2 Brooklyn James (22 page)

She looks at him cautiously, meeting his gaze.

“Please, have a seat,” he invites, sitting down at his table in full view of the monitors. “Come to join the winning team?” He beams proudly.

“You could say I’m entertaining the notion,” Emily returns keenly.

“What’s in it for you, I suspect?” Lon cuts through the red tape. “I can guarantee you’ll never feel inferior again.” He motions toward Gina. “Your days of being a sidekick will surely be through. Never set well with you, did it? You don’t strike me as a woman who’s content with scraps.”

“Now you’ve got my attention,” she replies.

“First thing’s first.” Lon claps his hands together. “What are your intentions with the young Maxim Kiesel?”

“What would you like them to be?” she fires back.

He smiles. “Good answer.” Addressing Gina, he says, “Not sure why you have such a strained relationship with this one. I find her quite charming.” Gina does not look at him, her eyes fixed on Emily. “Max’s happiness is of utmost importance to me, as well as his cooperation. You keep him content, we’ll get along just fine. However, if you were to become a distraction, we would have to address the future of our relationship.”

“His cooperation? Am I to assume that has yet to be determined?” Emily pries.

Lon shifts his hand from side to side. “You could say it’s up in the air. But,” he pauses. “If he had a reason to stick around, I’m certain he would. He has a loyal heart, my son.” His response solidifying Emily’s suspicions, she refrains from glancing at Gina understanding she is putting herself in the dangerous position between a mother and her cub.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how does one age ten years in the span of one year?” Emily inquires about the transformation from the ten-year-old Braydon to the now twenty-year-old Max.

“I would consider you a buffoon if you did not question such.” Lon momentarily scans the monitors before returning his attention to Emily. “The astutely wise and moral ETNA,” he spews sarcastically, “altered Braydon’s DNA...his cellular growth...because it would have been unethical to make a Vigilare out of a child. A rather painful process, I might add.” His breathing increasing, he grinds his hands together. “Do you have any children, Emily?”

“No.” She shakes her head.

“Then you are not accustomed to the torture of watching your child in pain. We’re not talking about a simple common cold, a broken leg, a cut to their flesh that will heal. You remember growing pains, Emily? As a child, the aches of the body growing appropriately, slowly over time?”

“Vaguely. But, yes, I think I can recall.”

“Now imagine that times a hundred.” His gaze shifting back to the monitor. “They were impatient. Challenging his delicate frame. His bones...muscles...organs...growing, maturing overnight.” His strong, squared jaw twitches. “He called for me. I could hear his screams. But I could not get to him. They had me shackled, in the same manner he was tied down.” He turns to Gina, the apples of her cheeks glistening with tears. “And you ask me how I came to be this way?” He clears his throat, looking back to Emily, her violet eyes smoldering and apologetic. “It was then that I discovered they could not contain me. Braydon’s cries initiated my Vigilare instinct.”

“Why isn’t he here with you now?” Emily questions.

“I took him to my father. Where I thought he would be safe. He is a man now...Maxim. A man should be free to make his own decisions. I would never propose to make him choose me.”

“But, you would propose to entice him,” Emily points out, with her participation, of course.

He grins, impressed with her respectful yet courageous brevity. “A man without motivation is no man at all.” He eyes Manny Briggs through the monitor taking out his frustrations on the jumpy, meek scientists.

“May I?” Emily asks.

Lon extends his hand in the trajectory of the television screens. “Please.”

Emily eyes the surviving members of ETNA frantically at work, her brows furrowed intensely. “What are they doing?”

“They are creating a subspecies of Vigilare. One that is moderate and militant. Beholden and self-sacrificing to me, my cause.”

“Terminable?” Emily concludes.

Lon nods, again impressed with her instincts.

“How very Hitler of you.” She grins.

“Hitler was a deranged wretch, his target the innocent. I assure you, it is not the righteous I am after.”

“And where do you propose to find such an egregious army?”

“Look no further,” he says, eyeing the white coats. “They wanted to be immortalized, and so they shall.”

“I do say, I enjoy such irony.” Emily marvels at the proposition of the unsuspecting, crooked souls creating their own demise. “And their first assignment?”

“I hear New Orleans has quite the mob situation on their hands. The Gambini Family.” He looks to Gina, searching for any sign of a response at his primary target, the mafia she inadvertently targeted in her case against Manny Briggs and Angelo Tulane. She gives him nothing.

Emily takes note of his gaze, responding, “You must have the Midas touch. She’s usually not this quiet.”

“Don’t let her fool you. The wheels are most definitely in motion. A true sign of an intelligent life form, a leader,” he comments, maintaining his glance in her direction. “First, listening.”

“Well,” Emily expels. “I believe I’ve heard enough. Where do I sign?”

Lon claps his hands affirmatively. “Off we go to the transfusion room.” He stands. “Ms. Truly, I hope you are not afraid of needles.” He eyes Gina hopeful of a rebuttal, which she does not deliver.

“Ah, it’s been a while, Sarge.”

“Gotta be like riding a bike, eh?” Tony smooth talks their way past the bouncers into the Blues Bar.

A local blues band pumps a raunchy beat out through the speakers as scantily-clad dancers keep perfect rhythm. Lining the tops of bars and perched strategically in corners, their toned physiques gyrate inside retro Go-Go cages. Pseudo-businessmen swarm the facility sporting flashy pinstripe suits, cubans hanging from their mouths, tumblers of liquor filling their hands. The dance floor hops. Poker and roulette tables are appropriately camouflaged along the back wall of the club.

Vinny Gambini makes an easy mark surrounded by a few of his closest acquaintances. They look straight out of 1960s Vegas—The Rat Pack. The five of them sit at a Blackjack table, two Zeus-like men dressed in black from head to toe, their hands crossed at their waistlines, stand at an unobtrusive, yet secure distance behind the men. The dealer is a voluptuous woman wearing a Bunny-esque costume, complete with a fuzzy tail and a headband of pink fluffy ears, and enough makeup to shellac five faces.

“You think this is a good idea, Sarge?” Marks apprehensively inquires.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Tony leads his entourage confidently toward their table.

“Ante up,” Vinny orders, a mound of chips in front of him.

“I’m out.” The man at the end of the table stands, forfeiting his chair.

“Pussy,” the suit across from him taunts.

Tony elbows Marks. “Umph,” Marks groans at the shot to his ribs. Tony gives him an apologetic, yet leading look. “May I?” Marks eyes Vinny.

Vinny takes a puff from his cigar, exhaling coolly with a nod. Holding his hand up at the exterior of his shoulder, the two Zeuses refrain from interceding. Marks sits down nervously at the end of the table. Aubrey stands behind him. “Not your usual stomping ground, Detective.” Vinny gathers his winnings from the kitty.

“Got the night off,” Tony chimes. “Thought we’d come see what all the fuss is about.”

“So long as you’re not here on official business, we’ll get along just fine,” Vinny checks him.

Tony pulls a wad of cash from his pocket, exchanging it for chips placed in front of Marks. “Maybe a little personal business. Nothing official. Far as I can tell, you’re in good standings with New Orleans PD.”

“Better be,” the man to Vinny’s right scoffs. “Seeing how Gambini Automotive provided the squad with a convoy of new cruisers.”

“I’m well aware of the charitable efforts of the Gambini Family,” Tony acknowledges, a hint of sarcasm resonating in his inflection. “Nice touch...the Charger,” he refers to the choice of police car. “Runs like a champ.” Max stands between Tony and Aubrey, taking it all in.

Vinny prods the dealer. She efficiently delivers one card upside down to each man at the table, another card face-side-up on each pile.

“Hit me.” Vinny takes another card.

“Me too,” the man to his right follows suit.

“I’ll hold.” Marks eyes the black Jack of spades staring back at him.

“One more time,” Vinny says. “Ahh,” he growls, the last card pushing him over the limit of twenty-one total points. The man to his right grins, setting comfortably at twenty points. Marks reveals his bottom card—a black Ace of spades.

“Blackjack!” Tony beams proudly. Aubrey catches his hand in mid-swing preventing it from landing encouragingly on Marks’ back. “Nice,” Tony comments on her swift reflexes, his apology for once again forgetting Marks’ current condition.

“You better speak your mind, Detective,” Vinny orders, a grin surfacing across his handsomely-aged Italian face. “If your friend’s luck continues, I’ll have to ask him to leave my table.”

Tony grins back, swiping the kitty in front of Marks who uncomfortably adjusts himself in his chair. “Manny Briggs. You seen him around?”

“Go ahead, darlin’,” Vinny addresses the dealer, speaking through his teeth, his cigar hanging from his lips. “Can’t say as I have. You see him, you tell him I’m looking for him. Son-of-a-bitch took my money for a job left undone.” He motions with his hand toward the bunny. She gives him another card.

“Hit me,” Marks says quietly. The man to Vinny’s right holds.

“Undone?” Tony questions. “Apparently you haven’t read the obituaries. Angelo ‘G-Lo’ Tulane was in them.”

“Are you insinuating I’m in the business of murdering folks?” Vinny removes the plump cuban from his mouth, mashing it out, perturbed at another hand won by Officer Marks.

“The way I see it, justice was done.” Tony eyes him.

Vinny holds his tumbler over his shoulder, only ice cubes residing. Zeus One tends to the beverage, giving the cocktail waitress a reprimanding look.

“That’s the problem with you cops,” the man to Vinny’s right begins, “you make a big show about equality, when in reality you’re just as biased as the next guy.”

“One more.” Vinny nods to the bunny who diligently deals another round.

The cocktail waitress approaches setting Vinny’s drink at his side. He seductively slips one of his chips into her bustier. She eyes the rest of the chips on the table in Marks’ favor. Snuggling up to him, she asks, “How about you handsome? Can I get you anything?” She licks her lips provocatively. “Anything you’d like.”

“No. No thank you,” Marks replies.

“You come in here hustling the man’s money, but you can’t spend any?” the man to Vinny’s right rebukes.

“It is customary to tip your waitress.” Vinny eyes Marks’ chips, his eye trailing up to the waitress’s bulging breasts.

Aubrey huffs, grabbing a chip from Marks’ pile shoving it into the woman’s bustier. “Take it elsewhere,” she impatiently responds.

“You know, your luck can run out at the table.” The waitress places her
call
ing card in front of Marks. “I’m a guaranteed jackpot.”

“Oh shit,” Marks mutters, knowingly.

Aubrey swipes the card up shoving it against the waitress’s chest knocking her aback. “How about a guaranteed ass-kicking?” Aubrey follows through with her momentum, prepped to deliver. Tony interjects, a protective arm around Aubrey’s waist. Vinny waves off the Zeuses. The waitress gives her a dirty look walking away. Aubrey smooths her hands through her hair reestablishing her composure.

Vinny lets loose a loud, boisterous laugh. “Got yourself a real live one there,” he commends Marks, returning to his cards, holding with a nine on the bottom of his pile and the queen of hearts on top. Marks and the man to Vinny’s right receive three more cards apiece before tapping out.

“Rumor has it you’re into the fishing business now,” Tony prods Vinny.

Vinny looks up at him sipping oak-colored whiskey from his glass. “Word travels fast in this town.”

“Seems Manny Briggs is a bit of a pyromaniac these days. Wouldn’t have anything to do with the string of fires along the bayou south of town, would it?” Tony continues, piquing Max’s interest, his head cocking to the side.

“I told you Manny Briggs doesn’t work for me anymore,” Vinny replies, waiting as the man to his right reveals his hand, his cards totaling nineteen. Vinny reveals his bottom card, a ten of clubs.

“Ah shit,” his neighbor exclaims, pushing his cards toward the dealer, her pile also totaling twenty points. Marks turns up his bottom card, an Ace, laying it beside an eight, a two, a three, and a seven of diamonds—totaling twenty-one.