Generation Lost (Gray Wolf Security #17)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Did you make a few calls?” asked Nine, looking at Rafe and the others.

“We did,” he nodded. “We were told to keep our noses out of it. Like, not nicely at all. Just keep out of our fucking business, and for once, listen to what we’re being told. End of story, and don’t call back.”

“What the fuck?” muttered Ghost.

“In no uncertain terms,” said Bull. “We were told this is not something we should give a shit about. Help the poor ‘old folks’ get a place to stay, but keep our fucking noses out of everything else. Like Rafe said, end of story.”

“Who told you that?” asked Gaspar.

“Homeland, FBI, CIA, DOD, all the way up to the vice president, who said the word came down from the president.” Vince looked around the room. “I’m not liking this at all. Something is definitely wrong here, and I think we’re going to be caught in the middle of it.”

“You think we were set up?” asked Ghost.

“I don’t think we were set up. I just think we jumped in with both feet, like we always do, and didn’t really understand all the players. We might have to back up a few steps and rethink this entire thing,” said Gabe.

“What do you mean, Gabe? We know the players,” said Gaspar.

“Do we? We think we do. We think it’s the families. Rizzoli, DiBenedetto, Xi, Varovski, St. Pierre. But maybe it’s not just them that we’re really after. Maybe we’re missing someone or something.”

“I don’t know, Gabe,” frowned Ian. “Those families fit the mold of those profiting from gambling, counterfeit money, human trafficking, and drugs. I’m not saying there can’t be more that are involved. I’m just saying that it feels obvious.”

“Fuck me,” muttered Ghost. “When it’s obvious, it’s usually wrong.”

“Why would the agencies, all of them, tell us to mind our own business when they’re usually the ones telling us to get involved? What are they hiding? Why ask us to help these people with their homes, get them something new, but don’t help with everything else happening here?” asked Rafe.

“The government is involved in this?” frowned Ian.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Or maybe they’re just turning their heads the other way. If the illegals get weapons, it’s easier for us to justify tossing them out of the country. Or.”

“Or what?” growled his brother. Rafe smirked at Gaspar, shaking his head.

“Always the grouchy bastard. I don’t know how your wife stands you,” he grinned.

“Rafe, don’t test me today.”

“Or, maybe someone is building an army within our country. On purpose. Maybe they believe this is the way to take over the government. The things that happened with the mortgages, the foreclosures, the land, all of it was just a side-effect of what they’re really doing.”

“This is so fucked up,” murmured Nine, rubbing his hands over his face. Sly and Code ran into the room.

“We’ve got a problem at the bike shop. Now!”

“Afternoon. How can I help you, boys?” asked Razor, staring at the three suspicious men. They always knew when someone who came into the shop was serious about a bike or just screwing around and looking. These three were doing neither.

“Looking for an old woman named Irene Robicheaux. She’s not very big, maybe four-feet-ten or eleven, white hair, funny accent. Someone said we’d find her out here,” said the first man. He was dressed in a pair of linen pants and a matching shirt. He looked like he was about to set sail on a cruise, not get on a motorcycle.

“An old woman?” laughed Razor. “This is a custom bike shop, mister. No old women here, and definitely no woman that tiny could ride a bike like this. She’d have to be my size or bigger. I suggest you look elsewhere.”

Two men behind the man who’d spoken pulled their jackets to the side revealing weapons. One of the men had a long knife in its scabbard. He was either Hispanic, Italian, or Indigenous, thought Razor. Either way, he’d been in his share of fights, for damn sure. His face showed every cut, every broken bone, every single punch thrown at him.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny. But as you can see, I’m not laughing. I want to find this old woman, and I’ll even give you a hundred bucks to tell me where she lives, or I can beat it out of you,” he said.

“I’m guessing she doesn’t want to be found. And I don’t need your fucking hundred bucks. As for the beating, you could try, but you wouldn’t get one punch in,” said Razor.

Tango and Gunner walked in from the backroom of the shop, wiping their hands at the counter of the showroom. Behind the three men, Trak walked in, leaving the door open behind him.

“Leave,” he said calmly. The men all stared at him, wondering if he understood the danger he was in.

“Don’t tell me to leave. Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?”

“No. And I don’t care. Leave.”

Before Trak could move, the man with the knife gripped the handle, swinging it toward his abdomen. The blade hit him, drawing first blood. Trak barely moved, grinning at the other man.

He took a step backward and then came toward Trak again, his arm outstretched with the blade. A sickening thud was heard, and his two partners screamed like little girls, stepping back as the man’s arm hit the floor.

“What the fuck?” yelled the first man. Trak smiled at Alvin, who still had the man’s arm in his mouth, chomping and chewing as if he’d been given a new chew toy.

“You’ve never seen a guard gator?” asked Trak with a serious expression. “He doesn’t like when someone attempts to harm me. He’s very well-trained, and he leaves no evidence at all. Plus, he’s very hungry right now.”

“You’re fucking nuts! I’ll kill every last one of you!”

“I don’t think so,” said Nine, walking into the shop. He looked at Alvin and laughed, nodding at the gator. The victim was bleeding out so fast he wouldn’t make it. “Take him outside to the river, Alvin. He’s making a mess. Then come back. There’s likely to be more.”

The gator dragged the man’s dying body out of the store as he moaned, barely breathing. The two remaining men stared at the others, thinking they could inch their way to the door.

“In a hurry now?” asked Gaspar, coming from the back of the shop. “You were all set to take us all on for a little old woman. Three big, bad, scary men and you couldn’t find an old woman. What did this little old woman do to you big, bad fellas?”

“She fucked around with someone she shouldn’t have,” said one of the men, looking at him.

“How would you know that?” asked Gaspar.

“Because it was my mother she fucked with! She tricked her out of her home.” Gaspar laughed as the others joined in, shaking their heads.

“I’m not sure what your mother told you, but my mother didn’t trick anyone. Was she smarter? Yes. Was she a better businessperson? Yes. A trickster? Sometimes, but that’s a long, drawn-out tale. She outsmarted your mother. She bought the business holding the mortgage on your home that she’d defaulted on. We legally claimed the right to the home unless she could pay up. She could not.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “no, you can’t do this!”

“We can. And we did,” said Gabe, standing at the door now. He opened it wider to allow Alvin back in, who’d brought a few friends as well.

“Get those damn reptiles away from me!” The men all smiled, knowing that Alvin was getting impatient. They didn’t often allow him free reign on strangers for his meals, but this was an exception they were willing to make.

“Are you both her sons?” asked Gaspar.

“Yes,” said the man, eyeing the alligator.

“And the other man? Was he her son?”

“No.” He was lying, but it didn’t matter any longer.

“How many?” He looked at him with a puzzled expression. “How many brothers? I ask because I have eight. Eight blood brothers. More than two hundred non-blood. How many more do you have at home?”

“N-none. It’s just us and our mother,” said the second man. Alvin made a loud hiss, and his fellow gators did the same. Trak only smiled at his guard gator and nodded.

“Well, that is a shame.”