Ambition 2: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven) (5 page)

"And hope that the next generation who follows in our footsteps agrees with us and is better than we are," I sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "And if they're not?"

Joe laughed and took a drink of his weight gain shake. "From what I see, young councilman, the generation following me is on the right track. You're making the connections you need to get things done. I know working around the Union isn't what you’d like, but if anyone can get it done, I suspect you and Tabby Williams can do it."

"Yeah," I said glumly. Joe looked at me askance, and I shook my head. "Nothing."

"All right. Well Patrick, I've got Bill Franklin coming in about twenty minutes, apparently one of his executive vice presidents recently blew his own head off, and now Bill wants me to look into the circumstances around his death. It might tie into your district, by the way. Know anything about a place called Mistress Blood's?"

"Yeah," I said with a shiver. I had met Blood once, and that was enough. "Hard core, and I mean illegally hard core, things went down there. Place had Confederation ties, and if I remember right, Illuysas Petrokias acted as Blood's patron. It got shut down about a month ago or so. From what I read, Blood got herself a fatal case of nine millimeter lead poisoning."

"I assume the local detectives aren't expending a lot of energy in finding her killer?" Joe asked. I shook my head.

"With what she was involved in, most of my district is counting it as chickens coming home to roost. She wasn't as bad as the top heads of the Confederation, but she was a sick, twisted woman. I don't even know what sort of crazy to classify her."

Joe nodded. "Okay, well, I'll talk with Bill. You want to sit in? You being the council member from The Playground and all."

“No thanks Joe, I have some Boy Scouts coming by my office at four. If you don't mind, I think I'll try and keep my soul at least somewhat clean for the rest of the day. Thanks for the talk."

"Let's do it again in about two weeks or so," Joe replied. "I'll have Hank get in touch with your new assistant… Gwen, right?"

"Yeah, Gwen. And that sounds just fine. Thanks again, Joe."

T
he night sky was cloudy
, which helped as I made my way through the Park at nearly ten at night. Not the safest thing to do, but I wasn't worried. The Park was a lot better than in the old days, when it had been the realm of street gangs and the Confederation after dark. Now at least, the Confederation was out of it, and the street gangs were too busy seeing if they could get some more profitable turf for their activities. The junkie problem was still bad though.

Thankfully, I wasn't going too deep into the park, just over to the World War I Memorial, near the southwest entrance to the Park. I had my mask on, but the hood pulled up, and had skipped my tactical vest in favor of a belly holster for the one Glock that I was carrying.

My contact was late. The bells of the big clock started to toll, and I was still waiting. I was just about to move off when I saw the approaching shadow, and my contact arrived.

I didn't even know his name, just his handle. We had first met through a website that catered to so-called hacktivists, and eventually coming to know one another. On the website, he went by the screen name Captain Zappy. Who knew where he got that one from.

"Captain."

"Snowman," he said. "Nice to see you in person again."

"It's been a long time. Nice beard."

Zappy stroked his beard, which was a good eight inches long and pretty well kept. Last time him and I had been face to face, he'd been clean shaven. "Nice eye mask. Although I'd have gone with more of a domino mask than the whole Kato thing. That thing has to be hot as fuck in summer."

"We're coming into winter though. It'll help then. I've got something for you."

"Oh? Anything interesting?"

I reached into the pocket of my pants and pulled out a flash stick. "You still got connections in the media, right?"

"Some," Zappy replied. "But with so much of the media being corporate nowadays, it's not as easy as it was to get on the air. Online's the way to go nowadays if you want to take someone down. Who you got dirt on?"

"Bishop Gerald Traylor," I replied. "Video and audio. Plus documents."

"Oh? Anything juicy?" Zappy said.

"You could put some of it on Pornland," I replied. "In multiple sections."

Zappy grinned. He was a self professed militant atheist, and loved the idea of taking down a supposed man of God. I didn’t necessarily agree with his religious views, but Gerald needed to go down. ”Nice. Anything else?"

"Take a look. The documents aren't exactly as juicy as the audio or video, but you can connect the dots. I turned a lot of it over to Bennie Fernandez at the DOJ already, he said he'd forward it on to the IRS. But I think you can get me the results I want faster."

"I gotcha," Zappy said. "Can I ask, why do you want this done, Snowman?"

I shook my head. "November fifth is coming up soon enough. I figure you guys can make hay to really kick that off."

Zappy grinned. As a member of the online hacker community Anonymous, among others, he knew exactly what I was talking about. He loved breaking big scandals on or around Guy Fawkes Day. "Well then, let's see if we can make it come a little early this year. All right, I'll get this posted tonight. Question though. Why not you?"

"Don't have the media connections you do," I replied. "You know a lot of my style is more direct than that."

"Damn right it is," Zappy said. He pocketed the flash stick and turned around. "Hang loose, Snowman."

"You too."

Traylor's trap now slowly closing around him, I turned to the next objective I had for the night, namely making sure Filmore Heights was still staying calm. Police response to the area was dropping off, and I wanted to make sure that with the patrols lessening the neighborhood wasn't going to see more gang violence.

I stopped by one of my strike bases, where I kept full kits of my tactical gear in standby. The vest wasn't quite as comfortable as the one I kept at home, it was a little less broken in, a little less perfectly tailored, but it would do the job for the night. As a precaution, I took the one with body armor panels incorporated into the webbing. While not as protective as a full on vest, it did cover my vital areas while still allowing me maximum flexibility and mobility, essential to my methods. I have another two levels of body armor available, just in case, but I wouldn't need it that night.

Like before, I made sure to leave my bike in hidden areas. My first stop was Gangster Disciple territory, where I saw that despite the damage to the donut shop, Tweak Petersen was back in attendance, a brand new plate glass window already installed with lettering on it and everything. Gang money got work done quickly, after all. On the other hand, the GDs were working at least a little less out in the open than before, and I only saw maybe four or five people say anything to him as he sat at his table, nodding his head to music and occasionally messing around with a handheld game system.

I made my way over to Latin King territory, where a unique opportunity presented itself. The Latin Kings were almost the antithesis of the Gangster Disciples, in a lot of ways. Reserved where the GDs were loud and public, this extended all the way up the ladder to their leader, who was known on the streets as El Patron.

Part of it was that El Patron didn't even live in Filmore Heights any longer. While Tweak Petersen still lived in the same streets that he came from, Edgar Villalobos had escaped the streets of Filmore to live uptown, near the Park. I actually knew him from meetings with Sal Giordano, and while the past year hadn't been easy on him, he hadn't come up on my list of people to worry about just yet.

Still, seeing him on the streets of Filmore worried me. Traditionally, Villalobos sent his lieutenants instructions from the safety of his condo near the Park using text messages. Ditching my bike quickly, I barely had time to get to the rooftops before he and his crew came around the corner.

"Patron, I'm worried," one man said. "The vigilante, he listened in, but he hasn't moved on the information our boys said he overheard."

"Perhaps the Dogs did the work for us," Villalobos replied. "They claim they shot one of them."

"
Si, Patron
, but you know how those donut eaters like to brag. Also, there were two according to them. The other seemed to ride off with no problems. I have a cousin in The Playground, he says that bike belongs to The Snowman. If so, we might have big problems on our hands."

"Why do you think I'm down here? The men need to see I'm not scared of any myth. If The Snowman wants to bring his little game up to Filmore Heights, he's going to find that we're a lot harder to scare than those Confederation bitches
.
They were strong, but soft in a lot of ways. We're the ones on the edge of the steel every day. We'll see. But the boys need to relax. We'll take care of business."

I'd heard enough, and thought it was time to see if Villalobos was willing to back up his words. Sneaking my hand down into the leg of my pants, I eased one of my backup weapons from its holster.

Blowguns are one of the world's oldest stealth weapons. The darts are light, and in the hands of a skilled user, are very accurate. The main problem with them is that they're limited range obviously.

I had gone with something a little bit more high tech, but still old fashioned. Using high tensile strength rubber and the tube, I combined the ideas of a slingshot with a blowgun. I'd seen similar devices online and from talking to old prison veterans, but mine was certainly stronger than something made from rolled up newspaper, cardboard, and the rubber out of someone's underwear. I could hit accurately at up to fifty meters with the device, and best of all, it was totally silent.

Sighting carefully, I loaded my dart, and sent it into Villalobos' leg, right above his knee. I could have killed him if I'd used some of the darts that I keep on hand, but that wasn't my purpose. I wanted Filmore to stay even until Patrick and I could work together to take all of the groups down. Instead, the drugs inside temporarily paralyzed his leg, making him tumble to the ground with his next step. I took off, and was a rooftop away before the Latin Kings below knew what had even happened. Still, I could hear some yelling, and I hightailed it as hard as I could. I wasn’t going to repeat the same scene as last time.

I was still clearly ahead of them when I got to my bike and twisted the throttle, flying out of Filmore Heights at full speed. I streaked through The Playground before looping the Park area once again and hightailing it up towards home.

The bells of the clock towers around the city were just ringing one o'clock.

I
could feel
sweat trickling down my back as I waited for Patrick. I'd changed into workout clothes, and looked over at the spot where I had last been with him, the mats where I'd taken him in. My body yearned for him, but my mind still reeled at what he'd said afterwards.

I knew I was still screwed up inside from Scott Pressman. If I had ever needed more proof, it was in the way I'd fled from Patrick after he has said he loved me. Seriously, what person does that? He hadn't been growling or trying to hurt me. In fact, he'd never hurt me, hadn't even raised his voice to me once. When he'd told me, he struggled, and I knew he was telling the truth. He was as surprised by what he'd said as I was.

Even still, it scared the hell out of me. Sophie held me for nearly an hour as I went through hysterics that night, and since then I'd still felt cold sweats every time I went into the gym. Sophie had even changed my workout the day before to outside, taking the time with Mark to haul the weights I was going to use into the backyard of Mount Zion, just so I could get through it.

Today though, I wanted to face my fears. Why should I be chained by the mental fuckery of someone who never cared for me? Should I let Scott Pressman's screwing with my mind forever prevent me from hearing the words that any person should yearn to hear? Determined, I changed into my exercise clothes and stood in the middle of the gym, tapping my foot while I waited. It was six thirty.

"You know, you don't have to do this," Sophie said to me quietly as she waited with me. "I didn't call him over for this purpose. I called him over to do some training.”

"I know," I replied, "but I can't just go hide in my room or something until I get over it. Besides, we both know he didn't do anything wrong."

Sophie nodded. It’d actually been touching, considering how much he was annoyed by the man, that Mark came in later that night and talked with me about it. He'd been convinced Patrick had meant no harm, and was genuinely broken up by the whole thing. Even Vanessa had done some surreptitious inquiry, giving me a hint into just how widespread the executive assistant network ran. I wondered if I could tap into that somehow.

"You really think he's a good guy?" I asked Sophie. Six twenty nine. He'd have to get there soon or else he would be late.

"Mark seems to think so, and he's got good taste in women at least," Sophie told me, earning a smile from me. I heard the front door of Mount Zion slam, and feet running through the house.

"Sorry I'm late!" Patrick said as he burst into the gym. Seeing me, he stumbled, thankfully near the mats where he could fall instead of near the weight racks. "T... Tabby."

"Patrick," I said. He looked so cute down there, his tie askew and his one shoe off, that I had to smile. "You all right?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Just that at the last minute when I was leaving work, I had a phone call from someone, it just delayed me a bit. Sorry about that."

"You should be apologizing to Sophie, not me," I teased. Sophie rolled her eyes and shook her head, walking past me to help Patrick up.

"Patrick, go change. Tabby's going to be doing her own thing today, but you're stuck with me." Patrick nodded, but his eyes were fixed on me, which I had to admit put some warm butterflies in my stomach. Sophie grabbed his jaw in her left hand and turned him towards her, pulling him down to look in the eye.

“Eyes on me. It’s time to work, got it? Don’t you so much as look at Tabby until we’re done.” It was actually cool, seeing her get strict like that. If Sophie ever got tired being a super friend, homemaker, vigilante and whatever else, she could always have been a damn good drill instructor.

"I understand," Patrick replied. "I'll do my best."

"You better," Sophie said, “Mark’s not the only one who can kick your ass.”

"Where is he, anyway?"

“Shopping for a few things,” Sophie replied. "He'll be back by dinner time. Now, get changed, be back here in five minutes for warm up."

Patrick nodded and disappeared, never once looking at me again. Sophie turned to me with a grin. "I think I'm going to like this workout. Now, do me a favor."

"What?" I asked, my nervousness evaporating under the light of Sophie's smile. Seriously, having her around makes life so much easier.

“Do you thing, but don’t tease him, I don't need him dropping something on his toes."

"So no hip extensions or toe touch deadlifts?" I asked.

Sophie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, and they're called Romanian deadlifts.”

While I’ll admit I enjoyed blowing off a little steam, not all of that came from what I was actually doing. Instead, there was a certain sadistic pleasure that came from watching Sophie put Patrick through his paces. She wasn't mean, and after that first time, she never even had to raise her voice except in encouragement.

But she wouldn't let him slack off, she wouldn't let him stop. I was amazed as she knew exactly what psychological buttons to push, how to get him to keep going. She twice stopped the to check his back, peeling off his tank top the second time to allow her to keep track. His stitches had come out nicely, but still the skin wasn't fully healed. He had a bright pink line that blazed against his skin as he worked, getting darker and darker as his skin flushed. Because of his new work and the need to hide his wound, he hadn't gotten any sun on his upper body in weeks. Trust me, if you ever want to prove that a man is of Irish heritage, just have him stay covered up in an office job for two weeks. Actually, it’d probably been more than that, considering how long Patrick had been working at city hall.

Despite his paleness, he was so handsome it made my throat close up. I kept losing count during my own exercises, and finally just went until my muscles ached, before I said screw it and sat back for another half hour and watched.

Finally, Sophie called an end to it, and Patrick collapsed onto the mats, dry heaving into the convenient plastic bucket Sophie kept on hand for just such purposes. "You did good. Next week, we can really begin."

Patrick nodded dumbly, unable to form words he was still sucking air so hard. Sophie came over to me and leaned in. "He did do well. Even if he did keep looking over to you."

"Did not."

Sophie looked at me, smirking, and nodded. "Just in the tired bits, when he needed a little extra motivation, I saw his eyes flicker over. You want to get out of here and get washed up for dinner?"

"Sure. Thanks, Sophie."

She shook her head lightly. "Don't thank me, thank Mark. I'd have put a bat upside his head, you know."

I laughed lightly and patted her on the cheek. "I know. That's what makes you so awesome. All right, I'll get washed up for dinner."

After a quick shower, I came into the dining area to find Mark serving up plates. "I heard Patrick survived," he said with a smile as he used a spatula to serve up large squares of lasagna onto our plates. "What did you think?"

"He's got a long way to go," I replied, "but like you said, he's got guts. He never gave up."

Mark heard the tone of my voice, and smiled. "I see. Well, have a seat, everything should be ready soon."

After such an intense workout, Mark had been generous with dinner, making sure that Patrick got the largest serving of food. Like a couple of nervous parents, Mark seated Patrick across from me, with Sophie on one side of me and Mark on the other like a pair of guardian sentinels. Conversation was light, and avoided both business and politics. In fact, for a lot of it Sophie asked Patrick about his childhood, and how he'd grown up in the city orphanage system.

"Well, Tabby knows most of it, so I'm sure you guys do too," Patrick said after setting his fork down. "But here's a story that you guys don't know yet. I was thirteen, and had just transferred from the Patterson Youth Home to Goldwell Hall, which is where they house the junior high school and high school aged kids. It's a rougher place than Patterson, where there was always the hope for some of the kids of at least getting foster parents. By the time you reached Goldwell, you were pretty much assured of only staying a ward of the state for the next five years. Nine out of ten kids who left Goldwell before eighteen did so because they were doing stints up at Juvenile Corrections."

"Sounds horrible," I said, taking a deep drink of my lemon water. After a large glass of fruit juice to make sure my body had some sugar after my workout, I always shifted to lemon water. "How did you survive?"

"At first I really struggled," Patrick admitted. "A lot of the kids fell into gangs, and as you know I did as well, but never as hard as some of the other guys did. Part of it was because of Leon."

"Who was Leon?" Sophie asked, intrigued. She’d obviously already forgiven him, and I could tell she could see in him the same qualities I did. Twice she'd given me a sideways glance during dinner, smirking around her fork. She liked him, and was giving me her opinion again.

"Leon was the boxing instructor who came by twice a week to pick up guys and take them over to a dingy local place. I tagged along the first time mainly because I had just gotten my ass kicked by a couple of seventeen year olds who were the floor bosses for my area, and I wanted to at least put up a fight. Leon could see a lot of anger and rage in me and felt sorry for me I guess."

"Did he ever put you in the ring?" Mark asked.

Patrick leaned back and laughed, long and hard. "Yeah, but he wasn't happy about it. I may have had a lot of anger back then, but I had the technique of a gorilla. Put my head down and start swinging for the fences,” Patrick said laughing.

We all had a chuckle, and by the end, I was feeling better. Mark and Sophie glanced at the two of us, and Mark put his hands on the table. "Well, I think I'll go ahead and clear the table. Sophie, if you'd help me, I think Tabby can walk our guest to his car?"

Sophie and I nodded, and Patrick thanked Mark before following me out to the front door. We didn't say anything, but there wasn't a need to. Pausing at the open door, Patrick turned to me. "Tabby....."

"It's okay," I replied, putting my arms around his neck. "I know you were just saying what you felt."

"I've been in pain for days, worse than getting shot," he murmured, looking into my eyes. "I kept waking up at night, thinking I'd never have you in my arms again."

"I've missed you too," I told him. His arms went to my waist, pulling me closer, and we kissed, healing the pain in our minds and in our hearts.

There, on the entry to my house, I gave him entry to my heart, saying with my lips and my hands what my voice just couldn’t quite do. Not yet. He held me, and we spoke a silent language to each other that was beyond time, beyond anything except that of the heart.