo and I are the same height, but Ric’s a bit bulkier than I am, so my T-shirt and cargoes are tight on him. I should have grabbed Bobby’s clothes. Bobby and Ric are the same size.
Manny’s driving us back to the office. I’ve already gotten the update that Tank fell to my plan. Haven’t heard from Drake about Hector yet. I hope Drake’s OK.
“Ranger?” He flicks an eye back at her. “You didn’t end up pelted with eggs.”
He shudders. “Babe.”
“Is he really that vain about his hair?” she whispers at me. We’re in the backseat whispering. Ric looks back at us every so often and smiles.
“You didn’t know?” She shakes her head. “You learned something new.”
“True. What else?”
I consider not telling her then decide it’ll be my olive branch. “The health kick?” she nods. “Diabetes runs in our family.” She pales. I wonder why. “Anyway, Ric tries to limit sugar as much as possible but flan? Flan makes him weak. Homemade only. He’ll know if you buy one. We can always tell a purchased flan.”
“Oh.” She deflates. “I noticed. Mariela made a flan for him. She called it her little laugh.”
I’m jealous. Mari makes a good flan. “Yeah. You need something from him and don’t want a fight? Learn to make flan.”
“I wonder if I can make flan in a slow cooker.”
I shudder at the thought.
Ric’s safe from Steph’s bribery attempts for a while.
—oOo—
Hector’s POV—All conversations in Spanish
Hour One
This had better not be a wild goose chase.
I’ve been in this SUV for forty minutes with Drake. We’re staring at a house Brighton Beach. I’m bored and I want to move, but I need to set a good example.
Drake’s a stone statue.
Les’s information said that Tatiana Mildiani would be here around 1000 to discuss getting another cash infusion for the restaurants. Les was sending Victor Zullick to speak to her father about giving up custody to Jorge and we want to see how quickly Pytr calls his daughter.
So far, I’ve learned that Tatiana Mildiani doesn’t know the meaning of ‘on time’. If I needed to beg for money, I might try to make it on time.
“How do you do it?”
I glance over. Drake doesn’t appear to have moved. “Do what?”
“Live north of Atlanta.” His jaw tightens. “I miss the ATL like you don’t know. Your son lives there. How do you not miss it? This snow shit? Not cool.”
I stare out of the windshield. “I grew up in Jersey. It’s home. Do you want to go back to Atlanta?”
His fingers drum the steering wheel. “No. I like the NYC peeps. Javi, Jorge, Mack, Levi, they’re cool. The men make this move worth it.”
“Not the money?”
His lips tip up in a small smile. “I’m not mercenary like that. No amount of money could keep me in a place where I’m miserable.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
He snorts. “I’m a southern boy at heart. Still trying to adjust. NYC smells like piss all the time.” I snicker. “No seriously. NYC smells like an open sewer.”
“Don’t come to Jersey.” He glances at me. “The state color is gray and NYC smells positively fresh and clean by comparison.”
“Shit.”
“Wait until summer.”
Hour Two
“So anyway, I tell this chick I’m not interested and she runs off, pissed, and tells her brother. Next thing I know, her cousin’s got a baseball bat to my car. My brand new Mercedes and this fucker is going all Barry Bonds on it! Cops pull up and he tells them that he’s my lover and I just kicked him out. Now they’re all uncomfortable because now it’s a ‘gay thing’ and I look like a homophobe cuz I’m screaming I’m not gay and she’s standing there laughing her ass off!”
This is hilarious. Drake’s dating history can be summed up in two words: Psycho chicks.
Tatiana Mildiani still hasn’t shown.
My butt’s gone to sleep. I was thinking of ways to torture Les when Drake started talking. He spotted someone who reminded him of an ex-girlfriend and he has lots of stories. They’re very funny but I can’t concentrate on them.
I’m thinking of ways to kill Les and make it look like an accident. It has to look like an accident. Ranger would be hurt otherwise.
I want to move. I need to move. My butt’s gone to sleep. My legs are going to sleep. I want to go to sleep.
Where is this woman? She needs to show soon!
Hour Three
Les is a dead man. He knows I hate surveillance. I like to move, go, do! I’m active! I hate sitting on my butt watching and he partnered me with someone who was very good at that in Atlanta.
I know; I moved. I texted Danny and Nate and asked. Drake was the best at surveillance at RM-ATL. Danny says Drake once sat in the Atlanta sun for six hours without moving.
It’s like being in a car with Ranger only worse. Ranger’s my equal. I’m supposed to set an example for Drake.
It’s nearly been four hours. I can’t do a minute more. My ass has gone to sleep, this woman has not appeared, and I’ll have to start sharing dating stories soon and what can I contribute?
‘My last lover left me on my own to defend my life. Ergo, my rep. End of story.’
I dial Les. “Les? She’s not here.”
“Yeah, I know. She went to the main restaurant early.”
“You could have said something!”
“I was dealing with an emergency over here. Sorry.”
“What happened?”
“One word? Dumpster.” Click.
Sigh. Poor Angelita. I motion for Drake to turn on the car and go to the closest bakery.
Hour Four
“I’m surprised you lasted.”
I have a massive box of goodies. The moment I could stand up and move around, I was happier again. I’ll never tell Mijo to stop running again … or maybe I’ll stop yelling at him to stop running for a day or two. I understand now.
“Why?”
Drake snickers. “Les gave you thirty minutes before you got out of the SUV and started strolling the streets.”
“Why?”
“Because we know you a. Hate to waste time; b. Hate to sit still; and c. Hate doing surveillance.”
I glare at him. “And this was to make me do all three?”
“Remember: kill Les, not his messengers.”
I will remember. Les is a dead man.
—oOo—
Tank’s POV
Jorge’s phone beeps on the way to the fifth client call. He pulls over and checks.
“Shit!” He looks at the clock then starts scanning the street. “Mack’s stuck in Connecticut and can’t make his call.” Jorge calls back to the office. Javi’s with Ranger … somewhere. The men aren’t sure. I text Les. He and Steph are checking on a skip. Jorge took Bobby back to the office. His stomach (and that gas) hasn’t gotten any better. Hec’s following up the information Les got about Jorge.
Oh. I see the setup. I wonder if this is the punishment for me.
“OK. Let’s go back to RM-NYC. I’ll take the other call.”
Jorge looks relieved. “Thanks, sir.” He starts prepping me for this call and I’m sure this is my punishment.
Talking. Les is sending me out to talk.
He thinks that’s a punishment? Les, Lula has me trained. I can talk.
But I check my pockets for Tylenol.
—oOo—
We might need to reconsider hanging Les out of windows by his feet. He sent me on the client call from hell.
“So, Mr. LaPierre,” Mrs. Davies purrs, crossing her legs. “I’m very interested in all your company’s services, but I expected Mack to negotiate this contract.”
She’s wearing what I’d generously call a negligee and trying to seduce me right in front of her husband. What kind of man is he, that this doesn’t matter to him? Lula and I would have a talk if this were me.
Natasha, I like women, not bones. I wonder why she wanted Mack. Then again, no I don’t.
“Well, I appreciate that they sent senior management to negotiate our contract,” Mitchell Davies says. “It’s serious and should be treated seriously.”
“I agree.” I pull out Mack’s proposal, ready to start outlining it, when Mrs. Davies pouts.
“Still, I think there’s an advantage in being courted by the local branch. After all, they’ll service our account.”
Can this woman say anything that doesn’t sound like a come on? And the fact that I’m picking it out as a come on proves to me that I might need to fly my Lula Bear out here for a few days.
This fool looks as if he’s considering that. I roll my eyes mentally. “But only if there’s an account to be serviced. Mr. Odom was running late and asked me if I’d mind stepping in. I don’t. I like to meet our clients.”
I smile. I’ve been told I shouldn’t bother, but I turn my ‘I’d like to sleep with you’ smile on Mrs. Davies. Ric says it’s my best one.
I guess it is. She takes a deep breath and rolls her body toward me, nipples popping straight out. I guess I still got it. I put the proposal on the table and start outlining.
This room is hell. There are two parrots, both saying the most obscene things they can, and four parakeets singing their fool heads off. The cat has a feather in the corner of his mouth that I hope is something he picked up off the floor. The room is hot and stuffy and Mrs. Davies is wearing far too much perfume. I’m getting lightheaded.
Sometimes, our clients make me miss being an active Ranger.
Mr. Davies’ cell phone rings and he steps out of the room to take the call. The moment he leaves, Mrs. Davies puts her hand on my thigh.
I give her another smile. “My fiancée would not appreciate that.”
“Tell me what your wife wouldn’t like,” she replies saucily, rubbing my thigh.
Fuck! Are you kidding me? I’m too shocked to say anything. She laughs. “You’re an innocent.”
No, but it’s been a while since I dealt with hoes. Although I should have expected it. You are wearing a whore’s uniform. “Perhaps.”
“Good. Look, I want someone to find out where my husband is hiding his assets. I have one more year on this pre-nup and I plan to get everything I can out of him. And I think he’s fucking another woman. A friend of mine saw him at one of those ‘Sugar Daddy’ meet ups?” She tosses her blond hair angrily. “I’m not going to be tossed to the curb for some 22 year old from NYU with student loans and a better gag reflex.”
Insecure because you’re his 32 year old third wife? That’s the least of what I hear. She wants doctor’s reports, she’s certain he’s sleeping with the staff and she wants the sperm he had banked, since he promised her a child. He’s had the sperm moved and she can’t get access to it. Thankfully, she stops talking when she spots her husband walking back through the door.
Hunting sperm? I can’t wait to assign that duty to someone.
Twenty minutes of outlining the proposal. Two hours of listening to Mitchell Davies talk about his annoyance with his clients, his employees, his suppliers, everyone he can think of. Mrs. Davies leaves, to answer the door, and he slides closer to me.
“Look, my wife’s a whore, but she’s mine. Don’t smile at her like that again.”
I raise a brow. “I’m engaged and have zero interest in your wife.”
He nods. “Good. Now, I want a bodyguard to give me a full report of her activities. Where she goes, how much she spends, who she meets with, who she’s fucking—”
“You need a bodyguard and a private investigator. We have those.”
He smiles. “Then I’ll negotiate that privately. What did she ask you for?”
“I cannot, in good conscience, reveal that.”
“Reconsider. I pay the bills.”
“Sign the contract for a private investigator and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“You bring one with you?”
I pull out that one and one for a bodyguard. I won’t question why Mack had these. I’ll just accept it. He reads quickly, signs, and looks at me expectantly.
I’m amazed. $25,000 a month, $10,000 for a private investigator to spy on his wife and report her activities and $15,000 for a live-in bodyguard. Signed with zero effort. I wonder if I get to count this in my numbers.
“Hello?” He’s looking impatient and he’s pulled his cell phone.
“You want that in an official report?”
“Yes. Before close of business. Gotta get that to my lawyer.” He puts the cell phone away.
Mrs. Davies returns and they sign the contract for our investigative services for Mr. Davies’ business. Mr. Davies also signs another contract to cover his wife’s needs as long as it is limited to their staff, suppliers, and mutual friends. They agree to give the office a list of names.
I stand and shake their hands. A little teacup poodle runs over to me and lifts his leg. Once he’s done, I turn around and smile.
“I’ll send you the dry cleaning bill later.”
“I’ll pick it up from your office,” Mrs. Davies purrs again, bending straight over to pick the dog up. I get a chance to see everything. The Sergeant yawns and asks me to call Lula tonight. “When I drop the list of our mutual friends off.”
“Fine. Have a good day.”
I walk outside and Mack’s standing there, trying to hide a smirk. I climb in the driver’s seat and he hops in. We’re halfway back to Brooklyn before I speak.
“Med and Midi, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he replies, looking confused.
We pull up outside the building and wait for the gate to lift.
“Sup, son?”
I turn to him. “Condolence card.”
—oOo—
Bobby’s POV
Steph, Ranger and Les walk in looking happy. Well, Les looks happy. Steph looks amused and Ric?
“What happened to your hair, bro?”
Ric growls. He actually fucking growls and heads right to Les’s bathroom. Les falls over laughing.
“What did you—”
“Fuck!”
My face flames. Ric walks out, a small smile on his face. “How’s your tummy?”
I let one rip. “Satisfied?” Steph backs away and Les sprays room spray near my ass.
“Got it,” Ric says. “And so did Les’s bathroom.”
“Fuck you too.”
—oOo—
I’m going to kill Les. I have no idea how much I’ve consumed but I found the bottle.
Magnesium citrate.
I’ll bet he’s been slipping it into the water and lemonade I’ve been drinking. Especially the lemonade. He knows I love lemonade and a full pitcher in his fridge just waiting for me?
That’s how he got all of us. We all drank the goddamn lemonade but I finished it off.
I’ve been camped out on this sofa most of the morning. I don’t dare move away from a bathroom. The trip from Newark back to Brooklyn was dicey.
Les sits next to me and takes my temp. Steph sits across from me. “You OK, Bobby?”
I shake my head. The thermometer beeps and Les checks. “Slight fever. You’ll be OK.”
“This asshole dosed me with a colon cleanser.” Steph’s face turns bright red as she struggles not to laugh. “What’s safe to drink in your fridge? I asked Lucia bring me water from the kitchen so I wouldn’t kill myself.”
Les is laughing. No pity for the poor man he’s just poisoned. “Everything in there is fine. I tossed the laced stuff this morning. You should be fine before we go to dinner tonight.” He grins. “I told you to lay off the lemonade.”
Yeah, right.
The door opens and I see a blur run into the room. Les falls over and the blur reveals itself to be Hector, mad as hell. Hec proves he still has the most colorful curses in our group. He’s doing so well that Ric walks in, shampoo in his hair, just to listen. I hear a snicker and look over. Drake is backing away.
“This is too much for me.”
“Is that a bakery box?” Steph asks.
“Yeah. Sorry about your trip into the dumpster.”
She smiles. “Not me, but I’ll eat the pastry any—wow! What did you guys get?” My nose starts to pick up all the delicious things in that box and I feel the gas bubble within me.
Les is such an asshole.
Drake leaves, still shaking his head. Steph takes the bakery box over to Ric and feeds him a madeleine. Ric’s smile, and the way he licks the crumbs from Steph’s fingers, has me feeling good for him. I’m glad to see it working out. ‘Bout damn time.
Les finally manages to break free of Hec (I feel proud. I taught Hec well) and run for his life. He runs right for Ric and hides behind him. Steph and I watch as Ric continues to shampoo his hair as Les and Hec run around him, sniping at each other.
“My god, it’s like you’re all children!” Steph says, pastry falling onto her shirt. I motion for the box and she hands it over reluctantly. I pick out a madeleine and hand it back.
“Lester! Hector!” I use my ‘lieutenant’ voice and they both freeze. “Enough! Hec, you took naked pics of the man. Les, you know he hates surveillance. Payback concluded.”
There are benefits to being the oldest member of the LC. I don’t flex my ‘obey’ voice often, but when I do, I’m good. Even Ric freezes (before remembering he outranks me).
They both slink back over, eyeing each other, and dig into the box. Steph is having serious problems with that. It’s a box of sweets. They belong to her.
“Thanks, bro,” Ric says as he returns to the bathroom.
I let one rip in acknowledgment and everyone moves to the other sofa.
Hey, my grandma used to say, better out than in.
—oOo—
Les’s phone beeps and he hops up and runs to the bathroom. I hear the shower start and he walks out and hides just as Tank walks in.
I sniff the problem. “Fell in a puddle?”
“Dog pissed on me,” he grunts, stripping and heading to the bathroom. Les waits until he shuts the door to sprint out and open the apartment door.
“Yo.” Mack walks in.
“Well?”
He grins. “Four contracts and I just called Mrs. Davies to apologize. She’s headed here tomorrow to sign the fifth.”
Les laughs like a hyena. My mouth drops. Shit! Hec, Ric and I look at each other and shrug.
“Help me out here,” Hec says. “I‘d like to laugh too.“
Mack sits on the end of Les’s couch and smirks. “Yo, Mrs. Davies is this like, paranoid 30 year old nympho married to a 65 year old fart”—they crack a grin. I let one go.—“and she’s certain he’s fucking the staff and their friends. We did her background. She spent her twenties getting hammered by chocolate before she married for money so, man, she had to come onto Tank.”
“Damn,” Ric says, laughing. I’ve buried my face in a pillow. “Tank’s least favorite kind.”
Understatement.
“Yeah. And the husband? He wants a bodyguard to follow his wife and report on her activities because he’s got number four lined up and if she lasts a few more months that pre-nup gets her major paper. I expected to get three contracts from that cuz she thinks I‘m gonna guard her body.“ Mack’s mouth snaps shut as Tank reappears in SWAT, looking annoyed.
“You find the cold compress?” Les is trying to hide a smile.
“I’m not above hanging you out of that window again.” He hands his suit to Mack. “Cleaners. Rush job and make sure you get an invoice. They’re paying for it.”
“Yes, sir.” Mack leaves, still trying to hide his smirk.
“I’m counting that in my numbers for the month.”
“No, you aren’t. Punishment served,” Les says.
—oOo—
Les’s POV
Back when we first got out of the Rangers, our first Christmas as civilians, Ric was in Miami for Christmas and I was home with my parents. I felt … adrift. We were all going to meet up right after the New Year and start working on the company, but Ric wanted to spend time with Julie. Tank wanted to check on Chenae. Bobby had all the society parties in Atlanta. Me?
I was fending off questions about my life and Ric’s. Mostly Ric’s.
I was miserable. It was like being a teenager again. No one cared about my accomplishments. My parents were up to date on my life. Everyone wanted info on Ric and I’m no snitch. So I was quickly growing miserable about being at home. I wanted to disappear but I didn’t know where to go.
So I was shocked when Bobby showed up at my house a week before Christmas and told me to put on my suit and pack a bag. He tsked and shook his head and said that the first thing all of us would do, the moment we got the cash, would be to have our suits tailored. My suit fit me all wrong, not in any way that was noticeable, but in a way that was obvious to a trained eye like Bobby’s. I tried on Bobby’s spare, but it was tailored for his taller, more muscular frame so it definitely didn’t fit.
Didn’t matter right then, though. Bobby sat and got to know my parents and the entire Santos-Mañoso clan. He pulled the conversation back around to me, my accomplishments, what I’d done. Ric was not a part of the conversation for him and our family stopped asking about him and finally started listening to what I’d done with my life. My parents loved him. He put me front and center and bragged on my brilliance, how I’d saved his life numerous times as a Ranger, how I kept us all sane in the direst circumstances.
I was embarrassed that my Ranger Buddy had to make my case for me.
After three hours of stilted conversation (stilted only because Bobby spoke of our exploits in the Rangers as if he’d never met Ric), Bobby smoothly removed us from the house, saying we had plans in Manhattan. We bundled up and took the train into Manhattan, checked into a hotel, and went to Le Bernardin for dinner.
“Why here?” I asked.
“My favorite NYC restaurant.”
This was my first true ‘fine dining’ experience and Bobby guided me through it. Mack’s confusion over spoons? I understood. I didn’t know any of it either, but Bobby did. He knew the wine and the food and he told me not to overthink it. Just sit back and experience it. It was a great meal, one of the best I ever had, and at the end of the night we went back to the hotel room and stayed up talking.
“Yo, what made you fly up here today?”
It was 0200 and Bobby was half asleep, but he said, “You didn’t sound right, bro. You weren’t Les.”
That was the night I realized that a. my RB really would be by my side for anything; b. he knew me like he knew himself; and c. he had more money than he knew what to do with.
It was the first Christmas we alternated location. Bobby had me on a plane with him the next day, headed to Atlanta. I met his family and relaxed with him. His mother fussed over me, like Mrs. CJ does, and immediately started testing my French. My French is what it is now because Mrs. Brown drilled those verbs, but she did it in a fun, playful way. She made it a game and I’m competitive. I improved my French in two weeks talking to her. His father played endless games of chess with me and we snickered over the fact that Bobby’s terrible at the game. His sisters taught me to waltz in their ballroom (his family home has a ballroom!) and Bobby and I visited his favorite Atlanta tailor and had my suit tailored to my body. We partied, schemed, worked out, and basically had a great time.
I started my new year in the best frame of mind because my RB pulled me out of my Christmas funk.
So Le Bernardin is the beginning of the Christmas season for us. No matter what, if we’re stateside we always go for dinner one week before Christmas. We’ve never missed tradition and being here in NYC this year?
We decided to expand our tradition. At least this once.
—oOo—
Steph’s with her nieces tonight and we’re headed to dinner.
This has been a great day. Everyone got their payback and we’ve finally started laughing about it. Ric’s trip into the dumpster. Hector launching himself at me. Bobby’s constant farting and exclusive use of my guest bathroom. Tank’s constant ‘sexting’ with Lula.
We arrive at Le Bernardin and enter the private dining room Bobby and I reserved. This is our personal tradition but we decided to include Tank, Ric and Hector this time. We have a lot to share. The brotherhood stayed strong and Hector’s joining our traditions. Bobby and I have so many that we’re ready to expand this one.
We take our seats and Tank looks at the menu. He pales.
“This is a joke, right?”
“It’s an experience,” Bobby answers. Hec’s also pale. They spotted the price on the tasting menu.
“We have a tradition in regards to payment,” I announce. “The man who had the best year picks up the check.”
“And you decide that how?” Ric asks.
Bobby smiles. “So, Les, tell us what great things have happened in your life this year.”
