No More Mr. Nice Guy (17 page)

I had to admit it, it felt damn good to be hugged up with someone soft and beautiful, with curves in all the right places. We slid into a booth in the back, and Harold insisted on buying our first round. Of course, he knew I wasn't leaving here without giving him a tip large enough to justify tossing some regulars out of the booth to give it to us.

“Damn, sure put it on my ass back at the house,” I said to Hazel, a stripper who got her name because of the color of her eyes. I'd been fucking with her for at least a year.

Now that I was home enjoying my freedom, Bruce and I had decided to head over to O'Dell's and have a couple of celebratory drinks with a few honeys. Not getting any pussy for six months sure made you appreciate it when you finally did.

Hazel batted her eyes at me. “I told you to take me out of rotation and make me a wife. You know I'm a keeper.”

“Yeah, well, we'll have to see about that,” I lied. Since she'd been so good to me, pulling out all her skills, I didn't want to burst her bubble.

“Majestic, you need to go 'head and let me have your baby. Just imagine how pretty our babies gonna be,” she said like that was gonna cement the deal.

“Baby, are you out your fucking mind?” I moved so I could get a good look at her face. The bitch was dead serious. I already knew the look Bruce had on his face before I saw it. He was try'na keep a straight face. “What I tell you about that baby shit before I got locked up? I already got a baby mama, and I ain't interested in being Lil Wayne or any of them other fifty-baby-mama motherfuckers. Play your fucking position and I'll keep you around. Otherwise, it's a long way back to Bellport.”

I glanced over at my man Bruce. “You hear this shit?”

“Shorty already know how I feel about that baby shit.” Bruce cut his eyes at Leelee, the pretty half-Asian chick at his side, and she nodded obediently.

“Yo!” I raised an eyebrow toward Bruce to get his attention. A brother had walked in dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He was obviously trying to fit in, but he had cop written all over him.

As the dude approached us, Bruce pulled out his wallet and removed some cash. “Ladies, y'all take this and hang out by the bar till I tell you.”

Leelee took the cash, and they scooted over to the bar.

“Can I help you, officer?” I asked the man, sitting up straight in my seat, my arms stretched across both sides of the booth.

The man looked around at the other patrons. He frowned, looking down at his outfit. “I'm not wearing a uniform. Why'd you just call me a cop?”

Bruce gave him a snort. “Man, you got
pig
written all over you. Ain't nobody in here wearing a polo shirt, or Levis jeans, for that matter.”

“And the biggest giveaway is those cheap-ass skips you got on your feet.” I laughed.

“I take offense to that,” he replied a little too loud, and for a second it appeared we were at a standstill. “My shoes ain't cheap.” Then all of a sudden, he burst out laughing. Bruce and I joined in.

“What's up, Pete? How's it going, man?” I stood up, shaking his hand and smiling at one of our most reliable business associates. In our line of work, it helped to be in bed with the boys in blue.

“Me?” He pointed to himself. “How you doing, man? It's good to see you out here in the world.”

“Man, you ain't saying nothing but the truth. I can do the time, but I prefer to be doing me, and me prefers to be free,” I told him in response.

“I know that's right,” Bruce chimed in as Pete took a seat in our booth.

“You come to have a drink, or you here on business?” I asked.

Bruce reached into his jacket and took out a heavy envelope and slid it to Pete, who was almost salivating to get his paws on the monthly payout. I can't lie, though. He deserved it this month. It was him who told Bruce about Lydell's treachery in the first place. Without his heads up, both of us would have been doing twenty years.

“Thanks, gentlemen.” He pocketed the cash-filled envelope.

“We're always happy to help out the boys in blue,” Bruce joked with him. Pete saluted.

“And the boys appreciate the donation. I'm gonna let you guys get back to your lady friends.” Pete stood up to go, but then he turned to Bruce.

“Oh, and that other shit you had me look into—those dates checked out. DaQuan Braithwaite was locked up on Rikers on April seventh.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, the bass growing heavy in my voice as I turned and faced Bruce, who didn't bother to hide his guilty look.

“I asked Pete to look into a rumor that DaQuan might have been locked up the day Rodney died.”

Pete glanced from me to Bruce and back, deciding he didn't want none of this. “Like I said before, I'm gonna let you brothers have some privacy. Call if you guys need anything.”

I wasn't ready for him to go just yet.“Hang tight over at the bar for a minute, Pete,” I told him. Pete knew that if he wanted another envelope next month he should do as he was told, so he went to the bar and sat down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I leaned across the table. “What the fuck, Bruce? When was you gonna tell me this shit?”

“I was hoping there wasn't gonna be anything to tell, but DaQuan's mama been running her mouth to anyone who would listen that I killed her kid. That he was innocent because he was in jail. So, I hit up Pete 'cause I didn't want some guilty motherfucker out here running free if I popped the wrong person.”

He paused when he was finished explaining. I stared him down but made no comment, which I knew would have his nerves on edge. Good. I needed him to feel uncomfortable. He was my right hand man and all, but I didn't want him to think for a minute that it was cool for him to make a move—any move—without discussing things with me first. My silence had the desired effect.

“I'm sorry, man,” he apologized nervously, “but I didn't want you having more shit to worry about until I was absolutely sure.”

“I got you,” I replied, nodding my head. I glanced over at Pete and summoned him back over to our table.

“I need you to take a closer look at Rodney's case,” I told him when he got up from the bar and came over to us. “I wanna know everything there is: suspects, witnesses, everything. It's worth twenty grand to me. Can you do that?”

Pete broke into a wide grin. I swear there were fucking dollar signs dancing in his eyes. “Absolutely. For twenty grand I'll find out who shot Kennedy for you. Give me a week.”

Bruce looked frustrated as Pete walked out. “I sure hope he finds something.”

“I'm not worried about that. We gonna get whoever killed my brother, and that motherfucker is gonna pay.”

“Where are we going?” my mother hissed, looking confused as she stared out the window. We'd just exited the Long Island Expressway and even before she'd opened her mouth, I knew what she was thinking. I'd just checked her out of the Wellness Center after a four-month stay, and this wasn't the exit to our Wyandanch home. I was sure she thought I was taking her to a new treatment center, or perhaps an institution. Despite her recovery, my mother was still a little off and sometimes quite paranoid.

“It's a little surprise,” I told her, holding back from explaining any more than I had to. I could see the worry appear on her face as she strained to figure it out. Her expression hardened, and I knew her thoughts had started to darken.

“You're taking me to another hospital, aren't you? I don't need another hospital stay, Niles. I'm fine. The doctor said the new medications are working good. Serious, baby, I'm fine. Please don't take me to another hospital,” she rambled.

I reached across the seat, taking her hand. “Ma, I promise I'm not taking you to any hospital or doctor or anyplace like that. I'm taking you to a happy place. You're going to like where we're going. You gotta trust me.”

“I do. I trust you, Niles. I'm tired. I just want to go home, take a bath, and lie down.”

“Mama, you're gonna be able to do all of that,” I assured her.

She nodded, looking around the car for the first time. She hadn't really paid any attention to it when she got in. She was too busy being concerned about leaving something behind at the center. If I had my way, my mother would never be going back to that place, despite how high-end it was. Hell, everything I was doing came out of needing to provide a better life for her, and I was happy to be able to do that.

“Where did you get this car?” she asked, her voice full of suspicion and concern. “Boy, are you dealing drugs?”

I burst out laughing. “No, Ma, I'm working as a consultant for a defense contracting firm. It's a really prestigious job, and, well, it comes with a lot of perks, like this car and a bigger salary than I ever dreamed possible. I was even able to hire Willie.”

“Hire Willie? Doing what? Willie don't like to work that much.”

“Driving this car. I have to meet with a lot of important people, and I guess they need me to impress them, so I have my very own driver.” I laughed at the very idea of it. It sounded strange even to me.

“Yep. I'm about to be doing big things, Mama. So you don't have to worry about me. I'm going to be able to take care of you,” I said, gripping her hand tighter.

I pulled into the driveway of a large colonial house, parked the car, and walked around to the passenger side to open Mama's door.

“Where are we? Those are pretty,” she said, admiring the flower pots on the wraparound porch.

“Home, Ma. We're home.” I grabbed her hand and led her up the steps.

The front door opened, and standing in the entryway with a huge grin on his face was Willie.

“Welcome home, Lorna,” Willie said to his sister.

She looked shocked, her mouth hanging agape. She kept staring from one of us to the other. “What is this?” she asked.

“Ma, you always said you wanted to live in one of those big houses over on Pidgeon Hill Road. Well, I found us a really nice one. It even has a stable in the back for horses. You always said that you wanted horses. So you want to see your new home?” I asked as Willie stepped aside and we went in.

“Oh my God, this is so beautiful,” she exclaimed and immediately started to cry.

Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her close. “Mama, you don't have to cry. This is good,” I told her.

“No, I think you're going to have to take me back to Wellness Center,” she said as she wept.

“The Wellness Center? Why? What's wrong?”

“Because I'm hallucinating. This is all one big hallucination, isn't it? I don't understand. I'm taking my meds.”

“No, Ma, this isn't a hallucination. It's real. All of it is real,” I replied, squeezing her in a reassuring embrace.

“Real. This is all real. Thank God. I thought I was losing my mind again,” she kissed me on the cheek. I felt her relax in my arms. “Thank you, son. Thank you.”

“You ready to see your new home? Now, anything you don't like we can take back, and you can get what you want. All your clothes are in the closets, but you can also go shopping and get whatever you want,” I told her all in one excited breath.

My mother started to walk around, taking in her new home like a kid in a candy store, going from room to room, nearly bursting with wonder and joy.

“Niles, I just have one question.” She stopped and stared at me.

“What's that, Ma?”

She had a big, childlike grin on her face. “When are we going to get some horses?”

“We can go look at horses tomorrow, Ma. How about that? I promise.”

“Thank you, baby,” she gushed, continuing her childlike exploration from room to room.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to a grinning Willie. “You did good, Niles. Real good.”

“Yeah, but if you're gonna be my driver, we got to find a home healthcare worker. I got a list of companies from the hospital.” I pulled out the paper with the information they'd given me at the Wellness Center when we checked Mama out.

“I may have someone,” Willie told me. “Somebody we might be more comfortable with. Lorna ain't gonna want some uptight nurse in her house. You know how she is about people. Let me handle this.”

“You sure?” I asked doubtfully. I wasn't necessarily comfortable relinquishing control of the situation. I mean, I loved my uncle, but Ma wasn't exactly in great shape when I first came home, and Willie had been the one in charge at that point.

“Trust me. I got this,” he said with a clear-eyed gaze. That's when I realized that Willie deserved the benefit of the doubt because he was a different man than he had been a few months ago. He was sober now.

“Thanks. I appreciate it, Willie.”

“Please, with all you do for us, it's the least I can do. You are a real good son—and you're not such a bad nephew either.”

There was nothing I hated more than having to justify my position to a bunch of paper-pushing, egotistical bureaucrats twice a year, but there I was, once again explaining myself to a group the company called The Committee. I'd completed the first half of my debriefing unscathed about ten minutes ago, and unlike most of the other times I'd been in front of The Committee, I felt good about it. As I walked back in for the second half of the meeting, I was actually looking forward to what I had to relay to the suits.

“Bridget.” Jonathan caught me right before I walked through the double doors like he had some kind of GPS on me. He'd been off to the side during the break, flirting with that wannabe assistant of his, Nadja, who was starting to look at me as if she considered me a threat. I did not know how the hell he had gotten her clearance to be in a meeting like this. “How about dinner tonight?” he asked me.

“How about you kiss my ass?” I replied curtly, keeping it moving.

“Well, we can do that too,” he whispered. Of course he stayed right there on my heels as I stepped my red bottoms into the secure conference room we'd been meeting in.

I ignored Jonathan, taking my place at the podium on the far side of the room next to the teleprompter. This wasn't your normal conference room. It was soundproof, swept three times a day for bugs, and had two-way monitors on the walls for the committee members who had to video conference and couldn't attend in person.

Today, though, most of the big wigs were in attendance, including the two big dogs, Director Douglas Bonaventura, who sat at the head of the table, and Senator Robert Stove, the chairman of the Committee on Homeland Security, who sat to Doug's right. The senator rarely ever made an appearance, so I knew this wasn't really about me but about Niles. Other than Douglas, Jonathan, and the senator, there were eight others seated at the conference table, and two on video cam. Nadja was the only other woman in the room.

I could always count on Douglas's support because he was a friend and mentor. I appreciated him, especially because he'd never tried to get in my pants.

“Gentlemen, are we ready?” I removed my paperwork from the leather valise I carried.

“Any time you are ready, St John.” Douglas's voice boomed with authority. He glanced over in Jonathan's direction, and Jonathan scrambled to his seat. “I'd like to hear about our new superstar.”

“Gentlemen, this is Niles Monroe, our newest operative and my new partner. Niles is the most efficient and effective partner I've had the pleasure to work with. It's only been a few months, and already he's taking risks and getting jobs done that men who've been on the job ten years are not prepared to handle.” I hit a button on the prompter, and a screen behind me lit up with a picture of Niles. Each of the committee members opened up a folder that had been placed in front of them. “As many of you know, Mr. Monroe was a Special Forces sniper with an unprecedented kill record. He's the man that took out Akbar, and he now works for us.”

All of a sudden, all eyes were on me.

I clicked the prompter, showing pictures of different dead men as I spoke. “Under my supervision, Mr. Monroe has taken out Hannes Baumgartner, the German who was planning to destroy New York's subway system; Muhammad Aabzaari, who was sent to the United States to recruit college students for ISIS; Tom and Wiliam O'Connell, two homegrown terrorists who planned on duplicating Oklahoma City in ten different states simultaneously; and Jomo Kibaki, number three on the FBI's Most Wanted list. Mr. Monroe's kill shots on the O'Connell brothers were like nothing I've ever seen before.”

“How is that possible? It says here he's only been an agent for less than six months.” Senator Stove's question was probably the same one half of the men in the room had been thinking. The only one who wasn't showing any reaction was Nadja, and that was because she had her head buried in Niles's file.

“Senator, I can understand your skepticism. Heck, if I wasn't there, I might not believe it myself; but I watched him complete each of his assignments,” I said very frankly. “And to answer your question, it's possible because he's just that damn good.”

“You honestly believe that?”

“Senator, when it's all said and done, this man may be this organization's and the nation's greatest asset.” I glanced over at Jonathan, who looked like he was going to suffocate in his own jealousy.

“I like the sound of that.” The senator sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile. Douglas nodded his approval.

“Now, I'd like to suggest—”

“It says here that his mother has mental illness and his sister died of a drug overdose, possibly suicide.” I was interrupted by Lance Rodgers, the only brother in the room and the biggest Uncle Tom in the building. He pointed at the report in front of him. Everyone in the room turned to the page on Niles's mother and sister. “Should we be concerned about mental illness? Maybe we should have his mental health tested. We don't want a ticking time bomb on our hands, Director.”

“Yes, his mother's bipolar, Lance, and his sister was a drug addict, but Mr. Monroe has never shown any signs of mental instability,” I snapped, hating to be called to task by this paper-pushing prick. Lance was part of Jonathan's team, so I knew where that question was really coming from. I looked over at Jonathan, who smirked smugly.

“As a matter of fact,” I continued, “he's been tested on all levels, and his scores have been off the chart. But if you'd like to take him out of the field and have him tested again, then who's going to handle the Wilcox problem? You? Somehow I doubt that, considering how your team handled the Tampa situation.”

Lance's face turned red, and more than a few people laughed.

That's it, Bridget. Keep them off balance,
I told myself.

“I don't think that's necessary. Mr. Monroe is well on his way to being one of our shining stars with your guidance, Bridget,” Douglas said, sounding proud of me and the treasure I was handing to the agency. I stood there grinning like a proud mother—or maybe like a proud trainer, because I was definitely not Niles's mother.

“Well, I, for one, want to meet him,” Douglas said to the obvious displeasure of some of the more insecure men in the room.

“And I'm sure he wants to meet you too, sir,” I assured him.

“Director, since Mr. Monroe has already taken out six of our most recognizable targets, then I say we test his skills on our West Coast problem.” Jonathan delivered this bombshell while smiling at me like he was handing me some fucking gift.

“What do you think, Bridget?” Douglas asked. I could see the hope in his eyes of eliminating a huge threat. Our West Coast problem was a man we called The Cat. He was a very dangerous arms dealer and smuggler connected to the Mexican Mafia. The Cat not only supplied terrorists with guns, but he was in some way responsible for half of the illegal weapons on the streets, along with a good portion of the illegal drugs. We'd been after him for years, but the man was elusive as a cat and just as hard to kill. He'd taken out at least ten of our best agents over the years.

“No.” I shook my head emphatically. I had to control myself from trembling at the thought of them sending Niles to deal with him. “He's not ready for that.”

“Why not?” Jonathan snapped. “If you're telling us he's our best, then we need to use him to take out our biggest threat. It just makes sense.”

“Jonathan, he's not ready.”

“What do you mean? How can he not be ready?” He slammed his hand on the conference table for emphasis, but I knew this was all an act for my benefit. Jonathan was just trying to get under my skin. “If he's not ready to handle The Cat, then what the fuck are you bragging about him like he's the Second Coming of Christ? Don't tell us how good he is unless you're willing to put him to the test—and that is the test.”

“It's only been a few months, may I remind you. Sure, we could send him, but I want to make damn sure he's seasoned so that when he does go to California, he comes back alive. For fuck's sake, I almost didn't make it out of there when you sent me, in case you forgot,” I seethed. There was no way I was ready to risk Niles the way he had risked me.

“Oh, now I see. This isn't about Monroe. This is about you and the fact that you almost got yourself killed trying to take down The Cat, isn't it?” He glanced around the table with a triumphant expression, like he had busted me, and I wanted to strangle him.

“Fuck you, Jonathan.” I let my feelings slip, but I didn't regret it. Now everyone in the room knew that this was personal. “I don't remember you running out West to confront that sadistic bastard.”

“If I remember correctly,” Jonathan shot back, “you volunteered for that assignment and went against a well laid plan to kill the man, in favor of your fucking dots.” Jonathan was trying to embarrass me, but I wasn't going out like that.

“You know what? Maybe it's time I came out of retirement and showed you how it's done, since your boy's not up to it.”

“Don't make me laugh. You told me yourself you have to have a real set of balls to be in the field. You've been behind a desk a long time, Jonathan. Don't come from behind it. You might find yours have shrunk quite a bit,” I countered. In truth, he was a really good operative in the field, maybe the best I'd seen until Niles, but I wasn't about to admit that to him.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jonathan snapped back. “I busted my ass in the field for this company.”

“Jonathan, no one ever questions your ability to do a great job,” Douglas reminded him, and like a good dog, he backed down. “Bridget, this is not a place for personal attacks.”

But Jonathan wasn't done.

“Why don't we leave it up to Douglas to make that decision, since he's the one in charge?” Jonathan challenged me like we were fighting over a bag of chips and not a man's life.

“Enough! This is not a pissing contest. We're talking about the safety and well-being of the American people,” Douglas said, throwing me a bone. At least he understood. “You wanna test this guy, let's send them to handle Alexander. You take care of him, and it'll take a lot of pressure off my back and the senator's.”

I stared angrily at Jonathan. “Consider it done, Director.”