Cold Blooded Assassin Book 6: Red Horizon (Nick McCarty Assassin) (11 page)

“You sure turned their water off, Muerto,” Gus replied. “As you say, we have facts now that were not in evidence.”

“At least we have the Lady’s registration cloaked to a point where Carone will have to send minions into town once he finds out where the Lady is ported. That will tell us more too. We have surveillance coverage all over our docking area. Carone’s already after my ass so fooling around with him today won’t mean much in the way of added danger if he does link us to the Lady. Besides, I feel better now. If the prick would have shown his face anywhere on deck, we could have assaulted the Tempest at our leisure, and tracked it while the crew came to grips with their headless leader.”

“I watched for Carone, Muerto,” Cala said. “He did not even peek out above deck.”

“Johnny was spotting for me. He didn’t see any sign of Fernando either. Paul knows I have to get Carone. He’s already supported my request for full on satellite surveillance we can tap into. If the Tempest moves, I want to know where. If they land a helicopter on the yacht, I want to know where it goes when it leaves. I’ll call John when we get home after having a sip on my deck in honor of the poor lost souls in today’s boating accident.”

Nick’s remark provoked instant hilarity as Gus increased speed for home.

Chapter Four

Tempest Collaboration

“I want you, Harding!”

The shout from the entrance drew the attention from my party crowd, but only barely. When I get the Monster Squad together for a dinner date, the only matter even a little entertaining would be a frontal assault on The Warehouse. The families enjoyed an earlier dinner and an extended enjoyable time of jokes, sporting talk, and no mention of Monster business. Claude Chardin and his wife seemed to love every moment with our very strange group of deadly killers, and our earlier meeting hour before dinner proved informative. I knew a handful of the most dangerous people alive stood near me at the end of the bar away from the entrance. I had two stretch limos bring us all here. One took our families home after the more jovial part of the night. We Monsters sipped drinks together now: Lucas, Casey, Denny, Laredo, Clint, Lynn, Tommy, Jess, Dev, Jafar, Samira and Lynn’s minions – Silvio Ruelas, Gus Denova, and Quays Tannous. Our guests, Alexi Fiialkov and Claude Chardin, listened to everything in play concerning Nick’s new information on Saran Al-Kadi’s compound at Pilot Hill.

The Warehouse, an Oakland PD cop bar, was our informal and sometimes formal hangout. Because I became predictable in also meeting some famous names in the UFC fight circuit, we kept getting interrupted at annoying times like these. Everyone had been waiting for me to finish my description of the black op we’d have to do on Al-Kadi’s compound, and a new wrinkle Nick introduced about confiscating the place. I could tell Claude knew the names I mentioned but waited until I finished to add his knowledge of the subject. There were a few police officers working the gaming section while sipping beers on the house at Alexi’s treat. We had reserved the bar but no police officer was turned away, with or without family. My Monsters chuckled and snorted in amusement at the people interrupting our evening. Our wonderful waitress Marla began walking over to confront them but Alexi took her arm, shaking his head.

“It’s about time the entertainment arrived, Cheese.” Lynn smiled at her deadly mate, Clint. She lived for my annoying interruptions.

“Damn… what is this a ‘Black Lives Matters’ protest,” Tommy muttered for our group to hear. “Did you shoot one of my people in public, DL?”

That of course provoked hilarity which did nothing for calming our visitors’ attitudes. Jess and Dev bumped fists with Tommy.

“Good one, T,” Jess said. He turned to me with massive black hands on hips. “What have you done, DL?”

Lucas Blake waved my personal jokesters off. “Don’t start that ‘Black Lives Matter’ shit in front of me. I can’t even read the news without getting violent images of a rooftop, my sniper rifle, and the next BLM human roadblock in my sights.”

“Lucas! I’m surprised at you - a black man, not wanting to embrace those race baiting thugs claiming to speak for all us po’ black folks,” Devon said in fake outrage.

Then it was on. Lucas went for Dev with Casey conveniently holding Lucas back. Jess grabbed Dev in the same hold me back posture as Lucas and Dev danced around, motioning at each other in ‘come on and get some’ type gestures. It was very funny and their playacting distracted our annoying visitors so much they simply stood at the entrance watching. They pulled all the clichés out for their fake verbal duel.

“You ain’t black. You white in your head,” Dev said.

“I’m bad, black, and got a job so I don’t have time to go out pissing off other blue collar working stiffs trying to make a living!”

“Uncle Tom! You nothin’ but a ‘House Negro’ eatin’ with Jim Crow!” Dev stabbed an accusing finger at Lucas.

“Listen, Topsy. Get out of my face before I show you what happens when Snow Whites need Marine attitude adjustments!”

That was too much for Dev. I think the ‘Topsy’ tag got him. His infectious laughter broke Lucas out of his role, and soon he was braying with Dev and the rest of us. When I saw the group at the door begin moving toward us, I straightened to move forward and meet them with my hands out in a placating posture. We had real business. The leader of half a dozen relatively well dressed black men in their twenties all in dark suits, bowties, and sun glasses stood in a triangle as if they were swallows flying home for the winter to Capistrano.

“I’m John Harding,” I told the leader, who was a bit larger than me in every way.

“We did not appreciate that minstrel show your houseboys put on for our amusement.”

Uh oh. I spun only just in time to catch a flying Lucas with murder in his eyes and on his brain. Tommy, Jess and Dev joined me. “Easy Gunny. These aren’t BLM’s. Let me find out what they are.”

Lucas pointed at the leader, his features a sudden mask of dead calm. “You call me houseboy or minstrel again, Farrakhan’s turd, and I’ll snap my fingers like this.”

Lucas snapped his fingers.

The leader grinned in the usual condescending manner most of us were familiar with when looked on as ignorant jerks by the more enlightened amongst us. “What happens then, old man?”

In the next instant Lynn materialized at his side as if beamed there with razor sharp knife at his throat. “When Pappy snaps his fingers again, I slice your throat, and we kill everyone you walked in with. What we joke around about with each other in a private party has nothing to do with you, ass-wipe. Speak every word from now on as if your life depends on the content because it does. Say you understand.”

The man looked at death. Luckily, he recognized it. I didn’t plan on any more interventions. I was hoping Alexi was placating our Oakland PD friends in the gaming section. His companions I could tell were less than enthused with the situation. “I…I understand.”

Lynn patted his face. “Good. Don’t forget. My reminders won’t go well for you.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay then. You wanted to see me. How may I help you?”

“I am Mohammed Knowly of the Nation of Islam. Your group of-”

“Careful!” I could see the end of life smile on Lynn’s face. Lucas was straining to hold onto control at my side. “You apparently didn’t understand Lynn’s warning clearly enough. Stick to the point you came here to make. I thought you guys all wear red bowties.”

“Never mind our dress, Harding. Your group has been terrorizing the Muslim community. We’ve been informed of your intervention to take Amara Nejem from her rightful family, and you have a woman preaching hatred against Islam in public: Samira Kensington.”

“Amara is part of our family now. She’s going to college, learning skills, and is a personal assistant on movies with Director Dostiene. Amara couldn’t be happier. As for Samira, she’s here now and can speak for herself.”

Sam slipped forward through the grinning Monsters with a smile and Jafar at her side. He wasn’t smiling. “I’m Samira. If you mean that I speak of Islam’s subjugation of women, you are correct. Islam needs reformation. I do not consider myself a Muslim any longer, and your sect believes in the extermination of white people. Even true Muslims don’t go that far… yet. I have looked into the hatred long enough. I only speak now when asked, and I am honest in my admission. Women are not chattel to be abused. I have a daughter now, and I will kill anyone who tries to treat her as they do other women under Sharia Law. Why are you self-important toads really here? Amara Nejem and I are not slaves. We are free, happy women.”

“There you have it, Mr. Knowly,” I said, when Samira’s introduction caused momentary silence. “Did we cover everything? This is a free country. If you and your friends don’t like it, maybe you’d better move to a country with Islam’s brand of Sharia Law slavery, if they’ll have you.”

“You represent the Oaktown Cartel. I’ve come to challenge you.”

When the laughter died down I took another deep breath. “I don’t think you understand the rules of the Oaktown challenge, Mohammed. If I win, Oaktown absorbs your group. I can’t speak for the others but I don’t want your Nation of Islam toadies. As I understand it, you don’t sell drugs, or do anything else against the law. We only stop gangs terrorizing communities. You’re free to live any way you wish on your own, including hating anyone who doesn’t match your skin color or beliefs. As long as you don’t act on that hatred, we won’t ever have a problem.”

“If I beat you in the cage, you will hand over Amara Nejem, and stop Samira Kensington from blaspheming Islam. If you win, we will forfeit twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Okay… now you’re pissing me off. I don’t own Amara. My associate Lynn will slice you into little pieces if you touch Amara. If you ever threaten Samira Kensington or Amara, we will erase you and your crew from the face of the earth without a trace. That said, why in hell would I need to fight you? In addition, even the Muslim hate groups like ‘The Muslims of the Americas’ don’t recognize the Nation of Islam. They’re a cult to us, and they think of the NOI as a sub-cult. I don’t see them reaching out to you bunch. What do you want and why should I care?”

My dismissal of his objective ticked him off.

“So, you are afraid to face me!”

“You better cool that talk, brother,” Dev told him, trying to ease a public confrontation from ending in a killing. “John explained we’re not in the slave trade and we protect our own. Even if he agreed to fight you in the cage and lost, you wouldn’t get Amara or silence Samira. We have no beef with the NOI community. Why… oh… I get it.”

Dev turned to us, his confused companions. “It’s the Nejem family. We hit them hard without a follow-up. They must have decided to get the NOI in on the situation. Talk about snakes out of different pits.”

“The Nejem family requested our help in rectifying this outrageous situation. Amara was promised in marriage to a true believer. It is her duty to honor that contract,” Knowly said.

“Are you stupid?” Tommy and I had faced off with NOI members before. They’re a bit like the black Klan, but instead of simple separatism as the Klan practices, the NOI want the white race to disappear. Usually, they stay inside their own community with the race hatred stuff. “Dev just explained you’re not getting Amara. John and I have worked together for years in Oakland. We’ve seen your communities taking care of their own. Live and let live. Back out of here and forget the money the Nejem family promised you. Yeah… I’m certain there’s a payoff for this dumb move, but you can’t spend it if you’re dead.”

“Besides, Betty,” Lynn decided to throw gasoline on the cooling flames, “you couldn’t beat the Dark Lord in a cage-fight with a baseball bat, pussy. Hey… that’s an idea. Why don’t-”

“Don’t say it, psycho!” Tommy’s intuitive hunch as to where Lynn was going with her insult generated amusement. He turned to Knowly, who was seething under Lynn’s verbal smack-down. “I’ll tell you what, John will fight you straight-up for twenty-five thousand if you want to get your ass kicked that badly, but you won’t be getting anything else.”

“Or… if you’re smart,” Jess added, “you’ll walk the hell out of here. Grab your prayer rugs for getting down on hands and knees and thank Allah you’re still alive.”

“What’ll it be, Huckleberry,” Tommy asked. “We have real business to attend to.”

“How much did the Nejem family offer you, by the way?” I wanted to know for future reference.

I could tell the way his features went blank for a moment he never thought we’d question his motive, but Tommy knows nearly everything has a money origin. I wanted a figure to determine if we needed to erase the Nejem family or not.

“Fifty-thousand, brother,” Jafar stated. He had been working his iPad. He has clearance to use any assets the FBI or CIA offer. Hacking into financial institutions isn’t one of them but Jafar knows his way around.

“How… you cannot access our financial records without a warrant!” Knowly neared the sanity demarcation line. “I will report this!”

“No you won’t. Put up or shut up,” Tommy demanded.

“I will beat you to death in the cage,” Knowly stated, pointing at me. “Then, I will work with the Nejem family to destroy your organization of criminals.”

Tommy sighed. “Tomorrow at nine in the evening. Do you know where we hold the cage fights?”

“I know it. You will pay for these blasphemies tomorrow night, Harding.” Knowly backed his crew out the door.