Where There’s Smoke…
Erosa Knowles
Book Three
The Men of 3X CONStruction
Other Books in this series:
Have I Told You Lately
Ready for Love
Where There’s Smoke…
Copyright © May 2011 by Erosa Knowles
Smashwords Edition
Published by Sitting Bull Publishing
Raeford, NC
www.menof3Xconstruction.com
www.erosaknowles.com
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eISBN 978-1-4524-6538-8
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Where There’s Smoke
Erosa Knowles
Book Three
The Men of 3X CONStruction
Where There's Smoke…
Chapter 1
“Hey!” Smoke yelled while being lifted in the air. A foul smelling bag was crammed over his head. The next moment, with the ferocity of an out of control Mack truck, his back slammed into a wooden barrier.
“Shit,” he moaned into the darkness. Nerve endings tingled as they raced to his brain, transmitting a litany of body damage. His breath surged from his mouth, as pressure of a well-placed fist to his stomach created a vacuum. The ringing he heard — not from bells, but his ears, as his abdominals took punch after punch. His swollen eyelids attempted to open and close, to brush away the thick, sticky fluid streaking his beat-up face.
Someone dragged and pinned him to the floor. His mind registered the harsh breaths of his attackers, but little else. The orchestrated sounds of a brutal whipping were indelibly printed on his mind.
“Ahhhh,” he yelled, as shards of pain shot up his arm, stabbing his mind. A hand shoved a cloth into his mouth, blanketing the sound.
One thought ricocheted through his mind, prison ass whupings had been less brutal.
“Uh,” Smoke groaned, doubling over in the dark. Excruciating pain radiated through his abdominals to his back. His arms were stretched wide and attached to the wall. Red-hot fire slammed through his face as it whipped to the side. He tried to spit and couldn’t. That’s right, they’d gagged him.
“Stop,” a voice said. “No more hitting his visible areas.”
“Oomph,” A sickening sound permeated the air. This time darkness swallowed him, he didn’t feel the next kick, the next, or the next.
***
Vianca Marino sat in the dimly lit bar off the hotel lobby, watching the two women work the room. It was slim pickings for a Sunday afternoon. The woman closest to the corner wore a gold slinky dress, with a plunging neckline that gave hints of her silicone treasures. More than one man gave a lingering glance. With the efficiency of a stockbroker, she summed up each potential client with a slow sweep of her eyes. Offering an encouraging smile to some and turning her face away from those who didn't make the cut. She could easily be in her twenties, although she looked much older. This line of work guaranteed added years to one's age. Heavy make-up and a plastic smile covered her pale complexion, providing splotches of color on an otherwise bleak landscape.
No question, the two were neat, polite, and polished, but working girls all the same. Fascinated, Vianca watched the management skills of these women in their personal game of high stakes. Few CEO's could best them. The older one must’ve been training the younger. She’d eye a man from the tips of his polished black wingtips to the cut of his suit or shirt. The smile she granted the potential customer depicted her estimation of his worth. The poor schmuck she’d just dismissed ambled away to the back of the bar, tail between his legs. Obviously, he didn’t make her mark.
The older woman wasn’t who Vianca was interested in. No, it was the younger one. The one sitting quietly nursing her single drink. The one refusing to talk to every man who approached her. The one who currently went by the name Angelique. Her real name, Barbara McDonald, wasn’t as exotic. She stood around five-three, a small, stacked brunette with piercing baby blue eyes, dimples and remnants of innocence on her face. Her short black dress draped conservatively across her front and dipped low on her back, ending just above her hips. Mrs. McDonald had left home four months ago, or so her husband claimed, and hit the streets. Her father-in-law asked their company to investigate, make sure his son’s accounting was true. Judging the blank face of the woman, it didn’t look like she was here for kicks and giggles. More like she had to be here. After reading the dossier on the son, she wouldn’t be surprised if the woman hadn’t been a part of a debt-paying bargain for her gambling addicted husband.
Vianca sighed, adjusting her stuffed shirt. The heat from her disguise made sitting for extended periods uncomfortable. Anyone walking by her table would see a dusky-complexioned, overweight man with nondescript brown hair, plain round face, brown eyes and thin lips. Completely unremarkable and forgettable. Emphasis on the forgettable part.
She’d been trailing Mrs. McDonald for a week, had stayed in the same hotel, checking in and out each day under different aliases. The hotel staff put the prostitutes on the same floor every night, in one of three rooms. None of those rooms was detectable by the hotel's hall cameras. Smart. Vianca had placed her small cameras near the door of each room, making sure they blended with the scenery. From her room she monitored the activity entering and exiting Mrs. McDonald’s room nightly. To date, the young prostitute had one client, the same older man each night, whereas the older woman ran through five to eight different men each night.
A tall, dark haired, Brad Pitt clone approached the older woman at the bar. He leaned forward and engaged her in conversation. Straightening at the oddity, a chilling alert went through Vianca. Men didn’t indulge in long conversations with hookers. They negotiated briefly. This man spent at least fifteen minutes talking; the older woman laughed unabashedly at whatever he said. The younger woman took note at both the man and her partner. Finally, the man whispered into the older woman’s ear, she nodded, still smiling. He put money on the counter, and walked off. As he walked past her, the smile dropped and a calculating gleam entered his light brown eyes.
The older hooker walked over to McDonald and spoke to her ear. McDonald shook her head, obviously wanting no part. The smile dropped from the older woman’s face as she whispered fiercely into the younger woman’s ear. Red faced, McDonald slid from the stool, turned puppy-like and followed the woman. As they passed Vianca’s table, a fog of misery wafted from McDonald, she’d lost weight since the beginning of the investigation. The drawn look on Barbara McDonald’s face screamed her shame, and a semblance of acceptance of her fate. Vianca hated that her client insisted she not make contact with his errant daughter-in-law. She was simply to report everything she saw. If ever anyone needed help, it was Mrs. McDonald.
After the women left, Vianca waited a few minutes and looked around at the remaining patrons in the area before she left for her room. Glancing toward the lobby she noticed the man from the bar waiting for the prostitutes near the bank of elevators. As she passed them, the man squeezed the older woman’s ass. The woman giggled like a schoolgirl at the prom. Shaking her head at their antics, Vianca headed to her room and booted up the computer. A few clicks later, she saw the man from the bar walk in the room with the two women. Grabbing a bottle of water from her stash, she took off the padding, the wig and stepped out the fat pants. Shaking her head, she finger combed the dark mahogany strands that flew around her face before settling gracefully around her neck and back. She removed the dark contacts from her eyes and blinked rapidly. Bending forward to the monitor, she watched as another younger man, could’ve been a college student, walk to the same room, knock on the door and was let in.
“Okay, maybe they’re doing a little group thing,” she murmured. That didn’t fit with how these women worked all week. Following her gut, Vianca sat and looked at the halls where she placed her other cameras. Something was definitely off tonight. A third man, a little older, better dressed, walked toward the room, and knocked. She panned in closer, and noticed he used a cloth to open the door. Not good. A sliver of dread slid down her spine. Barbara McDonald was in trouble with a capital T.
Without further thought, she moved quickly, throwing her things into her bags without taking her eyes off the monitor. Although her client didn’t want her to intervene, her conscience wouldn’t allow her to leave the woman in this mess. That glimmer of misery mixed with innocence tugged at Vianca. She had to help if she could.
Another man walked to the door and, using a cloth to push it open, walked inside. Just as she placed her luggage by the door, a fifth man walked into the room. Bells clanged inside her mind. Gang rape? Hell no. Bile rose in her throat as her anger spiked. Rape to any woman for any reason was unacceptable. Fuck her client, as long as her partner understood, she didn't give a damn. She planned to get McDonald away from these assholes.
Earlier that week she’d stashed two housekeeping uniforms, a master key, and a map of the hotel, although after ten days, she knew the layout by rote. Within minutes, she was dressed in the housekeeping attire, makeup, wig and contacts in place. Movement on the monitor arrested her attention, the five men left, one at a time in two-minute intervals. She marveled at how normal, calm they looked. Crisp shirt and ties, suit coats buttoned, hair in place, no one would guess they’d just violated two women in some way.
Disgusted, she put on her overcoat and a large hat. Moving at a normal pace, she went outside, placed her belongings in the trunk of her Honda Accord. She then drove her car around back to the employee entrance. Sprinting to a side door, she re-entered the building and headed for her room. As she passed the computer, she froze in surprise as two men dragged a black man into the room where Barbara McDonald entered earlier.
Had the women left? She replayed the tape the few minutes she’d been gone from her room. There’d been no activity. Why would more men go into that room? No matter how good the women were, she doubted they could handle three more men so soon. Stumped she sat in the chair and watched the monitor, wondering how this new development would affect her plan to save McDonald.
The clock on the computer monitor showed ten pm. The women had gone inside the room two hours earlier. People would be returning from dinner and night pursuits soon, there’d be more activity outside. During the week, she’d noticed the hotel rarely placed any guests on the same floor as the women and never placed anyone in rooms close to the prostitutes. She'd been hoping that factor would help her get Barbara out and down to the employee exit unseen.
Damn, the hall was a beehive of activity tonight. Now, the older gentleman, Barbara’s regular customer, shuffled down the hall toward one of the three rooms the women normally used. He wore a look of avid anticipation on his face, the kind that knows things are about to get better in one’s life. He tapped on the door before using a key card and walked inside. Moments later, he stormed out. Confusion marred his brow. He looked at the numbers on the door and then across the hall. Stepping to the other room, he knocked and waited, his face reddening by the second as he stood looking lost, a child denied his treat. Finally, he stomped toward the bank of elevators. Once the elevator pinged, the two men walked out of Barbara’s room. They’d left the black man with the women.
Vianca breathed a sigh of relief. The black guy hadn’t been lucid. She could work around him, knock him out if necessary, to get Barbara out of there. She debated the wisdom of waiting or leaving now. A strong sense of urgency pumped through her, she’d learned to trust her instincts and shut down the computer. Once she stowed the gear in the trunk of her car, she reentered the hotel through another side entrance and headed to housekeeping on the first floor. Taking off her outer coat, she took the employee elevator to the third floor and entered the housekeeping storage area. Bypassing the hall carts, she opted for the large canvas cart that conveyed soiled laundry to the laundry room below. It took a moment to maneuver the unwieldy beast but she finally took it out and placed it in the hallway near Barbara’s door. Just as she started to the door, the elevator pinged. Ducking around the corner, unseen she heard the conversation between the older gentleman and someone.
“She’s not here. I thought you told me she’d be waiting for me inside.” The deep voice sounded agitated.
“She’s supposed to be here. She took her key in advance and said you’d called and would be late. The only thing she did differently was sit with Shirley in the bar earlier, eating. I’ll check and see if anyone has any idea where she might be.” Footsteps left the area.
Vianca dashed forward. Using the stolen master key, she entered the room. It was dark; she made out the three forms on the bed. Her breath hitched at the sight. A tingling began in her fingertips at the gruesome vision in the room. Two women, naked, pale, with streaks of blood all over their torsos. Their hair fanned out over the pillows, eyes staring straight ahead. Her stomach heaved as she fought past the reality and attempted to see if there was anything she could do.
Finely sculptured naked black male lies face down between them. The room reeked of semen and blood. She gagged and covered her mouth. Refusing to believe the horror, she walked to Barbara, touched her wrist, no pulse. A cocktail of emotions swamped her. Sorrow over seeing the demise of one so young, anger at the casual destruction of the women, pain that she was too late. She should've known, done something to help, intervened in some way.
Thin, precise slice cuts marred Barbara's flesh. Blood seeped everywhere. Only the faces of these women were left untouched. The man’s groan caught her attention. Gringos, she spat. They commit the crime and leave someone else to take the blame. Her disdain for them rose swiftly to the surface as she curled her lips. Barbara she couldn’t help, but she'd be damned if she'd let an innocent suffer for the cruelty of the pinche gringos. Pulling the man up was a painstaking task and they didn't have much time. He weighed what felt like a ton. Bruises covered his chest. Someone had worked him over. He groaned when she tugged him up. They didn't have time for this. She slapped his face and spoke directly into his ear, “if you want to live, you’ll walk with me out this room right now. I can’t carry you, but I’ll help you escape.”
He gave a slight nod and she nudged him up, they made it to the door when she remembered her cameras. Checking the hall, she assisted him to the cart, pulled down one side and pushed him in. Moving at a sedate pace, she pulled the cart back into housekeeping, trying to catch her breath. The ramifications were settling. She was a witness to a murder. Leaning him up, she pulled off the bloodied shirt he wore and dressed him in the overalls she’d stashed, washed his face and pushed as much water down his throat as possible before smashing a cap over his head.
“Ready?”
His eyes didn’t open; the nod barely there, but she’d take what she could get. Opening the door into the silent hall, they stepped slowly out and around the corner to the employee elevator. He leaned against the wall as she pushed the button, holding her breath until they reached the ground floor.
“Ready?”
“Yeah” he whispered, moving slowly.
Vianca stopped him and looked around. Then they moved at a turtle’s pace to the door. The entire time her mind screamed to hurry, to run. The car sat where she left it, but there was another one pulling out nearby. Seconds felt like hours as they waited in the shadows for the car to leave. The couple said the longest goodbye in history. A part of her wanted to scream, “goodnight already”. Nerves taut, she pushed away from the wall and duck-walked with her passenger. The back seat had been prepared for Barbara, so she pushed him in, closed the door. Checking her surroundings, she leisurely walked to the driver’s side, and within seconds pulled out the lot.
Once they’d driven off, the reality of her actions settled. As a strategist, she didn’t generally do impulse or rash actions. The few acquaintances she had considered her anal and refused to co-consult with her. None of them would believe a strange man lay on the backseat of her car. His fine ass body notwithstanding, he could’ve been anyone, an assassin, thief, or rapist. Strange thing about thoughts when left unattended, they increase in their tenacity. Layers of worse case scenarios trounced through her head as she headed to the cabin to wait for Fernando, her cousin and partner.
First thing after they’d arrived at their destination, she guided the stranger into the spare bedroom, handcuffed one of his wrists and peeled off the too small jumpsuit. A gasp of appreciation escaped as she marveled over his muscular, mahogany-colored body. A wide, sculpted muscular chest with pebbled nipples tapered to a delectable ass and thick thighs. Even asleep, the length and girth of his penis was impressive. Moisture pooled in her mouth as her eyes repeatedly looked below.
Above the neck, his chiseled features reminded her of pictures of Black Kings she’d seen in high school during Black History month. Simply put, the man was sexy and handsome. A quick glance to his resting hand showed no tan lines on any fingers, of course that didn’t mean anything these days. Regrettably, she’d backed out the room after one last look at the total package. This man took time with his grooming.
His close-cropped beard outlined his jaw, his hair was neatly trimmed, and his nails filed low. Classy, laid back, thorough. She wasn’t accustomed to that. Most of the men in her small circle didn’t see her as a woman and rarely cleaned up so nicely.
With certainty, she knew he’d be the same way with a lover. Her fingertips grazed her breast. The thought his hands squeezing, licking and sucking her mounds sent a jolt of pleasure through her. Work took her all over the country and she specialized in the art of one-night stands. Since most of the men she met worked similar hours, friends with benefits were a necessary standard. With a quick nod in his direction, she decided this man would definitely be her friend.
Chapter 2
Smoke fought through the fog. He needed to get home. Pops wanted to show him a car he worked on. He tried to run; ropes pulled him back, pulled him down into the fire. He was on fire, it burned and burned him. He choked on the pain. Pops stood to the side, a sad smile on his face. “Fight, boy, fight.” Smoke tried to tell him it hurt but his lips couldn't move. He sank into the hot flames.
Smoke rolled over and groaned. Pain slashed through him, someone replaced his head for a ball in their baseball practice. He lay motionless until the sharp pounding abated. His mouth, dry and gritty, felt and tasted like sand. Little by little, his senses returned on board. The quiet in the room, punctuated by his breaths, was a distant hum. He couldn’t place the sound; it hurt to stretch his acoustic abilities. A musty, unused smell rose, tickling his nostrils. Not an unclean smell, more an unused smell. Wherever he was hadn’t been used in a while. Why was that? The thought flitted through his mind on the crest of an urgent need. He needed to relieve himself. Now.
Rolling to the side of the bed, he tried to sit up. Shards of pain shot through him, cutting off his breath. His eyes watered as bile crawled up his throat. He tried to hold his aching head and bruised sides when he noticed he only had use of one of his hands. The other was handcuffed to the bed rail. He jerked. Waves of blinding pain throbbed through him. His breath caught again. Remaining still, he tried to remember what happened to him. Vague memories of a car, a dark room, voices, pain, light and then a honeyed voice challenging him to live. He'd followed the thread of that voice, commanded himself to move, even now he remembered the excruciating pain, but she'd helped him. Coaxed him with her words.
And then nothing. Everything else was a blank. Had they failed? Did the men kidnap him again? Was that the reason for the cuffs? His mind, fuzzy as he tried to get his bearings, didn’t provide any answers. What happened to the woman who tried to help him? He prayed she'd been spared. In anger, he yanked on the handcuff. Sweat rolled off his large frame as acute pain sliced through him again. Gritting his teeth against the darkness that threatened, he remained still. For the moment, he was alive and that was a miracle. Moments later, which felt like hours, he opened his eyes. Beige walls, hardwood floors and more beige furniture. He took all this in at a glance before pulling hard on the handcuffs, creating a clanging sound.
Someone walked in. He didn’t look up, the pain too intense. “I need to pee.” Without a word, the person left and returned, handing him a bowl. The door snapped shut. Smoke glared at the plastic bowl in disgust as he released his stream. His stomach growled, loud and demanding. He shook his head, looking for a place to set the heavy bowl. Grinding his teeth and hissing at the discomfort, he rolled to the side and placed it on the floor. Perspiration beaded his forehead at the exertion, his heart raced and his breaths came fast as if he'd just run the forty. Lying back, he stared at the ceiling, hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember what happened after he left with the woman.
His stomach continued to growl as if it were his fault it were empty. Arm under head, he tested his agility and raised his sore knee. The cap was scraped with bits of blood and torn flesh. His chest hurt when he moved his arm. He released it slowly. Deep inhales sent sharp pain through his chest. Yeah, someone worked him over plenty. A glance at his unbruised knuckles and he knew he hadn’t been in a fight; someone had a one-way party on his ass.
Disgusted, he watched the door open. A medium height person, baseball cap pulled low over dark hair, he could’ve been light-complexioned African-American or tanned Caucasian. Smoke couldn’t tell from the angle he lay on the bed. Neither of them spoke. Baseball Cap walked further into the room with a plate of what Smoke hoped was something edible. Since he didn’t smell anything, it must’ve been sandwiches, or chips, or something sweet. Moisture flooded his mouth in anticipation. The plate hit the side table.
His heart raced as it wobbled for a moment. Please don’t let it fall into the bowl he prayed as he sat forward to save his meager rations.
“Thanks,” he murmured before he lit into the peanut butter sandwiches. The bread was fresh; the peanut butter was so hard it stuck to the roof of his mouth. Like a man in the desert, he stared at the drops of water left in the glass from his aspirins. Choking, he sat forward, hearing the door open he didn’t spare the person a glance as he tried to breathe.
A glass of milk was thrust in front of him. Without a word, he grabbed the glass and chugged the life-saving fluid down his throat. After draining the glass, he glanced around to offer thanks. He was alone in the room again. He placed the glass on the dresser and finished the sandwich. He had to eat.
Hours later, the door crashed open and bounced against the wall. A tall, wild-haired man stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Well, I’ll be damned, Vee, you weren’t kidding. He is naked.”
Smoke tensed at the way the man looked at him. For a moment real panic flushed through his system, he hadn’t felt this type fear since prison. Both fists curled in preparation to take it to another level. No one took anything from him anymore. A piece of cloth hit his chest.
“Cover yourself up, we need to talk and get moving.” He nodded. “Hurry up, unless you want us to move on and leave you like that.”
Smoke scowled as he grabbed the material with his free hand. The man laughed, shut the door and walked off making smart remarks to this Vee person. Shaking the garment, Smoke realized it was a jumpsuit. He grimaced. His Pops wore this kind when he worked on cars in the backyard of Grandma’s house. Pops always moved around in the big garage out back. He spent more time with his beloved cars than with his family.
Once he’d asked Pops why he spent so much time with the cars. Even though he must’ve been around ten or eleven, he never forgot Pops’ answer. He’d smiled down at him, hand resting on his shoulder. “Cars, unlike people, are predictable.” Smoke smiled at the memory. Predictable, like his partners. If he didn’t contact them soon, there’d be a high body count. Too late to do anything about those already taken down, but if he could stop the war today, he would. After placing one leg in, struggling to breathe, deal with the throbbing pain and getting on the other leg, he was about to give up. Sweat poured from his body as he continued. He’d just zipped the suit up to the waist when the door opened and the man returned. They stared at one another. Smoke breathed hard and couldn't speak.
The other man smiled and unlocked the cuffs. A click sounded from the doorway. Smoke looked at the gun pointed at him as he rubbed his wrist. “Can I pull up the jumpsuit?”
“Sì.” The man in front of him walked out the door, waving him along. Smoke walked out, blinking at the overhead lights. The man waved him to the table where the remnants of a meal sat uneaten. Brow raised, he looked at the man.
The man smiled and nodded. Smoke picked up the KFC and demolished the remaining two breasts.
“Thanks.” He wiped his fingers on the napkin and opened the offered bottle of water. The man sat at the table in front of him, staring. Smoke was aware another person was in the room even though he couldn’t see him. Instinctively, he knew these weren't the ones who kidnapped him. Those men beat the shit out of him. That he did remember.
“Can someone tell me what happened? How I got here?” Smoke asked keeping his gaze on the man in front of him.
“Sì. You were taken into a hotel room and placed on a bed with two prostitutes who’d been murdered an hour or so earlier. I believe someone intended to set you up as the perpetrator of these crimes.”
Smoke’s eyes widened further with each word the man uttered. “What?” He jumped up. “They did what? Who? Did you see who took me there?” His recent injuries, more than anything else, had him sitting back into his chair.
“No, I did not.” He pursed his lips. “However, the question that comes to my associate’s and my mind as well is why? Who are you? Why go through all this trouble to frame you?” The man’s relentless dark gaze asked more than the questions spoken. He wanted to know how dangerous Smoke was, perhaps how valuable and most importantly could he use that information to his advantage.
“Are we still in Michigan?”
“Just barely, South Bend is not too far.” The man nodded, sat back and waited.
My name’s Smoke. I'm part owner of a construction company. Three X Construction. Our headquarters is in Lapeer. We’ve worked all over the state, worked hard building the company. But lately…“ He paused trying to figure a way to say just the right amount, without telling all.
“Lately.” The man waved, edging him on.
“Lately, we’ve been having all kinds of problems. Our supplies have been stolen, staff quality and performance has been way down, we’ve lost job orders and had turnover.”
The man looked at him incredulously. “The things you say happen to all businesses.”
Smoke shook his head before the man finished. “Not ours.” He paused. “Most of our employees are from Michigan’s Prison Build Program. Those guys are top notch. At least they were. We pay them well, give up serious benefits. We’ve never had turnover like now. Some of the older men have worked with us over ten years. They take pride in their work and what they’ve accomplished.” He knew he sounded like a Baptist preacher, but they’d helped many men and their families over the years and he was proud of that.
“You give ex-cons jobs?” The voice came from behind him. He didn’t turn, but nodded.
“Of course. Some people make mistakes and deserve a chance. Michigan’s prisons have a decent track record of training their inmates and see fewer repeat offenders than most states.”
“So why would someone go through the trouble of framing a construction worker? Why? Is it for money?” The man laughed.
Smoke stared at him. “If it were just money, I wouldn’t be here.”
The man sobered and stared above his head.
Smoke’s heart raced. He’d taken a gamble hinting at his tangible worth. The man’s eyes glittered in greed. He’d sell him out in a hot sec. But for some reason Smoke didn't think he was the person to make the final decision.
“Oh yeah?” the man murmured, eyes sly. “What kind of money’s in construction these days?”
Smoke shrugged. He’d given up all the info necessary for them to make a decision. The ball was in their court, they had to share some data to get more from him. “Where did they take me? A hotel?”
“Yeah, a small off brand owned by a local big shot.”
“Big fish, small pond, huh?” Smoke nodded, getting the layout in his mind. Somehow this all had to be connected. He couldn’t see all the dots, but they were there.
The man laughed, “something like that.”
“Listen,” Smoke said, sitting forward, “is there any way I can make a call to my partners, let them know I’m alive.”
“Why would they think otherwise?” this came from behind him. The voice had a husky quality, disturbing him. He shook it off.
“I’m missing. All three of us were at a training session when they left to go to a wedding.”
“A wedding?” the man in front asked.
Smoke smiled thinking of Ross and Cherise, Red and Denise. “Yeah. They left me to take notes for the last five hours of the class. That was on Saturday. What’s today?”
“Wednesday.” The man in front straightened as if he realized the seriousness of the matter.
“Whew, that’s four days. I've been out of it that long?”
“Well, we didn’t see you until Sunday and then you had a fever and was in and out of it for a couple days. Someone beat you pretty badly.”
“I feel like it. At any rate, four days is a long time to be missing. No telling what’s gone down since then, but I’d like to minimize the damages.”
“Minimize the damages?”
If they kept parroting everything he said, they’d be here all day. “Yeah,” he said, digging deep into his depleted well of patience. “Imagine what you’d do if your partner disappeared and you were already having problems with the company. What would you do?”
The man’s eye’s narrowed. “Tell me, mi amigo; are these partners ex-cons like you?”
“Yeah.”
Chapter 3
Ross woke up troubled. Something wasn’t right. He stared at the ceiling, completing a mental countdown. They’d returned from the wedding earlier that day. No problems at the house. Cherise and Lenore were asleep. He stared and deepened his countdown. Smoke hadn’t returned his call. He was probably on a date or something. Still, normally he’d let him know he got the message. He tamped down the rising fear. If there was something wrong, Red would’ve called him, concerned. He had a second sense or something about those things. Cherise rolled over, her hand on his chest. Idly, he stroked the back of her hand. His mind did a ticker tape of the past twenty-four hours, searching for abnormalities. Nothing stood out other than not talking to Smoke.
Instinct had him easing from beneath his woman’s warm palm, grabbing his cell and heading down the hall. As he walked, he punched the number three, Smoke’s speed dial number. He listened to the answering machine and left a repeat of his earlier message. If his boy didn’t call him back this time, he knew there was a problem. No sex was strong enough to stop Smoke from sending a text to ease his mind. Until he heard from his boy, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Heading downstairs to his office, he hoped he was overreacting because of the recent upheaval, but he couldn't help it. A glance at the clock, two-thirty-two am. He booted up his computer and search for Julio’s number. When that call went to voice mail, Ross leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. One question reverberated through his mind.
Where the hell was Smoke?
An hour later, Cherise walked into his study. Her purple boy shorts and matching tee did little to pull him out of his dark mood. Her hand trailed along his chest, settling on his nipple.
Catching her hand before she went further, he placed a kiss on her palm. “Not now, baby, I’ve got some things on my mind.
“What’s wrong?” She yawned and sat on his lap, placing her head on his shoulder. He inhaled the lavender scent of her lotion and closed his eyes. The fragrance soothed rough spots within him he’d been unaware he had until she’d come into his life.
“Smoke,” he growled, pissed and scared, an unacceptable combination for him. “He hasn’t returned my calls.” She leaned forward and stared at him, searching.
“You think something’s wrong, don’t you?” Her fingertip traced the furrows in his forehead, smoothing the lines before dropping a kiss on his lips.
“Yeah, I do.” He watched her expression to gauge her agreement. Women in general were intuitive and Cherise had it in spades. “It’s not like him to ignore the calls or texts I send.” She frowned.
“When was the last time you talked to him?” Their eyes met. He sensed she understood his urgency.
“When I left for class Saturday morning. The instructor—” He snapped his fingers before exhaling. “I can’t remember his name. Anyway, he said he’d give Smoke our papers and allow him to take notes so we could make the wedding. The last thing Smoke said to Red was to do it right this time. I assumed he was talking about the proposal Red was going to spring on Denise after the wedding.”
Cherise nodded. Her eyes troubled. “I haven’t known him as long as everyone else, but one thing I know, he would’ve called if he could’ve.” She rubbed his face and kissed him gently, before enfolding him in her arms.
Lord knows he needed her right now to tell him everything would be okay. That Smoke was on a hot date and didn’t check his cell. Anything but the alternative, that someone had snatched his best friend or he was lying hurt somewhere. She didn’t lie to him and he loved her even more for it.
“I love you, babe. Never doubt that.” He squeezed her waist before dropping a kiss on her shoulder.
“Okay, if you’re about to tell me you’re going to do something I’m not going to like, save it.” She leaned back and stared at him. “I didn’t fall in love with a perfect man. You have a code I’m not familiar with. I get that. I’ll never be down with you hurting or killing people, you need to know that and weigh it. Some things you’ll need to keep to yourself if we’re going to make it. No blow by blows, no asking me if I have a problem with things that cross legal lines. In all probability I will.”
“But—“
She shushed him. “I love you, warts and all. I’ll hang as long as I can. If things get too hot, then to save my sanity, I’ll step. I know to you and your boys murder and killing are different. I’m not there yet.” She shook her head, eyes watering as she pushed against the wall of his chest and stood.
“Although, if they hurt you or Smoke, or Red, or Denise, or the girls.” Her face tightened. “I’d probably see the difference real damn quick. See, that’s what I’m trying to explain. I have mixed feelings on the lines of right and wrong in this situation. It’s so personal, these people mean so much to me that I’m not sure what I’d do if something foul went down.” She held his face between her palms, offering a watery smile. “Especially to you.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “We’ll have to navigate these rocky shores together, babe. I’ll do my best to stay open and honest with you.” She kissed him lightly on the lips.
Ross grabbed her around the waist and laid his head against her stomach, inhaling her unique scent. He sent a silent prayer to anyone listening that he didn’t lose this courageous woman who held his heart. No one would ever get as close to him again. The cost of opening up was too high. Letting someone shine the light on the dark spots of your soul was akin to a firing squad.
They’d pledged to be open and honest with each other, but it was hard. She’d just stepped back, allowing him to do what he needed to find his partner. He couldn’t not go looking for Smoke. He’d do whatever necessary to get him back home. The reprieve she’d given allowed him to focus on the job, and he loved her all the more. His eyes watered as the battle raged within. He needed to be the man she respected and honored. But he’d have no honor in his eyes if he didn’t go after his partner. There was a discernible gap in his soul with Smoke missing. One way or the other, Smoke would be returned. The condition in which he returned would determine the measure of their retribution.
***
Monday morning, Ross walked into Smoke’s condominium intent on turning off the alarm and froze at the absence of beeps.
“Smoke?” he yelled, walking slowly from the foyer into the living room, his body alert. He was ready and hoping for an altercation to release his pent up tension.
“He’s not here,” Red said, walking from the back. “I’ve checked all his rooms. It doesn’t look like he’s been here since Saturday.” Red’s voice deepened, a sure sign of agitation. He shook his head and collapsed on the sofa. Ross watched the big man struggle with his emotions and felt an answering rush of fear, pain, anger and hurt rolled into one.
“I called him five times last night,” Red said, his voice hoarse. “I couldn’t sleep. I knew something was off.” He glanced at Ross. “The only reason I didn’t come over here last night was he might’ve had company and I would’ve felt like an ass. Now, look how much damn time has passed.” Red hit the arm of the sofa shaking his head.
Hearing the words aloud made it more real. A shaft of fear lanced Ross’s chest. Smoke had to be all right. The alternative was incomprehensible. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night, either.” Red looked at him.
“I started to call you but I was scared you’d gotten the same responses I’d gotten. I couldn’t wrap my mind around anything,” Ross said.
Red nodded. “I must’ve dozed off at some point. Soon as I woke up, I told Denise where I was headed and jetted.” Neither man spoke. Ross sat and allowed the reality of the situation penetrate his being. Smoke had been missing since Saturday. It was Monday. A day and some hours had passed. They had to make up time.
“I see that damn fire in your eyes,” Red said staring at him. “Please tell me you got a plan. I’m about to bust a nut on somebody and I’ll never see my girls again. But I’m so full of this shit right now, it’s got to go.”
Ross stood, dusted off his jeans. “Let’s head to the office, we’ll start there.”
“Why?” Red sounded confused as he followed Ross out the door.
“I don’t know, it just seems right.” Surrounded by his partner’s things, in his home, had too many memories. He couldn't think and he needed a clear head to plan, to move forward. And as Red said, to bust a nut on somebody.
Chapter 4
Ross grimaced as he pulled into the company parking lot. Some of their employees were in the area, and if his guess was correct, a few were inside. Red met him at his truck door and they walked inside, nodding greetings to everyone. The silence in the building as the two of them walked in, side-by-side did not go unnoticed.
“Mornin’, Ms. Connie.” Red nodded in her direction.
“Mornin’, Red, Ross.” She didn’t look up, her voice sad. “Sheriff’s in the conference room. He wants to talk to you.”
Ross schooled his face to hide his surprise. He had a decent relationship with the local police, especially since their office was near Thumb Correctional and a few of their graduates worked for him. Three X Construction was a showpiece touting the success of the Prison Build Program in the state, and he was on a first name basis with many of the wardens throughout the state.
“Thanks.” He glanced at Red, who’d starting walking in the opposite direction. “Let’s go,” he called out. Heading toward the conference room, he heard the heavy tread of Red’s boots behind him. When Ms. Connie said the Sheriff was here, Ross assumed it was a deputy. Sheriff Jeremiah Planks stood looking at the awards the company had won over the years that covered the wall.
His heart stuttered and then raced. Ms. Connie’s sad demeanor took on a completely new meaning. Did the Sheriff have news of Smoke? Shit, he wasn’t ready for this, he glanced at Red, the color had drained from his face and his jaw clenched.
“Good Mornin’,” Ross said, watching carefully as the Sheriff turned, a small smile on his face. The Sheriff’s smile faded as he looked at him and then Red. With measured movement, he stepped away from the wall and stood, legs braced apart.
“Mornin,” he said slowly, his eyes taking in the both of them.
No one said anything for a moment.
“Ms. Connie said you wanted to see us,” Ross said when the silence drew out longer than he’d like.
“Yeah, I wanted to ask you some questions.” He glanced at a pad in his hand and back at them. “We had a situation come up with one of your employees. But I think something else is going on here.” He paused. “Where’s Smoke?” The Sheriff looked toward the door and then back at them.
“He’s not here yet.” Ross frowned, as relief poured through him. “Which employee? What situation?” He pulled out a chair and sat at the large conference table. Red walked to the coffee maker and started a pot. The Sheriff glanced at both of them again before pulling out another small tablet from his pocket.
“A fella named Andre Bradley. He worked for you a month or so ago. Came out of Saginaw’s program last year.” He looked up from the paper. Ross wondered if that was the same man who had run into Cherise in Big Lakes.
“We had a white guy named Andre working here a few months ago. Medium height and build, dark brown shoulder-length hair, crooked nose, leg drug a lil bit. I’d have to look in his file for his last name. I didn’t work with him very much.”
“Hmmm.” The Sheriff wrote something down. “What about you, Red? You work with him?”
“Yeah, I did. He half-worked, took a lot of smoke breaks and didn’t show up for work detail the last three weeks on the Big Lakes job.”
“He stopped coming? Did he hang around anybody? Have any friends? Talk about anything with you?” The questions were cannonball fast. Ross remembered a time that technique would've made him nervous.
“We didn’t talk, he answered my questions. Ate lunch off to the side by himself, kind of a loner,” Red said between sips of coffee. “Want a cup?” he offered the room at large.
“Naw, I’m good,” Ross said. A cup of coffee meant this conversation could drag out. The Sheriff wasn’t dumb. He’d expect Smoke to come in soon. Ross desperately wished that would happen.
“I’d appreciate it,” Sheriff Planks smiled and walked in the direction of the pot. Red handed the shorter man a cup, and looked at Ross over the bent head of their guest. His message clear, get rid of the Sheriff.
“Do you think this is the same person?” Ross asked to get the conversation moving.
Sheriff Planks nodded as he blew the steam from the dark brew. His mustache and pale lips stuck out, as he took the first sips. The light bounced off the shiny bald spot on the top of his head. Obviously, he planned to wait them out.
“Yeah, sounds like him.” He swallowed and moaned his appreciation. Ross had always thought the Sheriff was a fair man with a stellar mind and compact frame. He'd never given them any trouble, even went out of his way to make sure they were left alone. Right now, he wished the man was anywhere but in his building.
“What’d he do?” Red asked, sitting on the corner of the table.
The Sheriff snorted. “It’s what someone did to him.”
Ross straightened. Red’s brow rose. Both men waited for the Sheriff to continue.
“Somebody messed him up pretty badly before they killed him. His face is the only thing untouched.”
“What the fuck?” Red whispered before running his hand over his head. “Damn.”
“When?” Ross asked. He wondered if this was connected to Smoke’s disappearance.
“His body turned up near Dupont Airport. Someone stumbled across the body and called it in Sunday morning. Time of death may have been ten or so hours before that.” He paused. “Where were you guys Saturday?”
“Saturday morning we had a class in Flint,” Red said. “And then around ten that morning we left for a wedding in Lansing, spent the night and came home around three o’clock on Sunday.”
“Both of you?”
“Yeah,” Ross smiled. “Cherise was the maid of honor and Denise was a bridesmaid. Red’s two girls and my daughter were the flower girls.” He and Red chuckled.
“The girls stole the limelight from the bride,” Red said, his face relaxed for the first time this morning.
“Yeah, it was good,” Ross said. He glanced in the direction of the silent Sheriff. The man stared at them in tandem.
“Damn, I wouldn’t have believed it.” He smiled and took a gulp of the hot liquid. “Congratulations on domesticated bliss. It looks good on you. Both of you.”
Ross grinned although his face heated. Red’s face turned a bright cherry tomato color. “Thanks,” Ross said, a liberated feeling flowed through him as he accepted the label.
“Anyway,” the Sheriff continued as he threw the cup in the trash. “If you think of anything else let me know.” He headed toward the door and looked at them. “I know most ex-cons have a tip-toe policy around cops, but I’d like to think you’d call me personally if you needed to discuss something. I’m not blind. I saw the news with the dead girl in Detroit, and the dead woman in Big Lakes. The Governor uses the success of this company like a Poster Child. Everyone’s proud of your accomplishments, especially around here. We don’t take kindly to folks shitting in our town.” He stared at a stunned Ross and Red. “One of our patrols spotted a couple of men lurking around the building Saturday afternoon. We stepped up security and now come by here regularly after hours.” He paused and stared at each man in turn. “Nobody pisses in my backyard. Before you mess things up, come talk to me, ya hear?”
Words stuck to the back of Ross’s throat, it’d been a long time since anyone other than his boys stepped up like this. Touched, he couldn’t speak, so he nodded.
“Thanks, man,” Red coughed out.
Sheriff Planks nodded and walked out the door.
“Damn, I don’t know which shocked me more, Andre’s death or having the police looking out for me.” Red chuckled dryly as he stood and threw away his cup. He sat in front of Ross, a puzzled expression stamped across his features. “What the fuck’s going on? The Sheriff just told me to talk to him if I’m having a problem. I didn’t know they did that shit.”
Ross shrugged. “Poster boys, remember. Michigan gets money and serious bragging rights from the prisons here. Remember that deal with them shipping those prisoners from California to Michigan to the old maximum security prison—“ He snapped his fingers. “I can’t remember the name of it, but there’s money in incarceration.”
“And what? We’re the geese with the golden eggs?”
“Could be.” Red shook his head as Ross stood and headed to his office. They needed to get started on tracking Smoke down. The Sheriff’s visit threw off his schedule. He made a mental note for Ms. Connie to send flowers to Andre’s people for the funeral.
Ross closed his office door behind Red and discovered Jamie and Carlos, two men from Smoke’s team, in his office. He’d forgotten all the cars outside. Frowning, he placed his briefcase on the desk and greeted them. At this rate, he’d never get any work done.
“Mornin’, Jamie, Carlos.” He nodded at each man, recognizing the concerned looks on their faces.
“Mornin’, Boss.”
“Mornin’”
“What's up?” Ross asked, watching Red pace the back of the room, full of nervous energy.
“We waited until eight o’clock Saturday night for Smoke and he never showed up,” Jamie said. “I called his cell, left a bunch a messages and he never called back. That’s not like ‘em, not a’tall.”
Ross’s heart leapt at the mention of Smoke’s name. Red stopped in his tracks and stared, breathing hard before he pulled up a chair, sat and gave the men his full attention.
“Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
The two men told them Smoke had asked them to keep an eye on the building and they’d seen a couple of men looking around on Saturday. They wanted to grab the men, but Smoke had them stand down. He was supposed to meet them at the office seven pm that night. But he never showed.
Ross sat back in his chair, staring at the men without seeing them. Operating on the probability of Smoke’s kidnapping, he recreated a possible time-line. “I wonder if the college where the class was held has parking lot cameras.”
Red jumped up. “I’m on it.” He dashed out the door.
“Smoke didn’t want us to jump those two guys. He said there may a been more.” Jamie turned to Carlos. “We never seened nobody else, did we?”
“No, nobody other than those dogs from the bar,” Carlos said.
“Bar?” Ross asked, his interest piqued. Cameron, one of Geary’s slaves, had worked at a nearby bar before Red’s brothers had taken him. “What bar and why didn’t you say you knew the two men.”
“I do not know them personally. I see them around from time to time. They are bad news,” Carlos added, nodding.
“Can you identify them? Point them out to me?’ Ross asked, staring at the man. His heartbeat slowed, and his breathing leveled. It was time to get some answers.
“Sì. I believe so.” Carlos grinned sheepishly at Ross and then his friend. “I went to the club last night to play pool. And I look for them. They were not there. We can go again tonight if you want.”
“That’ll work.” He needed to make some calls and get things in order. He looked at the men again, they hadn’t moved. “Something else?” he asked, his brow rose.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, clearing his throat. “The men here today ask’n us to talk to ya.” He paused looking at Ross. “I think ya need to talk to us as a group. Everyone’s on edge, not knowing what’da expect, a few have some ideas and just so ya know, there’s talk a few have retaliated or are planning to do something. I really think ya need to get ahead of this before things get ugly.”
Red stormed into the room. “They have cams in the parking lot and said we could look at them.” He looked at Ross who stared at the men. “What the fuck’s going on now?” Red growled walking further into the office.
“We need to talk to the men,” Ross said watching the relief in Jamie’s eyes.
“Now?” Red hissed. Ross looked at him.
“Yeah, now. It’s important.” He looked at Jamie and Carlos. “How many men are here?”
“Around fifteen, core group. We didn’t talk to anyone with less than two years,” Jamie answered. So even the men noticed the substandard training from the newer employees and didn’t trust them.
Carlos stood. “I’ll round’em up, where do you want us?”
Ross walked over to Red sensing the man vibrated with the urge to throw something. “The conference room should work; grab some folding chairs from the closet. Give us five minutes and we’ll be there.” Jamie nodded and followed Carlos out the room.
“Talk to me,” Red growled.
Ross placed his hand on Red’s shoulder, wincing as light tremors moved under his hand. “Calm down. We have to put out some fires here first.”
“Fires?” Red scowled, but didn’t shake his hand off. At least he was willing to listen. So much had happened in the past two hours. The morning had been full of surprises. He’d tucked away the Sheriff’s comments until later when he could focus on the words.
“Yeah, the men have a vested interest in everything and have decided to get involved. They want to talk to us and we need to listen or we may not have a company.” He squeezed Red’s shoulder. Thankfully, the tremors had stopped. “After we meet with them, we can make some plans. Don’t go off half-cocked, we need to be strategic.”
“Smoke’s the strategic one,” Red scoffed.
Ross nodded. “Well, now you’re about to learn and handle it like a pro. On the real side man, we have families, those men have families. I’m down for taking this to another level. No matter what, Smoke comes back here. But I’d like to save the company and stay out of prison while I handle my business, you feeling me?”
“Yeah,” Red sighed. “It’s hard thinking he’s out there somewhere, and not knowing the situation. What if his life is hanging right now and another two-hour’s is too late? How do I handle knowing I coulda saved him, but I sat at a meeting talking? That’s the kinda shit fucking with me right now.”
“I hear you. Remember, these men have been around. They’re street smart and collectively know a lot of people. What if one of them knows something that could help you find Smoke in that same two-hour window? There’s nothing wrong with gathering information, see what resources they have. We may need their help in all this. Bottom line is this, Frank and Roark told us a while back these men are ex-cons that have flipped into survival mode. It’s better to lead, than get left behind. This meeting is a courtesy, to us. They’ve already started some shit.”