Fierce Defender: Book 2, Hard to Handle trilogy Page 2

“My informant with the DEA botched that job. We had the rat and his sister and her rich boyfriend. If the DEA swine had been doing his job, we would have known they were coming and changed our plan. I will not forget any of their transgressions.”

  Gil looked at his watch, as if he weren’t listening. Vincent was finding it harder and harder to keep his anger in check.

  “What is it you want from me, Vincent?” Gil asked him.

  “I need help, Papa. My business is in shambles.”

  “I’m retired, Vincent. What kind of help do you expect to get from me?”

  “I need money, Papa. You know the things that were taken by the DEA were not solely mine. I have a partner, and my partner is not happy. Bad things happen when my partner is not happy.”

  Gil shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s the perils of doing business,” he said.

  Vincent had entertained fantasies of strangling the old man with his bare hands since he was about fourteen. He used to lay awake and picture it at night, squeezing until his neck snapped in his hands. The urges came and went, but they had never been stronger than they were now.

  “One of the perils of our business… as you well know… is ending up with a bullet in your head, if they don’t fucking cut it off first. I don’t think Mama would be happy to have to attend the funeral of another son, especially if your refusal to help ended in his death… again.”

  Vincent hated using his brother’s death to gain leverage over his father. It had nearly killed his mother when his brother had been found with his throat slit and on their doorstep, a clear threat to his father. Luckily, his mother was a strong woman… much stronger than Gil had ever given her credit for. Vincent had loved his older brother and looked up to him, but at this point, he was desperate to use whatever he had to in order to get Gil to listen.

  Gil gave his son the look of the devil and said, “Your mother forgave me for Alberto’s death. She finally accepted that it wasn’t my fault.”

  Vincent smiled inwardly. He knew how to work his father. The key had always been, and would always be, his mother. He shrugged and said in a nonchalant tone, “Then perhaps she’ll forgive you for another son gone.”

  ******

  Outside Corpus Christi, Texas

  Late Saturday Afternoon

  “So, Barry. Tell me what’s new on the cocaine front these days.” Sitting behind the tinted windows of his luxury SUV, a perk of working for the Drug Enforcement Administration, Grayson Alexander took a bite of the sandwich the boy had brought him from the deli. “Damn, they didn’t put any mustard on this,” he said.

  “You white folk and your mustard,” Barry muttered with a roll of his eyes. Gray wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but before he could ask, Barry launched into an answer to his first question. “Man, there ain’t nothin’ going on right now ‘cept Boss Man is so pissed, everybody’s afraid of what he’s gonna do next.”

  Gray already knew that. It had been deathly quiet since the takedown of the San Antonio operation. It had given Gray and the other agents in the small field office some much needed time to attend to other cases that had been neglected while they chased down Vincent Heston’s crew. He was looking for information on the “rat” that Barry had given him a heads-up about, but he was dancing around it, fishing for all that he could get out of the boy.

  “What has he done so far?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t think those guys that kidnapped that lady and screwed up getting back the money from her numb nuts brother are gonna live to see their day in court.”

  Not giving too much information back, Gray said, “I would think they’d be keeping them in protective custody.”

  Barry snorted and then laughed. “Man, protective custody is some bullshit when you’re so rich and powerful that you got guys right there on the inside. Do you have any idea who this guy is?”

  “I have an idea, Barry,” he said. “Why don’t you go ahead and give me a confirmation on it?”

  “I ain’t saying his name, man. I already told you that. I wouldn’t live to see my first legal drink.”

  Gray hadn’t expected the boy to say Heston’s name. He almost acted as if it were akin to saying Beetlejuice three times. The guy would appear in the car next to him if he did. Gray chuckled to himself at the thought; if it were only that easy…

  “It won’t go any further than this car,” Gray promised, somewhat lying. The conversation was being recorded, as usual, and Gray would more than likely be sharing it with Lewis and Gomez, his superiors.

  Barry laughed again. “Man, I know you really believe that. That’s what’s so great about you, man. You still got this bleached-white outlook on things, even after all you’ve seen.”

  Barry had no clue about the kinds of things Gray had seen either as a DEA agent or as a Navy Seal on tour in Afghanistan. He only wished that his view of the world was still a white-washed one. Then maybe he could sleep better at night. “You’re talking about the informant in the DEA?” Gray asked him.

  “Yep, that’s the one,” Barry said. “Boss Man knows what’s happening before you do, sometimes. Except for that thing with the kidnapping and all that. He sure is pissed about that. Scary shit.”

  “Okay, Barry. Without saying his name, maybe you could tell me what his plans are now that over half his operation was seized.”

  “Well first, he’s gonna make sure those responsible ain’t never gonna see the light of day again. Then, he’ll rebuild the business. He’s got friends or relatives in Mexico with a lot of cash. His dad was a big time gangster years ago, I hear. Then, he’s gonna find that courier snitch and make sure he pays for his part in all of this. If it weren’t for him, Boss Man would still be sitting on top of the world.”

  “Who’s his dad?” Gray asked.

  Barry laughed. “Good try,” he said. “You got something soft and warm for old Barry today?”

  Gray sighed. This meeting had been quite unproductive. “Listen, Barry, I got a girl that you’re gonna abso-fucking-lutely love. But you gotta give me something.”

  Gray’s heart hurt when Barry spoke his next words. “Alright, man. I heard the DEA snitch’s first name a few days ago. It’s Samuel.”

  Gray snapped his head in Barry’s direction. He knew the look on his face frightened the boy. It was obvious in the way the boy reached for the door handle. He felt bad, knowing the violent history Barry had with his step-daddy, but he couldn’t hide his shock or anger.

  “Are you sure?” Gray asked him. “Positively, one-hundred percent sure?”

  Barry’s voice shook as he said, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Their conversation over, Gray drove him to where he’d be meeting the woman Gray had arranged for him that day. Before Barry got out of the car, he said, “Are you alright, man? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine, Barry. Have fun and be nice to the girl, got it?”

  “Gotcha, thanks,” the boy said.

  Gray sat there for a few minutes. The wheels in his head were turning a thousand miles a minute. There were only six men in the Corpus Christi Field Office. One of them was named Samuel. He and Gray had gone to the academy together. They had been roommates. Gray had been an usher at his wedding and had been invited to the christening of his first child. Sam’s wife was a sweet Texas girl, former beauty queen, groomed her entire life to be a wife and a mother. She had made a beautiful home for them in San Antonio, and now…

  The whole thing was about to come crumbling down. Emotions were running rampant in Gray’s chest. Anger, betrayal, hurt, and fear. The fear was for Sam’s family. If Vincent Heston was behind all of this, and Gray was convinced that he was, none of them would be safe.

  “God damn it, Sam! What the fuck were you thinking?” Gray said aloud to the empty vehicle. Then he remembered the tape. Should he play it for Lewis like he normally did after a meeting with Barry, or should he try talking to Sam first, before he went and accused him of being a snitch?

  Gray hit the steering wheel
with his fists. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Chapter Four

  The Call

  Brownsville, Texas

  Monday Morning

  Marcella reluctantly got out of bed and went to see what idiot was at the door. When the incessant knocking had begun, Vincent had told her to keep sucking his cock. He reminded her that there were three ugly thugs outside who could take care of whoever it was and promised that, when Marcella’s sweet lips had finished taking care of him, he would go see what was going on.

  She had tried to concentrate. She lived to make Señor Heston a happy man. Someday she hoped that he would realize she was his alma gemela—his soul mate. Until then, she planned on doing anything he asked of her. When his soul was happy, hers was at peace as well.

  But the infernal banging on the front door wouldn’t stop, and Vincent had finally relented and told her to go see what they wanted. He said that he’d be right out, and if it wasn’t a life or death situation, he was going to shoot whichever one of his ugly thugs had allowed the person through. He had recruited them all from Mexico, and what they lacked in brains, they had made up for in brawn. But clearly, Vincent was rapidly beginning to re-think his choice.

  In Vincent’s old house, they couldn’t hear any noise while in the master bedroom. This hovel that they had been forced to take refuge in, however, was a different story, Marcella thought as she put on her robe and made her way down the hall. She’d been shocked when she’d first seen the new house. It sat at the end of a tiny little street in the worst part of town and was surrounded by dead lawn and a cyclone fence. The paint was peeling in places, and the rest of the exterior had been tagged by various street gangs. It only had two bedrooms and one bathroom, and it smelled like maybe it had served as a crack house at some time in the recent past. The shag carpeting, which had probably been laid out about the same time her last abuela was born, had turned from an ugly burnt orange to a dirty dark brown. Marcella didn’t even want to get herself started on the kitchen. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable here. She had lived in many worse places before Señor Heston had rescued her. But her boss and lover deserved so much better.

  When Marcella pulled open the door, she wasn’t sure who she had been expecting to see, but Señor Gil had not been it.

  “Señor Gil,” she said, automatically averting her eyes down to the floor. Her mother had worked for the Sanchez family for most of Marcella’s young life. Her mother had told her many times to never look Gilberto Sanchez directly in the eyes. The evil that swam there was always looking for another soul to steal, and if you looked at it too long, her mother had told her, it was the same as inviting it in.

  Gilberto brushed past her, and as he did, she saw the three ugly thugs that Vincent had posted outside standing near the gate with their eyes to the ground. Apparently, they had recognized Gil as easily as she had. If Vincent had wanted protection from his father, he would have had to hire Americans. There wasn’t a Mexican across two countries that didn’t know not to cross Gilberto Fidel Sanchez.

  “Where is my son, hija de la criada?”

  Marcella kept her eyes to the ground and her face neutral as she inwardly cringed at how Gil insisted on calling her “the maid’s daughter” instead of by her name. She would never dare correct him, however. She wasn’t suicidal. Keeping her head down, she said, “Please, have a seat and be comfortable, Señor Sanchez. I’ll get Señor Heston for you.”

  She scurried off, hearing Gil give a disgusted snort behind her as he looked around the shambles of the living room.

  “¿Cómo Han caído los poderosos,” he said aloud. It meant, “How the mighty have fallen.”

  ***

  Just as the maid’s daughter scrambled out of the room like a little mouse, Vincent walked and said, “This is only temporary, Papa. It’s a hide-out, not my home. No one would think of looking for me here.”

  Gil looked his son up and down. It was after eight in the morning, and Vincent was still wearing a plaid robe and slippers. He considered his son to be a lazy SOB and often wished it had been Vincent rather than Alberto who had ended up with his throat slit and bleeding out on the doorstep. He was convinced that, if that had been the case, he would have easily stepped over the soft, overly-pampered Mama’s boy he perceived Vincent to be and gone on with his life with barely a blink. The only reason that he was happy Vincent was still alive was that, for whatever reason, his mother loved him.

  “I found you, Vincent,” Gil said, refusing to sit on the furniture that he was sure probably contained the fleas from its last owners. “I’m here to finalize the terms of the deal we discussed on Saturday.”

  “I thought I was going to meet you and Mama for dinner on Wednesday night so that we could be conversant?” Vincent said, taking the cup of coffee that Marcella held out to him as she re-entered the room.

  Gil rolled his eyes at the boy’s use of the word “conversant” instead of “talk.” It wasn’t even a real word. He was an idiot who wanted to be a scholar. Gil was sure that would never happen.

  “Señor Sanchez,” the girl asked him, “would you care for some coffee?”

  “No,” Gil said abruptly. He watched Vincent’s face tighten at the way he addressed the maid’s daughter. His son cared too much for the staff. Behind closed doors, he had once heard his son murmur that Gil’s rudeness was part of why he was having sex three or more times a day while his father’s old shriveled dick had probably already fallen off. Gil had killed men for saying less, but his son had been a teenager, so he let the comment go.

  He turned to Vincent and said, “I agreed to do this because it is your mother’s wish that I do. However, I will not share meals with you and act as if we are friends. I will give you this money, and you will pay it back as we agreed. We will have no other dealings in between, unless you miss a payment.”

  “But, Papa, we’re not friends, nor are we associates. We’re family. I was looking forward to dinner with you and Mama.” Vincent almost pouted as he said it, making Gil sicker in his stomach than he already was.

  “You may call your mother and speak to her about sharing a meal. If that’s what she desires, then so be it. Our business dealings, however, will not involve her. Your mother is untouched by this business, and she will remain so. I hope we understand each other.”

  “Of course, Papa. We are in complete comprehension,” Vincent confirmed begrudgingly. “I’ll call Mama this week.”

  Gil shook his head again. Moron.

  “Now, the business that we discussed is in the trunk of my car outside. I’ll expect your payments weekly and on time. You know the cost of interest, and I’m sure you’re well aware of the cost of missing a payment. If I may make only one minor suggestion, and then I’ll leave you to your business?”

  “Of course, Papa,” Vincent said again.

  “Get some men with balls to guard you and your business dealings. At least if there is the threat of having them removed, they won’t let just anyone walk up to your door.”

  ******

  Corpus Christie, Texas

  DEA Field Office

  Late Monday Morning

  Grayson Alexander sat in his car outside the office. He had to go inside in a few minutes. Special Agent in Charge Gomez was back in town and had called a meeting between himself and the six agents that worked out of the Corpus Christie office. Gray had sat on the tape he had all weekend, unsure of how to best handle it. He still hadn’t come to a conclusion that he was happy with. He pressed play on the little recorder, listening to Barry’s voice again.

  “Alright, man. I heard the DEA snitch’s first name a few days ago. It’s Samuel.”

  Gray clicked it off again. Sam wasn’t a bad guy; he couldn’t be. Gray kept telling himself that, but he couldn’t deny what Barry, a snitch himself, had told him. If it wasn’t true, where would Barry have even come up with the name? The boy dealt only with Gray, and he had never been to the field office or met any of the other agents. Maybe there was another ex
planation. Maybe they were forcing Sam to work with them somehow. Gray just couldn’t wrap his head around the possibility that Sam had been drawn over to the dark side by nothing other than the lure of the almighty dollar.

  Gray jumped as there was a knock on his window. He looked up into Sam’s smiling face.

  “Hey buddy,” he said as Gray rolled down the window. “Are you okay? Looks a little intense in there.”

  Gray swallowed all of the questions he had for now and said, “Yeah, things are great. I was just listening to a song that reminds me of the ex.” He got out of the car. “Speaking of better halves, how’s yours?”

  Sam laughed. “I met your ex, remember? I don’t know if I’d include her in a conversation about better halves.”

  Gray laughed too and said, “Touché. So how is Tammy, a real ‘better half?’”

  “She’s Tammy,” Sam said. There was something in his voice that Gray couldn’t quite put his finger on. “She’s pretty and perky and she likes to spend my money. She’s thinking of buying a new set of tits.”

  Gray suddenly got a sense of where Sam’s tone was coming from. It sounded like he and Tammy might be having some disagreements over how to invest their money.

  Ignoring the reference to Sam’s wife’s tits, Gray said, “And the baby’s good?” Sam and Tammy had a one-and-a-half-year-old daughter. She was as pretty as her mama, and last time Gray had seen her and Sam together, he could tell that she had her daddy wrapped around her little finger.

  “My Cameo is an angel,” Sam told him, resting his hand over his heart as he said it. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to this old cowboy, that’s for sure. I got some new pictures I’ll show you after the meeting.”

  They walked into the office together. Special Agent in Charge Gomez, Supervising Special Agent Lewis, Agents Hill and Freeman, and the newest agent of the group, a guy named Neil Wyatt, were all there. Gray got a cup of coffee, and Sam grabbed one of the cookies off of Sue the receptionist’s desk. He winked at her, and Sue turned the color of scarlet, just as she always did when Sam was around. One of the things Gray had considered when he’d been trying to figure out why Sam might need money was an affair. He looked at Sue now. The way she looked at Sam was with pure, unadulterated love. Gray didn’t believe on any level, however, that Sam was sleeping with her. For one thing, Sue was nearly seventy-years-old. She had been around longer than most of the guys in the agency put together, and from what Gray could tell, in spite of her crush on the much younger “Sammy” as she called him, Sue was still very much in love with Louie, her husband of almost fifty years.