Fierce Defender: Book 2, Hard to Handle trilogy (10 page)

Late Wednesday Night

Gray stripped off his shirt when he got home and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water as the phone to his ear connected his call. He had an epiphany of sorts on the ride home. Something about the Harley and the wind in his hair cleared his thoughts. But the ride had made him hot and thirsty. He pulled the lid off the water and drank half the bottle before Gomez’s sleepy voice came on the line.

“Yes, Grayson. What’s up?” Gomez yawned. “And at this late hour…” he added.

“Sir,” Gray said to Special Agent Gomez, “I’m sorry to call so late, but I remembered something that we might be able to use.”

He walked quickly past the mirror on the wall as he headed to his living room. He hated when he got a glimpse of that ugly tattoo on his back. He wanted to have it removed, but he knew he may still need it while he was working this outlaw biker case. It was a swastika, like Danielle had revealed to the others. Underneath it, blocked letters read:
God Forgives, Brothers Don’t
. It was a grim motto the Brotherhood used to denote what would happen to snitches. He also had a four-leaf clover on his right upper arm. Thankfully, when he was in the real world, his clothes kept them both covered, but his first order of business when the case was over would be to remove the swastika… even if he needed a blowtorch.

“What’s going on with Sam?” he asked before jumping into the reason he had called.

Gomez sounded like he was still angry about the whole thing. “He’s crying on the director’s shoulder about his wife all of a sudden. He wants us to say, ‘Poor Sam,’ and forget that he could very well have gotten one or more of us killed by feeding information to Heston. He should have come directly to me… Anyways, he’s still being debriefed, so hopefully we’ll get some leads to finding his wife… and Heston. She’s been gone for almost three months. Jeez! Who lets it go for that long?”

Gray had thought the same thing. What was Sam thinking? Either he was enjoying his work, or enjoying his wife not being around. Three months was a ridiculous amount of time for him to do nothing.

After the meeting in the office with the entire team, Sam had left with Gomez and the director. Gray had been told that Sam’s mother-in-law and baby were being taken somewhere safe.

“Who’s debriefing him?” he asked.

“The director himself,” Gomez said with a chuckle. “If having his wife taken and the director up his ass doesn’t put the fear of God into him, I don’t know what will. Well, those two things along with the baby being taken to a safe house. He’s really upset over that. Says he can’t live without his baby girl. Maybe that will light a fire under his ass. I’m guessing the director will want him to keep up feeding some kind of information to Heston, until we get him or Sam’s wife or both.”

“I’m sorry, one more question and then we’ll move on. He said yesterday that they haven’t allowed him to talk to Tammy at all. What makes him think she’s even still alive?”

“Because Sam hasn’t received a box with her head in it yet. That’s Heston’s style. Unfortunately, that’s the only proof he’s given him that she’s still alive. But I’ve got a big day tomorrow… so?”

“I was thinking about that case we worked a while back. The one involving the Aryan gang.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I’ve been to court on three of those cases so far, one was the recruit and two were soldiers. I know we brought two other soldiers and a general in on that same sting, but I wasn’t involved in those three. Are any of them still in County lock-up?”

“Yeah, last I heard from the prosecutor, one of them pled guilty to drug charges and gang affiliation and ended up shanked before he got to where he was going. They got him on the bus. The other one went to trial about a month ago. That one was Sam’s collar, so he got called to court on him. He should be in the prison of the State of Texas’s choice by now. You were deep in that thing in Sutherland Springs then, that’s probably why you weren’t aware. The general, Terry… something or other, was still in County last I heard, pending trial.”

Gray laughed. Gomez cracked him up. He was half white and half Mexican, married to a Cherokee woman, and had adopted an Asian child. He wasn’t the least bit racist. He was, however, anti-gang, and the Aryans were one of the most violent ones around in Texas these days. Gomez called them all “Terry something.” It was his way of minimizing the “respect” they went around crying about being entitled to.

“I think Terry was the name of the general who ratted out the organization a couple of years ago, and also the name of one of the suspects in the murders of the prosecutor and the DA and his wife. I think this guy’s name was Christopher… something. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, probably,” Gomez said. “But Terry comes up so much that I thought they were all named Terry for a while. Where are you going with this, Gray?”

“Heston’s got a boss, somewhere. The best guess is in Mexico, and in some relation to the Mexican Cartel, right?”

“That’s the best theory we have,” Gomez confirmed. “Vincent was barely a blip on the radar when he was running his operation back in Minnesota. Suddenly, he gets to Texas, close to the border, and he’s nearly the next kingpin to be reckoned with. He’s rebuilding too fast, according to what Sam said today, and my informant has told me he’s not doing it on his own. His business was stripped and his assets taken or frozen. He got money to rebuild from somewhere.”

“Right,” Gray said, agreeing with everything Gomez was saying. “Maybe it came from his father, but our sources say that he and the old man aren’t close, right? Gil Sanchez denies that Heston is even his son, I hear. But sir, what I know about the Aryans is, despite their widely held reputation for being driven by hatred of any race other than pure white, the management of the group these days is primarily focused on profits from drug trafficking in conjunction with the Mexican Cartel. Either they’re working with Heston, or they’re working against him. Either way, if anyone knows where Heston might be right now, it would be a general in the Brotherhood.”

“So you think this Terry can tell us where Heston is setting up his new operation and who his supplier is?”

“I think he can, yes. Whether or not he will remains to be seen. I’d be willing to bet he wouldn’t tell us as DEA agents, but he might tell another ‘Brother.’ I need you to get me in there. I can use the leverage I’ve gained with the Sons of Satan to befriend him.”

“Get you into County? That place is more dangerous than the bars you hang out in and the bikers you ride with, Grayson.”

“I know,” Gray acknowledged. “But these bikers who are hanging out in the bars are answering to the guys in the prisons. You know as well as I do, sir, that the orders for what happens on the street are coming from inside. I’m not going to volunteer for the state prison, but maybe I can learn something in the county jail. I may as well put this piece of shit tattoo on my back to some kind of use before I get it burnt off, and you have to admit, we’re not getting anywhere out here. The County time can only do me well in my other investigation as well. The Sons of Satan are running drugs for the Mexicans. The Mexicans are in bed with the Brotherhood. It all goes hand in hand, Boss.”

Gomez sighed. Gray could almost see him dragging his hands through his hair like he always did when he was thinking. “I don’t know if the higher-ups will go for this, Grayson,” he said. “We can’t protect you in there. You know that the floor staff inside can’t be trusted to keep that kind of information safe. We’d have to send you in as a regular inmate, as far as they’re concerned.” He was thinking out loud, Gray knew. Gomez proved it as he said, “You just got that new haircut…”

“I’m getting out the razors as soon as you give me the green light.”

“Shit,” Gomez sighed. He trusted Gray’s instincts almost as much as he did his own. Gray hoped he understood what a good idea he thought this was... “Okay, I’ll call over there and see what I can do. I can’t promise the sheriff will go for this. If he says no, we’re SOL.”

“That’s why now’s a good time to set it up,” Gray told him. “The director is still in town, right?”

Gomez huffed. “You’ve looked at this from every angle, haven’t you?” The DEA director and the current sheriff of Bexar County were roommates in college. Gray had learned such in passing once and filed it away for later use. It was time to pull it out.

“Make sure the Sons of Satan show up on my affiliation sheet. I want them to cell me up with the general. And, sir, one more thing. I’d like Freeman in there with me.”

“Does Freeman know he’s going to jail?” Gomez asked.

“Not yet, but I’ll call him as soon as we hang up. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

***

Delighted, Freeman was not. Grayson’s call woke him from a dead sleep. He could tell by Freeman’s extra dose of grumpiness when he answered the phone. Before he could hang up on him, Gray quickly told his friend and colleague his plan.

“Shit, it’s because I’m black, isn’t it?” he accused.

Gray laughed. “Well, now that you mention it...” he admitted. “I’ll get the information on my side. I’d like to see if you can get any on the other.”

“All right, damn it! What charges am I going in with?”

“Attempted murder, and maybe we’ll throw in assault on a police officer to get you some points inside.”

“You’re so good to me,” Freeman told him.

“I know,” Gray said with a grin. “I’d do it for any of my friends. This is why I’m so popular.”

“I’m going back to sleep now. It might be the last good night I get for a while.”

******

Stockdale, Texas

Thursday Morning

Vincent strolled down the quiet street with Marcella on his arm. This really wasn’t such a bad place, he thought. He might even consider settling down here someday… when he found the woman who would be his wife and have his children. It reminded him somewhat of the quaint little town in Mexico where he had grown up.

His mother had also come from a small town, one buried in the heart of Texas, before Gilberto Sanchez met her and made her his queen. She had told Vincent the story of first seeing Gil in the bakery where she worked for her father. They lived in a town called Bear Creek, with a population of less than five hundred people. It was the type of place where everyone knew each other.

Gloria Heston was never happy to see the proprietor of the bakery, an older man named Mr. Wrigley, but she had been delighted one day to see a new face with him. Gilberto Sanchez had been a strikingly handsome man in his youth, Vincent’s mother had always said. He had olive-colored skin, coal black eyes, and dark wavy hair that was as thick as rope. He dressed sharply too, not like the dusty old cowboys that Gloria was used to around town.

“You look just like him, Vincent,” she told him often.

Mr. Wrigley introduced her to Gil, and she served the men. As she did so, Mr. Wrigley let his old, wrinkly hand rest on Gloria’s backside. It made her sick when he touched her. She despised him, but he owned half the town, including the building the bakery was in. Her father had urged her to “be nice” to the older man and turned a blind eye to the things his daughter had to do in order to accomplish that. Sometimes, Mr. Wrigley took her right there in the back room of the bakery. Her father would just turn up the radio so that no one would hear her screams.

As soon as she saw Gilberto that day, she knew he would be her husband and save her from the torture she experienced in Bear Creek.

Likewise, Gil had seen the pretty girl with the shy smile and the auburn hair behind the bakery counter, and he knew he had found his queen. Vincent knew his father was drawn to redheads. Gilberto Sanchez had grown up on a mountain in the Mexican state of Michoacán. He hadn’t seen his first redhead until he was in his teens. That one had been a hooker, and as she took Gil’s virginity for twenty bucks and a bad case of the clap, he found out that her hair was dyed. She was the last hooker that Gilberto Sanchez would ever allow to touch him, but something about her stuck with him, because after her, he refused to look twice at any woman who didn’t have red hair.

Gloria found out later that Gil was there that day for a meeting with Mr. Wrigley to ask the older man to be his business partner, until the man’s… untimely death a few years later. Some people may have thought it strange that her father died within days of Mr. Wrigley’s passing. They were both murdered and dismembered. Their murders had gone unsolved.

After becoming engaged, Gil and Gloria moved to Matamoros to marry and begin their family.

Vincent smiled at the thought of his mother.

When he spotted a very specific bakery a few blocks down, he looked at Marcella and said, “What say we indulge in a bear claw before we commence our work for the day?”

“That sounds yummy, Señor Heston,” she told him.

Vincent suddenly stopped, and his grip on the upper part of Marcella’s arm tightened. “What did you call me?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” she said, fighting back tears. His grip on her arm was like a vice. “I meant to say Mr. Brown.”

He relaxed and said, “Don’t make that mistake again. You’re here as part of my cover, Marjorie. Remember that. I can always send you back to be Marcella the maid’s daughter cum slut at the drop of a hat… or worse.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Brown.” He knew he hurt her feelings when he talked to her that way, but it was her own fault. She would need to try harder to please him.

Vincent led her inside the bakery. The place was small, with only four or five tables and a counter, but it smelled wonderful and was sparkling clean. As they sat down at a table by the window, a vision from his dreams walked out of the back. Vincent knew who she was, of course. She was part of the reason why they were here in this little shithole section of Texas. He hadn’t known how lovely she was, though, or that she had red hair. Imagine how proud his papa would be…

Cuffed

San Antonio, Texas

Bexar County Jail

Late Friday Morning