Ebb Tide Ch. 01

Members of the criminal establishment knew that they were paying money to somebody with more clout than them even though all they saw was the collection agent. When a person, or group decided not to believe in 'the system', they met a messy end...just not at the hands of the collectors. That impressed upon the other crooks that there was an upper echelon. A few had aspirations of joining it one day.

Every form of vice had its hierarchy. With the sex industry, it was the legend of Circe, who was turning out to be not so legendary. Only a handful of criminals believed that she was real - she was more like a 'Santa Claus' ... who hated all living things. You paid your taxes because you DIDN'T want to find out if the legends were real or not. That was the dilemma the crew leader found himself in.

He probably knew Pablo. He obviously didn't like the pimp. That was written all over his face and projected by the attitude of his people. Pablo had hired them to kill two nobodies and dispose of the bodies. These guys weren't Mensa. Yet, with a hostage, a pissed off pimp and four armed men, I was the guy acting with total self-confidence - as if I was in control.

"That's bullshit," Pablo roared. Yep, too many pain-killers. He wasn't thinking straight. "Kill the bitch then kill him!" He brought the shotgun up, flinched in pain and blew a chunk out of the real estate half way between me and him. The recoil pushed him back and lifted the gun too high. His second and last shot exited at a roughly 45 degree angle above me and off to my left.

Me and the guy with the Mac-11 came to a telepathic understand. If either one of us moved, a firefight would break out...so we stood still. His buddies shrunk back for some cover, but when those two shots went unanswered, they stepped back from the precipice of violence.

"Mother-fucker!" Pablo screamed. "You dodged." The recoil pressure of a 12 gauge shotgun held in only one hand had to suck. Part of that force being channeled up his arm into his right shoulder would have then been diverted into his crippled left shoulder. Moron.

"If anyone helps Pablo reload his gun, or gives him another, I'll kill you both," I commented dryly.

"We still have the girl," the leader pointed out. Pablo was having issues with coordination. I watched him like a hawk while the rest kept him within their peripheral vision. He dropped the gun, kept cursing me, picked it up then turned around, back to me. He had placed the shotgun down on the car seat and was pulling spare shells out of his pants pocket when I gave the leader a nod.

Since the leader didn't responded yet, when my pistol jumped up and I shot Pablo in the ass, no one decided it was worth returning fire. My gun hand immediately returned to my side.

"No harm - no foul," I grinned at them. "Right guys?" They must have really come to hate Pablo.

Those poor, dumb bastards; they must have been stuck in that SUV with him for hours as he lost his fucking mind. I'd hated him within the first ten seconds of meeting the guy and time had not made my heart grow fonder. Pablo had a new set of difficulties. I'd shot him in the ass-crack and by the increase pitch of his yowls, I'd hit what I was aiming for. I had shot off his nuts ~ not the total package, only the testicles.

That sort of wound was more likely to kill you later with an infection than currently with blood loss. I had warned Pablo that I was going to take my time killing him. My current schedule wasn't flexible enough to repay his sadism with the proper currency. I figured thirty ~ forty minutes max and I'd have my deal, or be dead.

"I suggest you call someone more connected than either of us and pass on the word that you know what happened atVegas Fantasies," I told him. "We can both end up as winners by sunset." It was not even 7 pm yet so that boast had some foundation.

"What happened at Vegas Fantasies?" he inquired.

"I blew it up," I stated coolly. "I had to let Pablo's people know I wasn't to be trifled with."

"So you blew up a place...with a bomb?" the Godfather goombah wannabe gulped.

"Yeah."

"Who the fuck are you?" the leader's brows furrowed.

"I'm a paramedic."

"What...what...is that a nickname? Like the Mechanic?" goombah babbled. The leader had out his phone. Pablo had finished sliding out of the suburban's back seat onto the ground. He gave off another yelp of pain as he did so.

"Help me..." Pablo feebly tugged on the leader's pants leg. The guy kicked him away. Leader-guy had a short, hushed yet intense conversation. Now we were all standing around with nothing to do. I gave it two minutes.

"Do you guys have any water?" I inquired. They looked around.

The leader nodded to the black driver who walked around the far side of their ride, opened the back hatch and began looking around.

"Ah, girls' clothes...condoms...more condoms...old takeout bags...nuthin'," the driver inventoried Pablo's possessions.

"I've got a case of bottled water in my trunk," I offered. "Interested?"

"Is it like, poisoned or something?" the leader examined me.

"Nah. Send your guy," I motioned to the goombah, "over, I'll give him my keys. He'll get the water, give me a random bottle and I'll drink first. Deal?"

They agreed. It was fucking hot, we lived in a desert and the Sun was still up in the sky. A little bit of juggling later, each member of the crew had two bottles plus I'd convinced the boss to pour a bottle into the dirt next to Pablo's face. Not a drop hit his lips. If he wanted any liquid refreshment, he'd have to lick it off the ground. Did I mention that I had been a truly wicked soul until recently?

32 minutes after the leader's first call, his phone rang. He looked at me.

"Yeah. The guy who says he did it is standing in front of me," he replied to someone's question. "Ummm...he's got a gun and he's behind a car..." (the other party was speaking) "Ummm...I don't know," then to me. "What's your name?"

"Tell the person on the other end 'that will cost them'," I responded. More talking.

"How much?" he relayed the request. Hey, I'd blown up a building/profit center. That draws people's attention. I began pointing at each member of his crew.

"One, two, three, four - $20,000, the girl plus I want a specific someone to go away," I answered.

Three of the four crew member realized they were looking at a $5000 payday and were very happy. Yes, I was buying off my would-be killers with some unknown entity's money, exiting Pablo from this mortal plane and, most importantly, getting Dabney back.

"They want to set up a meeting," he said.

"Sure. Three conditions: your crew gets paid ASAP, you four get to dispose of Pablo and the girl stays with me," I demanded. More talking.

"What's to make us - them believe that you won't run off with the girl?"

"If I was going to run away, why didn't I leave town last night? Why did I take out 'Vegas Fantasies'? Why aren't the five of us exchanging bullets right now?" I pointed out.

"Besides, I'd still have to get to Henderson to pick up her sister and kids," I added. "What are the odds of me pulling that off?" Could Sammi run for it? Yeah. Her issue was in how she would get away.

Where?" the leader requested a few seconds later.

"I get Dabney; they get to pick the place," I suggested.

"You know what happens to everyone you care about if you don't show up?" the guy was repeating someone else's words. The crew leader didn't truly understand the threat. The people threatening me didn't understand what threatening me might cost them either. I nodded. "They say they'll be in touch real soon." We waited around all of six minutes until his phone rang again.

This time he walked over to the hood of my car and slid his phone over to me. Someone wanted direct communication.

"Who am I talking to?" It was Reagan. She sounded pissed too. Her computer person must have been on top of their game.

"I'm Rafael Rivera," I answered. Pause.

"You are the first European to set foot in Las Vegas?" she murmured. "You sound very well preserved for a man your age." Considering he did that deed back in 1829, I concurred.

"Either you collect odd bits of historical trivia, or you are a native," I countered.

"I think we should meet, Rafael," she brought some control to her voice. She meant to kill Dabney and me.

"I've told you my name. Why don't you tell me yours?" I asked her.

"Virginia Hill," she lied. Ms. Hill was mobster Benjamin 'Bugsy' Siegel's girlfriend - the mobster who placed Las Vegas on the map.

"She says to send the girl over," I called out to the crew chief. Never underestimate the power of positive thinking. To the guys; I'd already laid out the game plan and everything was happening as predicted. Even better, I was willing to bet Reagan didn't have the phone numbers of anyone else on the team.

"No I did not!" Reagan screamed into the receiver. She'd screwed up. The guy with the Magnum glanced to the leader. He motioned the gunmen to let Dabney go and she started heading my way.

"Ms. Hill, they want their money left with a waitress at..." I looked at them speculatively, "at the Italia Express at the Outlet?" The leader nodded. "That's right, $20,000. They will take care of Pablo and be there at?"

The leader looked at his watch.

"8:30 pm," he said after making the calculations - where to take Pablo, how long it would take to dig the grave and the time in transit.

"8:30 pm," I passed it on.

"9:15 pm - East Lake Meade Blvd - the first dirt road on the right past the two mile marker. If you don't show up, you cannot imagine the hell I will unleash on you," she steamed.

"I'll be there, I promise," I spoke calmly. "We'll figure a way so that everyone is mollified, Ms. Hill."

"I'm sure of that," she sweetened up. What a lying bitch.

"She wants me to keep the phone," I told the leader. I made sure Reagan heard that before I hung up. I then switched the phone off because I had little doubt she had more to share.

"Dabney, do you want to say 'good-bye' to Pablo?" I finally addressed my friend.

She was still coming off a panicked high so it took her a few seconds to piece together the past minute of her life. Dabney angrily stomped over toward Pablo. Now the fear was on the other foot, so to speak.

"Don't kick him anywhere you'll get blood on yourself," I added a cautionary note. Dabney obliged, kicking him in the shins repeatedly. She finished up by bouncing medium-sized rock off his head. Pablo was still conscious, enjoying the discussion of his eminent demise, which was a bonus in my book. Once we were out on the road and I was sure there we weren't being pursued, I comforted Dabney

"What happens next?" she muttered. "Sammi..."

"Sammi should be okay as long as the only people she can name are you, me and Pablo. That will be a dead end for the cops, so no one needs to spare her any attention," I explained.

"Really?" she turned her red-rimmed eyes my way. "You really believe they are going to stop ... coming after me ... to kill us?" She found it hard to believe in me.

"Dabney, I'm not going to bore you with my life's story since I left all those years ago. I can tell you this - I've dealt with some really foul sorts over the years and this not my first time finding ways out of dire straits. I'm a pro."

"What...how?" she was seeking reassurance.

"Dabney, I'm a paramedic. We deal with life and death decisions on a daily basis," I attempted levity. Thankfully, Dabney clued in on my intentions.

"What did you do in the Navy? Were you a SEAL?" she began ordering her thoughts.

"I was a hospital corpsman," I reaffirmed. "I didn't lie about that." She thought that over.

"Do SEAL's have corpsmen?"

"Yes Dabney; yes they do," I smiled.

"You've done things you can't talk about," she murmured. "Ummm...okay."

"You've got to promise me one thing?" I said after a bit.

"What is it?" Dabney looked uncertain.

"You pick up G tonight. After I take care of this one final issue, I'm going to need some sleep. If not, I'm going to be a zombie on the job tomorrow," I let her know. She sighed in relief.

"I can do that. We can even drive down Henderson and get your Corvette back," she offered. Thank God she thought of it. I hadn't been sure how I was going to do it on my own. If I brought Dabney home, getting G would be problematic if I was killed at the (hopefully) last meeting of the night. Neither one of us discussed that possible outcome.

{One Final Issue}

The lights of Las Vegas to the west conflicted with the moon- and starlight nature provided. Still, I managed to find the rendezvous point with little effort. I spotted the vehicle farther off to the east, pulled over to the side of the road. It wasn't poorly hidden. I noted it because my perceptions were heightened more than normal. It was a Buick Regal ~ maybe this year's model.

I dimmed my headlights as I turned down the dirt path. There were three more cars to the south. Two were obvious, parked catty-corner to each other. The third was concealed to the southwest behind some scrub trees. Experience suggested that three of the Buicks had a two man team (driver, gunman). The main one would have four (driver, gunman, bodyguard, VIP).

Sure, Circe could afford more muscle if she desired. There was no point in bringing it. If I betrayed her, her people would break off to the southwest and evade until the cops could arrive Circe was risking little. Four identical cars made pursuit more difficult. All each car needed was one shooter to keep aggressors occupied.

One of the two cars before me had the VIP and their bodyguard. Keeping people involved to a minimum was economical. My headlights being off meant I wasn't blinding the people I was there to meet ~ a courteous gesture. Putting these people on edge wasn't a healthy decision. I wanted calm, collected minds to deal with.

I exited my car, my gun holstered and my engine running. I had to wait for their first move. Front passenger doors on both left and right Regal's opened up, revealing two men with pistols drawn. A few seconds passed. The guys with assault rifles would be in the first and fourth car I'd seen.

When the big, close-shaved black guy stepped out of the back passenger side of the car to my left, it was instant recognition on both our parts. He started walking my way.

"Jess?" one of the gunmen to my right called out. The big black guy raised up his hand to let him know things were okay. It was the last step he took that made me feel at ease. He hugged me.

"Hey Brigand. Long time no see," the man chortled.

"Ditto CAM," I chuckled. CAM wasn't his name any more than Brigand was mine. CAM wasn't a nickname either; it was an acronym for Christ All-Mighty. Senior Chief Petty Officer Jessup Alexander had been one of my SEAL instructors and a damn fine human being.

He had been a SEAL team member for years, but a serviceable injury put him on the sidelines were he continued to contribute by training future warriors. That pain had also brought him down. He became addicted to codeine, got in some trouble and was drummed out of the service. Nineteen years of loyal service and he ended up with a dishonorable discharge because some scum ball wanted to prove that the Navy was tough on drugs.

"I'm having a hell of a time not saluting," I grinned. I could see his pain and loss. "You know most of us guys hated what SECNAV did to you."

"Water under the bridge, Brigand," he grinned back. "Water under the bridge. So, Hospital Corpsman, why are we all here tonight?"

"I grew up in Vegas," I began. "This girl I grew up with had a kid-sister. I move back a few weeks ago, all's cool, then we stumble across each other last night. She dodged some work, her pimp got pissed and I felt I had to make him back off."

"What brought you home?" he kept up the questioning. Taking into account our time apart and the fact our relationship was more of a student-teacher deal than bosom buddies, my best bet was playing it straight with Cam.

"As I said, I grew up here. Parents and siblings all left, but here and the service are the only places I felt comfortable in. I'm a paramedic at MedicWest - one day on the job and counting," I related. I didn't ask him what he was doing here. He was an enforcer for a very dangerous pair of women.

"I need to talk to the girl." That meant CAM needed to kill Dabney.

"That's not going to happen," meant please don't try to kill my friend.

"Vardanyan, I'm going to need a better reason than 'you two used to be tight'." He believed it was within his power to save me, but not Dabney.

"Is your boss in the car?" I nodded to the sedan he'd come from. CAM shrugged. He didn't believe she would intervene on my side. I reasoned she was here to make sure Dabney hadn't blabbed to anyone about the night her old pimp was murdered. Letting anyone else ask those questions only meant someone else had to be put on the Death List. I'd planned to talk with Reagan anyway. Having CAM here unexpectedly eased things along quite a bit.

"Vance?" Reagan opened the rear driver's side door on the far side then stood so I could see her. I didn't call out her name...incase not everyone around us knew it.

"Ah, V as in Vance Vardanyan," she laughed. "This is awkward. You don't seem surprised to see me here."

"Dabney and I talked," I admitted. "I was hoping you would let this slide for old time's sake."

"Old time's sake?" she smirked. "We were never..."

"The fight at the mall? I did make sure that bitch didn't bleed you. That's got to count for something," I gambled.

Reagan had to think that over. I did save her some hospital time, if nothing else.

"What do you know?" she prodded.

"Enough to make Dabney and I dead," I answered honestly.

"You shouldn't have come, Vance," she mused softly. There was still a human being inside that cruel crime lord exterior. "Jess, Vance worked with you. What did he do?"

"Brigand here is an honest-to-God healer - we call them SARC's. Brig - Vance, did you ever lose anybody?" Jess inquired.

"Nope, but I never got Buddy's leg reattached either so I only counted that as three-quarters of a success," I jibed.

"I'm going to need a little more than that to let you live," Reagan admitted.

"While you think it over, let me give you a URL," I suggested.

She asked, I provided and she checked it out.

"It's a clock - counting down. What is this about?" Reagan glared.

"You remember all the data from Vegas Fantasies? I uploaded a virus that both encrypts your files and will completely corrupt them when the countdown reaches zero," I let her know.

"Jess, can you?" she looked to Cam/Jess. She wanted to know if Jess could extract the information from me.

"How much time?" he replied.

"One hour, thirty-nine minutes, seventeen seconds," she read off the clock.

"Not this guy," Jess snorted with amusement while he shook his head. "Not this guy."

"Vance, we seem to have a dilemma then. What do you want?" Reagan was all business again.

"Give me five minutes of your time - in private - to present my case," I offered.

"What's to stop you from killing me?" she gazed at me intently.

"Do you deserve to die?" I countered.

"I don't think so," she volleyed.

"Then you have nothing to worry about," I grinned. Jess gave Reagan a curt nod. If I did something homicidal, it was his life on the chopping block as well. I sat in the back seat of her sedan, Reagan dismissed her driver and we were alone. I gave her the encryption key. That clearly confused her. She kept all sorts of purposeless threats to herself.

How much more screwed could I get? Three minutes later, Circe had her computer files back.