Chapter Six – Duty Calls
Blake
I have this crazy feeling of déjà vu as I sit across the table from the head of the Hernandez organization. When I was walking through the restaurant, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, leaving me feeling unsettled and off. I had taken in the room as I walked through the place, glancing at faces for any sign of recognition. Nothing registered, though. Yet, for some reason, when I got to the doorway, I turned back around and scanned the tables a little closer. No one registered. A handful of businessmen enjoying a meal, a few couples, and even two women dining with a baby. While gravity pulled me towards those two women sitting across from each other, laughing with their heads together, I don’t know anyone with a baby so I moved on.
Now I’m sitting across from Roman, his brother Mattias, and anyone else who matters as we discuss the latest problem with Jimmy Mo. An associate of Roman’s owns the restaurant so meetings are held in private, in the back dining room, reserved for our party.
“The problem has been dealt with,” Mattias confirms to the small room.
“Excellent. What do we have on the horizon?” Roman asks as salads are set down in front of each of us.
“A few smaller jobs, nothing too big and flashy. Styx was compiling the list from the database in the system. We should know more later this evening,” Mattias confirms.
“Blake, I want you and Styx to organize the heist. Make sure it goes off as planned this time with no fuck-ups. We can’t afford another screw up like earlier this week,” Roman says, pointing his fork at me.
“Yes, sir. I’ll get with him later on,” I confirm before going back to my salad.
“What’s the latest on the Lambo job that was botched?” Roman asks as his large steak is set down before him.
“It will be ready by the weekend. The bodywork is top notch and the repaint is almost ready,” I tell them before cutting into my own steak.
Jobs like these don’t go through the shop. No, there’s an entirely different facility that we run those jobs through. I wasn’t privileged to that info until about a year ago. Cars are stolen and taken to a secured, very private facility on the outskirts of Vegas. There, we strip the cars of any identification and prepare them for sale. New identification numbers are issued, along with a purchase history that is completely bogus. I’ve discovered that Roman has a man on the inside of the DMV who is paid handsomely to change records. Very few cars are sold within the United States, but those that are, are given a makeover with new paint and accessories. Combined with the new identification, it makes them untraceable.
A year ago, I was presented with a new opportunity to help in the teardown facility. I had worked hard and proven myself loyal to the organization through the front shop, making myself available to work my way up. After a few months, my hard work started to pay off.
Six months ago, I was pulled further inside the organization. That’s when I had to cut off complete contact with my family. I attend meetings between Roman and his people, help complete illegal jobs, and even make deliveries to cargo containers. This shit is very real, and without being the guy sucking off the big boss, I’m in as deep as I can be.
I’m doing whatever I can to gather as much intel as possible, yet as I sit around the table with my special cell phone turned on, I can’t help but wonder which side of the law I’m really on anymore. Luke assures me that I’m still one of the good guys, but I just don’t fucking know any longer. I need this shit over, and I need it over fast before I completely forget what it’s like to be a respectable part of the community.
* * *
Gage is following behind me as I drive the pristine Jaguar towards the apartment for C. Mathewson. The neighborhood with nice houses and fancy apartment buildings looks vaguely familiar as the GPS directs me towards the building I’m looking for. As I pull up, I have this strange sense of déjà vu for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. I remember this building.
I climb out and grab the paperwork from the passenger seat. After making sure the vehicle is clean and ready for the client, I head towards the front stoop. I locate the button for C. Mathewson and engage the intercom.
“Yes?” comes over the small speaker.
“I have a delivery for C. Mathewson,” I say, taking note that C. sounds older than I was expecting. Especially for someone with a car seat in the back of the vehicle.
“We were just on our way out. I’ll be right down,” she says before turning off the intercom. I take the opportunity to scout the neighborhood. The building is red brick with thick, clean glass and well-manicured landscaping. I can tell the building is well maintained and probably costs a small fortune in rent. It fits in well with the rest of the single-family homes that litter the opposite side of the street.
Last time I was here, it was dark. Though I foolishly didn’t recall all the details of the building when I arrived that night, I definitely took in my surroundings when I left that morning. Carly was on the top floor, the penthouse. There was one other door on the opposite side of the hallway signifying a second apartment on the coveted top floor.
Just then, the front door opens and an older woman carrying a small child walks out. The brunette woman offers me a polite smile as she juggles the antsy child in her arms. The baby turns towards me, giving me my first real glimpse at the little one. The child is definitely a girl with the cutest black hair that holds just a little curl to it. Her complexion offers a hint of a mixed race, and her eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen. When she gives me a huge, toothy smile complete with drool hanging off her lower lip, my heart slams against my chest.
What the hell?
“I have some paperwork for you to sign,” I tell the woman as I pass the clipboard.
She quickly takes it in her available hand and struggles to balance the clipboard and the baby who is doing everything she can to get her little hands on the ink pen. Trying to hold them both, every time she brings the pen up to sign her name, the child in her arm makes a grab for it. Sure, I could offer to hold the clipboard for her while she signs the documentation I need to release the car, but I don’t. Instead I reach for the baby.
“Oh,” she says with a surprised look. “Thank you,” she adds with a small smile.
I watch for a moment as she signs several places on the indicated lines, but then my attention falls to the child. I’ve never held a baby. Well, I’m sure I held my brother when I was younger, but not as an adult. None of my friends have kids yet, and the job hasn’t exactly given me enough free time to enjoy anything other than car heists.
“Can you say hi, Natalia?” the woman coos at the baby in my arms. The sensations of her in my arms quickly go from awkward to something different. Something more.
I glance back down at her, telling myself that I won’t give in to the sudden urge to baby talk, and finally stick with, “Hi.” The baby in my arms reaches up with both wet hands and slaps them around my mouth.
“Is that all you need?” she asks as she hands me back the clipboard.
“Uh, yeah,” I say through my sudden dry throat. I try to clear it before handing the little girl back to her mom. When she takes her, the girl reaches back towards me, and I fight the urge to reach back and take her. I have no clue why, though. I don’t know this baby or her mother. Yet, I’m drawn to her in some weird fucking way. I’ve always pictured my life leading me towards a wife and kids someday. I’m sure this crazy longing that suddenly settled in my chest has everything to do with the fact that I’m nowhere near close to that goal. This job is slowly sucking the life out of me. So much so that I can barely picture what my life would look like without being undercover. Maybe I need to get drunk again.
I take the woman down and show her the repairs we made. “Thank you so much. I’m sure my daughter will be happy with everything,” she says as she bounces the baby on her hips.
“Daughter?”
“Yep, Mommy’s at work, isn’t she, love bug?” the woman coos at her granddaughter.
After a few minutes of silence, Gage honks his horn behind me. “If your daughter has any problems with the repairs, have her call the shop,” I say, handing her my business card.
“I will. Thank you.”
On autopilot, I head back to Gage’s car and slide down into the seat. “Where’s the hottie?” he asks which instantly annoys the shit out of me.
“Not here,” I mumble as he backs out of his parking spot. I watch as the woman secures her granddaughter into a seat in the back of a newer Jeep Liberty. She appears to talk to her for a few moments before closing the door and walking around to the driver’s side.
“Too bad. I really would like to get another view of that ass of hers. That her kid? Must be since we saw that seat thing in the back of the car. Maybe Dad isn’t around anymore. Maybe she’s lonely and in need of somethin’ that only ol’ Gage can give her,” he laughs inappropriately and grabs his crotch as he approaches the road. Instantly, I want to punch him in the fucking throat and watch him struggle to breathe.
I don’t give in though, and I keep quiet as we wait for a break in traffic to pull out onto the street. I glance back over and watch as the woman pulls her car out of her spot, heading towards the other entrance in the lot. She maneuvers her small SUV into traffic and drives further away from me as we speak. Gage’s trap runs non-stop about something that I just don’t give a shit about. Instead, I watch them drive down the street until I’m not longer able to see them.
That little girl stole something from me today. Something that I wasn’t even sure existed anymore. And it’s harder than hell to watch them drive away, basically taking part of my heart with them.