Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) (30 page)

“Why?”

“Stacy called and said he’s threatening her and her husband.”

Jesse stopped at a stoplight and put his head against the headrest. “Why is this always my job?”

“It’s what you do.”

“Not anymore. I’m a mechanic now.”

“A junior mechanic. You’ve only been there a month.”

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t. I’m still working off the community service hours from the last time you asked me to handle someone. The judge won’t go so easy next time.”

“Then don’t get caught.”

“I don’t know—”

“Need I remind you whose car you’re driving right now? Who pays the rent? Who takes care of your little soldier every morning when you wake up hard as a rock? Who brings home girls from the club for you to sample?”

He sighed. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then, handle it! Otherwise, don’t bother coming home tonight. Let’s see how far that puny paycheck from the Harley shop takes you.”

The light changed, but the cars in front of him didn’t move. Jesse blasted the horn.

The man in front of him flipped him the bird.

Jesse held up a fist and shook it at him before the line of cars started rolling forward.

“You’re really going to make me do this? For some ex-stripper you hardly see anymore?”

“Watch your tone with me, Jesse.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, nudging the turn signal on before moving over to stop by the curb.

“You need to understand I’ve known this girl much longer than you. We go way back and I owe her—big time. She got me out of some pretty tight spots before she quit dancing to get married. So let me be clear. If I owe someone big, then we owe them big. And we pay our debts. Got it?”

Jesse exhaled a slow breath, rubbing his forehead. He swept a swatch of hair out of his eyes. “Is he there now?”

“Yeah, Larson’s on his fourth round of two-for-one car bombs. He’s slurring pretty bad and throwing money around like he’s got a suicide mission in the morning. He’s been telling the girls he’s a former marine, but I doubt it.”

Jesse shook his head. “If he’s spending money like that, your bosses aren’t gonna want me cracking his head open. Bloody brain matter tends to turn business away, if you know what I mean.”

“Trust me. Not a problem. When Stan went to lunch, I broke into his office and unplugged the power to the DVR, so surveillance is off right now. You’ve got at least a sixty-minute window. Get down here, now, and take care of it.”

“I’ll probably lose my job if I call in sick again. There are ten other guys just waiting to take my place. There has to be another way. I love working on Harleys, babe. ”

“I know you do. But I need this done. Don’t worry about the money. I’ll work an extra shift a week and clear more than they’re paying you. Then you can go play desert commando full-time with your militia buddies.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, and there’s a cute little college girl who just started dancing here. She has the most delicious ass I’ve ever seen. I’ll bring her home tonight for a little playtime, but I need you to do this for me first.”

Jesse smiled, feeling his chest tighten. “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you need.”

Jesse walked inside the strip club and sat in the corner behind the bar, studying the dynamics of the environment. He counted seven patrons—all men in their forties or fifties—sitting at various two-seater tables around the club. Four girls were busy giving lap dances, and two more strippers were chatting together by the entrance to the changing room. Two cocktail waitresses were standing in line at the bar’s service station, waiting for a scrambling redheaded bartender who was wearing a string bikini and a look of desperation.

The bouncer working the door was busy counting bills from the day’s tips and Jesse’s girlfriend, Cheryl, was on the main stage working the pole, with no patrons watching her. Jesse stared at her until she made eye contact with him. She swung around the pole and pointed covertly at the mark.

There he was, the wiry attorney, Larson. He was sitting three tables from the main stage with an anorexic white chick with a flat chest dancing in his lap. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen and was busy rubbing his crotch and kissing him on the neck. Larson’s hands were all over her body, but she didn’t seem to mind.

When the song finished, Larson stuffed several bills into her G-string before she kissed him on the lips and turned to walk away. She squealed when he slapped one of her pale ass cheeks, leaving a hand print outlined in pink.

Cheryl stepped off the stage with her huge breasts sagging down to her stomach. She was a bit heavier than the other girls, even for the afternoon shift, but she made good bank since she knew how to take care of the regulars who preferred a little more booty. She fit their tastes with a thick middle and heavy thighs that were highlighted by a pair of deep dimples in her ass. She wasn’t a runway model by any stretch, but Jesse found her sexy and addicting. It was impossible to say no to her, especially when she brought home girlfriends for him to play with on a regular basis. She knew how to take care of a man, always trying to counsel her fellow dancers on the art of attracting a mate and keeping him begging for more.

“Men are simple,” she’d tell him. “Endless food, endless sports, and endless sex. Everything a growing man needs.”

Jesse watched the lawyer shift his attention from the rail-thin skank’s ass to Cheryl’s robust booty as she passed. Larson leaned forward in the chair and brought his hand around to slap her ass with a loud crack, making her cheek jiggle. She yelped. Larson laughed.

Cheryl glanced at Jesse and gave him a look that said, “Get this done already.”

He gritted his teeth and growled as his blood began to boil.

Larson finished one of the two massive car bomb drinks sitting on the table, stood up, and started walking in a zigzag pattern with his head bobbing on his neck. He opened a wad of bills in his hand and threw them at the next dancer on stage. He weaved through the tables, almost tripping twice as he walked to the back where the men’s head was located.

Cheryl made eye contact again with Jesse, cocking her head in the direction of Larson.

Jesse took a couple deep breaths and made his way across the club to follow his target.

As planned, Cheryl went up the main stairs to flirt with the bouncer at the front door, keeping his attention focused on her and not on what Jesse was about to do.

A minute later Jesse entered the bathroom and heard the attendant talking to someone.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Larson. Some asshole or another is always getting in the way, like you say.”

Jesse rounded the corner by the stalls and stopped to assess the situation. He saw the bathroom attendant in a vest and bow tie staring at the ceiling. The attendant’s name was Jamie or Joey or something like that. Jesse had only met him once before.

The attendant made eye contact with him with lips parted. He was about to speak, but Jesse stopped him by holding his hands out to get his attention. Jesse didn’t want the valet to alert Larson of his presence and hoped his hand gesture would make his intentions clear. The man across from him nodded, then closed his mouth, never making a sound.

Jesse could hear a steady stream of piss spraying in one of the urinals just on the other side of the stalls. He bent down and checked beneath the area for feet, but didn’t see any. The place was empty, except for the attendant and Larson.

“You’re the only one who listens to me anymore, Joey,” Larson said, slurring his words badly.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Fuck those geeks, I say! A man makes his move and then they have to cock block him for no damn good reason other than to screw up someone else’s play.”

The attendant spoke with his face still aimed at the ceiling. “I hear ya, Mr. Larson. It’s a damned shame.”

Jesse moved two steps closer and peered around the wall. He could see Larson from behind, standing at the urinal, holding onto the walls on either side of it, still draining his bladder. His pants were down around his ankles showing his white, hairy legs and pimpled ass.

The bathroom attendant was busy running a towel across the sink as Jesse approached him and gave him a twenty from his pocket. The man nodded to thank him, then Jesse jerked his head toward the door. The attendant sneered at him and shook his head while pointing up with his finger. He wanted more cash to look the other way. Jesse dug through his pocket for more money.

Larson was still pissing away at the urinal, oblivious to the money exchange happening behind him. “I have a half-million bucks and my ass on the line, and then two hacker fuck science camp weasels go out of their way to fuck up everything. I should twist those little shits into pretzels. My buyer will be pissed and, God help me, my brother-in-law will tear my head off and shit down my neck. I am a dead man walking unless I can figure out how to pull my nuts out of the vice on this one. Pulling a victory out of my ass. That was my thing back in the corps. I told you about that, right, Joey?

“Yes, sir, you did,” the attendant said, waiting with an open palm for more money from Jesse.

“My boys called it ‘pulling a Larson.’ I was the shit back then. Still am. I still am. Fuck those assholes! I just need time to sort some shit out. Trust me, I’ll get even. In a big, big way, I’ll tell you what.”

Larson paused to belch as he continued pissing the whole time.

Jesse thought the dude must have been seeing yellow before he went to the head. He found two more twenties in his pocket, pulled them out, and held them in front of the attendant.

Joey snatched the money and walked out of the bathroom.

Larson never looked back as he continued his drunken speech. “Alvarez is going to fucking kill me. I need to just go. Get in my car and fucking go. Disappear with what I have. I’ll figure the rest out later. Just need to bring the family—can’t forget them. No. Just get away. That’s the plan. Grab ’em and go. Fuck the rest of the planet. Just go. This is the first day of the rest of my whatever. I should’ve beat that Ramsay kid senseless, then tore that snot-nosed, crippled motherfucker a new one. Tell me to leave. Who the fuck do they think—”

Jesse grabbed the back of Larson’s head. “Stacy says hello,” he said, slamming the man’s face into the wall above the urinal, cracking four of the wall tiles in the process. Jesse stepped back, allowing Larson to topple backward, tripping over the pants wrapped around his ankles. The attorney’s ass and then his head hit the floor with the full force of gravity.

Three streaks of blood dripped from the red smear on the wall, then a stream of urine rose up from below.

Larson moaned, then rolled onto his stomach, pissing on the floor in short spurts. He got up on his elbows with blood gushing from his twisted nose. His poor excuse for a penis finally stopped shooting urine everywhere. He spat out two bloody teeth, mumbled something incoherent, then stood and gathered his pants, cinching them around his waist with a belt that was six inches off center.

Jesse grabbed Larson’s tie and threw a heavy punch, landing it on the man’s cheek. The blow snapped Larson’s head around as he stumbled into the attendant’s station. The drunk’s hands skidded across the countertop, sending wire baskets stuffed with mints, gum, condoms, mouthwash, and cologne flying across the bathroom. He flopped onto his back, looking at Jesse with fire in his eyes.

Jesse waved at Larson. “Bring it, asshole.”

Larson got to his feet, grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and tore it in half, twisting and jamming a piece into each bloody nostril. He looked like a walrus. A bloody, drunk walrus. He charged Jesse with a commando scream.

Jesse stepped aside and stuck his foot out, tripping the man as he flew past him, sending Larson slipping across the floor, skating on his own piss.

Larson’s shoulder hit the panel of the first stall, making a foot-wide dent in its middle. He fell to the ground and laid there for a few moments before working himself to his feet. He turned, resting his back against the stall for a two-count before he stood erect.

“Haven’t you had enough?” Jesse asked.

Larson smiled, holding his hands out, giving Jesse a hand signal to bring it.

Jesse rushed the bleeding man, intending to drive his back and head into the stall behind him.

But Larson changed tactics by stepping back and gripping onto the stall with both hands. He wedged his body against the metal, releasing a hard, two-legged kick that hit Jesse in the gut. The force was stronger than Jesse expected, taking most of the air from his lungs as he flew backward, slamming him into the attendant’s station next to the sink. The back of his head smashed into the mirror above the sink, sending shards of glass into the porcelain bowl.

The inebriated barrister came at him, hitting Jesse with three rapid jabs to his chin, chest, and left arm. Larson swung a left hook, but Jesse intercepted it, trapping it between his arms. He used the man’s weight against him, tossing Larson into the towel dispenser, chest first.

Jesse stood behind him, pounding each kidney with blow after blow, making Larson cry out in pain with each thump of his fists. Jesse moved back to let Larson fall to the ground, then went to kick the man in the face, hoping to end the beating. But on approach, his foot slipped in a pool of piss and he lost balance and fell sideways, grabbing onto the bottom of the urinal where Larson had been peeing earlier.

Larson grabbed Jesse by the back of the shirt and pulled him to his feet, spinning him around in the process.

Jesse put his left arm up and blocked his attacker’s right as it headed for his face. An instant later, Jesse fired a hard fist upward with the other arm, blasting Larson’s chin from below. Blood and spit shot out of the lawyer’s mouth as his head snapped back, but he didn’t go down. He looked at Jesse with a look in his eyes like he was enjoying the pain.

Larson charged Jesse again, but Jesse was ready. He dropped to the ground on his back and used his feet to catch Larson’s torso, leveraging him into the air as he moved forward. Jesse pushed his legs hard like a spring, flinging Larson past him.