Tara Janzen - Loose And Easy

It was the fighter, and he was carrying something, a woman, but it wasn’t Esme. This woman was heavier, not by much, but she was definitely rounder and more softly built than Esme, and she was dressed in scrubs. The fighter opened the back doors on the van and unceremoniously dumped the woman inside. Johnny didn’t know who she was, but she hadn’t been struggling, and wasn’t moving, which made him think she was out cold, and there was just something about putting an unconscious woman in the back of a panel van that didn’t set right with him, especially by a guy the likes of the fighter.

He moved quickly and silently along the fence, getting into position, when the back door of the warehouse swung open.

“Eliot!” Esme yelled, her gun drawn and aimed. He didn’t know at what the hell what. Standing in the light, looking out into the darkness, she couldn’t be seeing a damn thing. It was just too damn dark, a new-moon night with the sun not quite breaking the horizon.

The fighter stopped and turned. Johnny could see the expression on his face, and it was one of confusion again.

“Let my mother go!” Esme said, her voice carrying across the lot, her steps carrying her down the side of the building.

Her mother, Beth Alden? Franklin Bleak had been damn busy tonight.

“Where’s Mr. Bleak?” the fighter, Eliot, asked, his confusion turning into belligerence.

“He’s on his way down, but he wants my mother to stay here. He’s not taking her to Mexico with us.”

Oh, hell, no, Johnny thought. No women from here were going to Mexico tonight.

“Walk away from the van, Eliot,” Esme said, continuing to move away from the light, he was sure in an effort to see her opponent more clearly. “Mr. Bleak wants you back up in his office. He needs help with the money.”

Nice try, but actually, Esme was not a very convincing liar.

“No,” Eliot said, a little unsurely. He was facing Esme, but reached back into the van and threaded his fingers through Esme’s mother’s hair before taking a strong, one-handed grip on her head. “Mr. Bleak told me to snap her neck, if things went wrong, and I think this is wrong.”

And that’s what came from thinking-trouble.

Johnny raised his pistol, lining up on Eliot’s head and moving forward. If the bastard made another move, he was dead.

And the bastard did, but it wasn’t to snap Beth Alden’s neck. With his attention on Esme, the fighter slowly slid his other hand to his waist, thumbing aside his jacket, his hand open. The instant Johnny saw the guy’s gun, he fired.

Eliot dropped like a stone, his pistol never leaving its holster.

Inside the warehouse, three of Bleak’s guys scattered like rats at the sound of gunfire, all of them heading in some fashion toward the loading docks door, leaving Dax and Duce squared off with Dovey Smollett and some big guy in a Chicago Bears jacket. But it wasn’t a contest. Within a split second of the gunshot, Dax had drawn his pistol, getting the drop on everybody, and was moving toward the back of the warehouse.

“Duce, you cover them.”

“I’m cool,” the Locos shot caller said, drawing a big, old, unwieldy but intimidating “Dirty Harry”.357 Magnum out of the back of his pants.

Gangsters, Dax thought.

White boys, Duce thought, barely holding off from a grin. He had two of them in his sights, two of Bleak’s. That jerk, to think he was going to pull off a coke deal in Duce’s backyard with the Parkside

Bloods looking on.

Bleak was fucking nuts.

And he’d gone up those stairs with a duffel bag full of eighty-two thousand dollars.

Duce liked that. He liked it a lot. He liked it so much, he was going to take his.357 and go give Franklin asshole Bleak a little visit.

But he owed Dax Killian, so he stayed put right up until Dax went through that back door, and then Duce moved out, running about half sideways to keep his gun leveled at the two white boys.

The big guy lifted his hands with a phone in one, which was nice, real polite. Little old Dovey Smollett was shaking so bad, Duce doubted if he’d be raising anything for a while.

“Hey,” the guy in the damn Chicago Bears jacket said. Didn’t he know he was in Bronco country? “Can I call my girl? I’m running late, and uh, she gets real mean if I’m late.”

Jerk white boys, couldn’t even keep their women in line.

“Sure, cabrón, call your woman.”

The guy hit a speed dial, and man, his woman must have been sitting on her phone, she answered so fast.

“Loretta,” the guy said. “Honey baby, this party is almost over, been some real noise out here. If you want to see me, you better be ready now… sure, baby. See you soon.”

Honey baby? Duce liked that. He thought his Carmelita might like honey baby, too. He knew she’d like the eighty-two thousand.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he started sidestepping up, keeping his gun on those two white boys the whole way.

Oh, my, God -Esme moved even faster down the side of the building, heading for the corner, which she hoped would provide her with some cover. She’d just gotten Eliot lined up in her sights, when the other shot had been fired and Eliot had disappeared from her field of view.

“Esme,” a voice called out, and she stopped cold.

Oh, my, God -relief flooded through her. It was Johnny.

She started forward, running toward the van, when his voice stopped her.

“Go get Solange, bring her around. I’ll get your mom.”

“Is she-”

“Fine,” he said. “She’s fine, but we need to leave, now. Oh, hell.”

“What?” she called out, backpedaling for a moment, but still heading around the corner for the Cyclone. With Bleak out cold and Eliot dead, she couldn’t imagine that Dovey or those other guys were going to give them too much trouble about getting her dad and getting the hell out of here.

“I can smell the cops coming, that’s all. Come on, Esme, move .”

She did, breaking into a run. He’d left the keys in the ignition, and she didn’t have any trouble firing the Cyclone up and finding reverse. She hit the lights, and after a few feet, spun the wheel and eased back around the corner, until she came to a stop at the van. She threw the shifter into neutral and pushed down the parking brake.

Eliot was everywhere, literally, but she didn’t dwell on it. Snap her mother’s neck? She didn’t think so, and she was oh, so grateful to Johnny for keeping that from happening. If he hadn’t, she would have-and there still would have been Eliot everywhere.

Between the two of them, they got her mom into the passenger seat, and Esme was about to crawl into the backseat, when the warehouse door opened and another shaft of light fell out on the Cyclone.

“Are we clear?” Dax asked, his gaze catching hers.

“Clear,” she said.

“And the money?”

“Up the stairs behind you. In a duffel on the floor in Bleak’s office, next to him.”

The door closed again, and she and Johnny both got in the rumbling Cyclone.

“Where’s my dad?” she asked.

“On his way to the hospital in Duce’s Escalade.”

Thank God. Esme allowed herself another moment of relief. Now all they needed was Dax and to get the hell out of here.

Dax ran up the stairs, burst through the door, and immediately saw Bleak bleeding and tied on the floor, out cold.

He couldn’t help but grin. His bad girl was so good, and he was so proud of her.

He snatched up the duffel and turned to leave, when the other door in Bleak’s office opened, and suddenly, there he was in a true Mexican standoff. Duce stood in the doorway, his.357 in his hand, and a whole lot of “what the fuck am I gonna do now” on his face.