Breath on the Wind (18 page)

The car’s headlights revealed the desecration of her house.  “Whore,” “Sinner,” “Jezebel,” “Harlot,” and other epithets had been scrawled across walls and windows in red spray paint.

She related the particulars to the operator, and received the assurance in return that someone would be on their way.  Andy didn’t hold out hope that anyone would arrive too quickly. 

She made another call, to Jackie, who would still be at the club.  Andy was in no doubt that members of the First Church of Christ were responsible for the graffiti.  Her neighbors might be all about the protest, but they were usually fixated on environmental issues, and were not the kind of crusaders who got their hands dirty.  They shopped at whichever health food store or organic market was in vogue, and eschewed gas or diesel wherever possible, but they didn’t motivate themselves into joining actual marches or even displaying posters in their windows.  Even if they had found out what she did for a living, and even if that offended their sensibilities, it was unlikely that they’d have been offended to the level of actually doing something.

She deflected Jackie’s concern and well-intentioned anger, and asked her to make sure that the girls and Shane and Joe were aware that they were targets again.

As she waited for the police to turn up, Andy wondered how on earth the Church members had found her address.  Either they had someone computer literate enough to search for it by electronic means, not impossible but unlikely, or she’d been followed home.  It was no wonder that the alarm hadn’t already been raised.  If the streetlights had been knocked out first, and whoever had done the work had been quiet, they hadn’t smashed any of her windows, then her neighbors would be none the wiser.  There was no way of knowing if the artist was still hanging around.  She was not getting out of the fucking car until a cop showed up.  She’d sleep in it if she had to.

She was dozing when the strobing blue light impinged on her consciousness.  She twisted in her seat and was surprised to see a nondescript sedan rather than a patrol car pull up at the end of her driveway, blocking her in.  The flashing blue bubble that had been stuck onto the roof went dark, and the door opened.  Andy was not surprised when Detective John Hill got out.

She didn’t think for one minute that the presence of a detective, rather than a lowly patrolman, meant she was getting preferential treatment.  Rather she knew instinctively that Detective Hill had caught the call, because he knew as well as she did who had done the damage, and had about as much intention as he’d had before of taking it seriously.

Only when he was alongside her car did she hit the locks and get out.

“Ms. Broussard.”

“Detective Hill.”

The rotund detective, several shades past middle-aged, and in denial about his male-pattern-baldness, turned and took a good look at the facade of Andy’s house, still illuminated by the headlights of her car, although she had turned them down from high beam to standard. 

“Looks like some kids have been lettin’ off steam tonight.”

“Yes.  Kids with a biblical bent, and a personal vendetta against me, and apparently my morals.  This is the only damage in the neighborhood.”

“We won’t know that ‘til we can take a look in the mornin’, Ms. Broussard.”

Detective Hill exuded the air of someone who was as tired with their life as they were with their job.  Andy had already noted the wedding ring he wore, and had wondered that someone out there was prepared to put up with, let alone love, someone as abrupt and surly as John Hill. 

She’d always figured him as an honest, if jaded, officer of the law, but his lack of enthusiasm for the criminal damage of a home of a lone woman shocked her, until she glimpsed the small gold cross that just caught the ambient light, revealed as it was by his loosened tie and the unfastened buttons of the collar of his shirt.  Andy sighed.  The detective probably wasn’t a member of the Church, but he was religious enough to have made up his mind about her.  He probably thought the scrawled messages were entirely accurate.

“Can you at least file a report, so I can claim on my insurance?”

He smiled, but there was no mirth in it, and it did not reach his eyes.  “Sure.  I’ll be in touch with the numbers you need.”

Andy looked Detective Hill dead in the eyes.  She wanted him to know that she knew he wasn’t doing his job.  “I won’t expect you to rush. I know how busy you must be.”

“Oh yeah, we’re snowed under.”  The bastard had the audacity to smirk before he ambled back to his car.

Andy unlocked her front door, and wondered what her neighbors would make of her new decorating concept in the cold light of day.

Chapter Sixteen

The atmosphere was tense in the clubhouse.  Samuel had called ahead to instruct everyone who wasn’t on the run to be ready to sit down on his return.  He’d also contacted Eduardo Dias, his long-standing contact in the Rojas family, before they’d set off for home.  Eduardo had called back as they’d been pulling into the clubhouse lot, and now Samuel was ensconced in the chapel getting the lowdown from Eduardo, while his brothers waited in the main room to be called in and told just how bad the shit storm had gotten.

That Eduardo hadn’t immediately dismissed Samuel’s concerns had got Chiz’s hackles up.  There was something going down in the Colombian organization, something big, something that Eduardo hadn’t given Samuel the skinny on.  For a relationship that had lasted more than twenty years, Chiz figured that was either a serious act of disrespect on Eduardo’s part, or that the ‘Spic was up to his eyeballs in crap and hadn’t gotten the chance.  Chiz wasn’t sure which option was worse, neither of them was good.

When Samuel opened the chapel doors with a face like thunder, Chiz knew they were fucked.

By unspoken mutual agreement, he and his brothers left their drinks in the main room.  It looked like they were going to need clear heads for this.  Samuel dropped his phone into the box fixed to the wall by the door, and everyone else copied the motion as they filed in.

Samuel was back in his seat at the end of the table by the time Chiz sat down at Samuel’s left. Terry had taken his seat at Samuel’s right hand.  They were a small club at the moment, so it didn’t take long for the room to become silent. 

“So, what’s the deal?”  Terry asked.

Samuel was staring at his hand, which was resting motionless on the smooth, golden pine table.  Chiz hadn’t seen Samuel like this often, but he knew what it meant.  His president was holding back a tidal wave of fury.  Samuel was so angry that he was struggling to get words out.

Samuel eventually looked up and caught the eye of every man at the table before he spoke.  “The shipment we just escorted to Florida has not arrived at its destinations.  If it hadn’t been for me phonin’ Eduardo before we left the state, they’d be lookin’ in our direction.  When Eduardo passed on my worries, they did some checkin’ to make sure that everythin’ was where it was supposed to be, and it wasn’t.”

“Jesus, we nearly had the cartel gunnin’ for us?”  Chiz breathed.

“Yeah.”  Samuel confirmed.  “Seems all our years of loyal service don’t mean shit.  There was some talk that we’d gotten greedy, decided to relieve them of the burden of distribution and the honor of collecting the profit.”  Samuel took a deep breath before he spoke again.  “They have an internal problem, and our information confirms some suspicions on that problem.  That’s the only reason we’re off the hook, for now.  There’s a split in their family.  One of old Rojas’ sons has decided to set up his own little enterprise, funded by rippin’ off his daddy in part.  Apparently he’s actin’ in partnership with another big player.  It looks like we just became piggy in the middle of a Colombian war.”

“Oh, shit.” 

Chiz sighed, Sinatra was stating the obvious.  Chiz had some more pressing questions.  “So do we continue with the runs for the Rojas or not, boss?”

“For now, we continue.  They still need the revenue.  But we’re gonna have to be wary about who we hand it off to.  I’ll get onto Dizzy as soon as we’re done here and let him know what’s what.”

“You still want to look at diversifyin’ our business?”  Terry asked.

“Yeah.”  Samuel nodded.  “That’s suddenly got real important.  We make bank at the garage, and we got some income from the town, but most of our eggs are in the Rojas basket.  I think we should look at settin’ up some more income, legit income.  If the Rojas and these other guys wipe each other out, we lose our biggest paycheck.  If we get taken down with them, we need somethin’ that’s gonna put bread on our table for our family.”

“We’re gonna need those extra hands that Chiz mentioned.”  Shark’s voiced rolled across the table.  “We’re gonna need bodies to keep an eye on things here while we’re out of town.”

“We will.  Who’d ya have in mind, brother?”  Samuel turned his attention to Chiz again.

“Brad and Cole from the garage.  They’re interested, solid and steady.  They’re good mechanics and they’ve both been around the block enough times to know how the game’s played.  Aaron’s a kid from town who’s been hangin’ about.  I’ve noticed him helpin’ Scrat out with the lunch orders on weekends.  He’s young, due to finish high school this summer, but he’s eager, and he’s not an idiot.”

“Sounds good.”  Samuel looked round the table.  “Anyone got an issue with those names, or got others to add?”  There were no dissenting replies.  “We’re gonna need sponsors for these boys.  Who wants to volunteer?”

“I’ll take Brad.” volunteered Fletch.

“I’ll take Cole.”  Terry raised his hand.

“I’ll take Aaron.”  Shark raised his own palm.

Chiz couldn’t help the laugh that sputtered out.  “Careful you don’t break him.  That kid barely weighs a hundred pounds wet through.”

“True.  But he’s speedy and he’s a quick learner.  You’re not the only one who’s been watchin’, brother.”  Shark grinned.

“Try not to give him too many night terrors before he gets his rocker, though, yeah?”

“Funny fucker.”

The banter between Chiz and Shark had lightened the mood at the table perceptibly, but Chiz’s smile dimmed a little when he turned to Samuel.

“Boss, about that other thing, goin’ legit?”  Chiz had half an idea, less than half, his mouth was running on an almost direct link to his brain.

“What you got Chiz?”

Chiz sat forward and leant his elbows on the wide table, fingers clasped.  “I got an idea, and there’s an opportunity in it to wash some of the cash we’re bringin’ in from the Rojas runs, or anythin’ else that’s less than legal, as well.”

“Well now, that sounds interestin’.  Care to expand?”

“That little walkabout I took?  I met someone that might be able to help us out.”

“Might
she
now?”  Shark was sporting a wide grin and a raised eyebrow.

“And she’s still breathin’?”  Chiz decided to ignore Fletch’s jibe.

“Chiz… do we need to know?”  Sinatra asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, if you wanna hear the deal.”  Chiz glared at Sinatra.  The kid needed another beat-down to remind him who the big dog was.  Chiz turned back to Samuel.  He needed to keep speaking before he lost his nerve.  “There was a girl… woman I met.  She owns a strip club.  I think between her and some of the contacts Dizzy’s got with his chain of clubs down there, that we could set somethin’ up in Absolution.”

“We’re off the beaten track here.  What makes you think people’ll come all the way out here for a lap dance?”  Samuel looked interested, but far from convinced.

“Some of the services her club provides are specialty shit.  The kinda thing where people appreciate comin’ out to somewhere where they won’t be seen.”

“Are you sure it’s legit?”

“Completely.  We fund her to set up, she pays us a cut to keep an eye on the place.  Anythin’ we spend there comes back to us a bit cleaner than it went in.  Our cut is legit profit from a joint enterprise, and protection.”

“And the other side of it?  What’s the specialty side?  Pussy?”

Chiz took a deep breath.  He couldn’t avoid this, but he knew damn well what the reaction would be.  “No.  It’s legal.  All above board.  She’s a professional dominatrix.”

“And how is that shit legal?”  Kong asked.

“It’s legal, like strippin’ is, ‘cause there’s no sex.”

“Whaddya mean, there’s no sex?  What’re people payin’ for, then?”  Kong looked astonished, and a little affronted by the concept of no sex being involved.

“Seriously, some people just wanna be pissed on, or whipped.  There’s good bank in it.”  Chiz responded.

“And is that what you were doin’ there, wherever there was?  Were you gettin’ a golden shower, bro?”  Shark was barely containing his laughter.

“Alabama.  That’s where I was.  And what I was doin’ there’s my business.”  Chiz had resigned himself to the ribbing he knew he’d get as soon as he brought the subject up.  He turned back to Samuel.  “Look, it’s all legit, and it makes good bank.  You’re right, unless we’ve got some stellar flesh on display, no one’s gonna ride all the way out here for a lap dance, and there’s probably not enough people in town to keep somethin’ like that turnin’ over.  But maybe that old lady of Ferret’s, the one who does the fancy shit, can put us in touch with some of her friends?  We could get some real talent on the strippin’ side, and Elmo… Andy… can set up the dungeon.”

“Elmo?  Brother, what the fuck?”  This time Shark didn’t bother to hide his laughter, he just let it loose until it echoed round the room.  He wasn’t the only one.

Samuel slapped his hand flat on the table.  Immediately there was silence.  He turned to Chiz.  “That’s a good plan, brother.  Think you can get the ball rollin’ with your friend?”

This was the bit that Chiz hadn’t thought out, and now that it had come down to it, his stomach was rolling.  There was a damn good chance that Elmo’d tell him to get fucked after he’d run out on her like he had, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of a reason to speak to her.

“Yeah, I’ll get on it.”

“Good.” 

The look Samuel gave him held a little bit of pride.  As far as Chiz was concerned, that would make the shit he was going to have to swallow about the dominatrix thing worthwhile.  He’d given his president a reason to be proud of him. 

Samuel turned back to the rest of the table.  “Unless you all have somethin’ useful to add, I suggest you all get to thinkin’ about any other pies we can get our fingers into.”

“I think Chiz’s got his fingers in deep enough, boss.”  That was Sinatra again.  Little shit.

“You.  Ring.  Now.”  Chiz stated.

“You’ll have to put your thinkin’ caps on another time, boys.”  Samuel grinned.  “It looks like we’ve got us some entertainment to watch.”

Samuel led the exodus through the door of the chapel.  His mood had lightened from the fury he had been swallowing at the beginning of the meeting.  Chiz understood. The lack of trust from the Rojas family had upset Samuel, who’d had a close relationship with Eduardo for a long time.  But now they had a plan, for their club, at least.  They’d have to work on a plan to handle this new war.  They’d only just gotten rid of the fucking Mexican threat. 

As they filed out of the clubhouse towards the garage and the ring, Chiz caught up with Crash.  “That thing I asked you about before?  I need you to find a phone number for me.”

“Bro, you spent a week with her and didn’t get her number?”

“We were busy.”

“I bet.  I’d make a spankin’ joke, but I don’t want you callin’ me into the ring after you’re done killin’ Sinatra.”

“Smart boy.”

Chiz clapped Crash on the shoulder, and went to make Sinatra a little less pretty, and a little less smart in the mouth.

~o0o~

Chiz scooted out from under the vehicle he was working on as Scrat called out that he’d returned with the lunch order.  Chiz wiped the worst of the oil off his hands with a rag - that was more grease than material - that he usually kept partially stuffed in the back pocket of his coveralls.  By the time he was done, Scrat had almost finished handing out sandwiches and burgers. 

Today was the first day that the Prospect hadn’t complained about having to special order the grilled chicken, spinach and egg whites on whole wheat that Chiz preferred.  That might have had something to do with the fact that Sinatra was drinking his lunch through a straw.