Chapter 27 Zero
ZERO
"I—I'm sorry, Sirs, but the gala is a cl—closed event." The doorman to the Woodley Grand Hotel is a heavyset man, and when scared he tries to make himself look as big as possible. Reminds me of a blowfish. Points for bravery, I suppose.
Eagle-eye levels his gaze at him. There are few people who can stand eye to eye with the president of the Screaming Eagles and not flinch away almost immediately.
This guy isn’t one of them. "I'm pretty sure we have a standing invitation.
" Eagle-eye says deceptively gently, despite the steel in his voice.
If that doorman knows what's best for him, he’ll back down now.
He doesn't even glance at the clipboard on the little stand in front of him. "Of course, Sir. My mistake, Sir." He looks past Eagle-eye to the roughly twenty Eagles we have with us, then asks in a tone that dearly hopes the answer will be no. "All of you, Sir?"
"All of us. Relax, we're not here to make trouble, not so long as no one troubles us." Eagle-eye chases the doorman to the other side of the door with just a glance.
"Of course not, Sir. Wouldn't imagine anything else." He pulls the door open for us.
Sometimes it's fun to be one of the big dogs.
We step into the kind of glitz and elegance that I rarely see, not that it’s even what appeals to me. Fuck, give me the honesty of a club party any night. It’d be a lot more fun than swooshing around in uncomfortable clothes to impress rich assholes. At least we didn’t have to dress up for this.
The hotel entry is all marble, plush rugs, and polished wood that gleams even in the soft, diffuse light that looks like it's coming from everywhere at once.
A playground for the wealthy, or at least the ones who want to seem that way.
The staff stare at us as we march right past reception in our biker leathers, cuts and boots, towards the chrome stand holding a white sign with "CHARITY GALA" in big capitals on it, in case anyone was in doubt.
Underneath, in smaller capitals, it says, "RECEPTION AND AUCTION", with a border of logos from the local sponsors.
Eagle grins and nods his head in the direction of the hall, then leads the way.
More marble, plush and wood. Massive white silken sails hang from the ceiling, giving a weird cloud texture.
Paintings on the wall look very classic, with ornate, gilded frames, but I have no idea who they’re by.
Divided into three, the hall has a stage with audience seating below it, and tables holding up displays of the various things being auctioned off, like art, fancy cakes and gilded plaques with promises of services.
Straight ahead are food and drinks, laid out like a fancy buffet on tiny plates for easy carrying and tall flutes of bubbly alcohol.
A string quartet is providing muted, inoffensive background music off to the side.
But when we walk in, the music stops, and suddenly we have everyone’s attention. Then again, we’re not trying to be subtle.
A tall man in a white suit that almost definitely isn't off of any fucking rack strides towards us, his square-jawed face looking quietly furious.
His light blond hair is short and carefully styled, and he's walking with a fancy cane that looks more like a fashion accessory than something he actually needs.
Kozlov. I’ve never seen him in person, but I can’t imagine it’s anyone else.
He forces his expression into a smirk as he stops in front of Eagle-eye.
He's a bit taller, but Eagle-eye has more presence. There’s no doubt as to which one would fuck the other up if it came to a physical fight.
"I'm afraid there's been a mistake. I’m sure I’d remember if you were on the guest list," Kozlov says in a bored voice, like he's talking to the help.
"Oh? Do you recognize me? How flattering. I wasn’t sure you would since you seem to be avoiding me." Eagle-eye says mildly.
Kozlov cocks his head curiously and laughs. "I didn’t know you cared."
"That’s part of this whole problem isn’t it?" Eagle-eye smiles, and it sure as hell isn't pretty. "I care a whole hell of a lot about what happens in and around my territory. You should really cut your losses while you still can."
"Is this some sort of threat? I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I'm just a businessman, and quite frankly, there have been no losses."
I snort a laugh that gets a brief glance of annoyance from Kozlov. He might be dressed up fancy, but there's an ego to exploit there.
"My mistake. By all means, don’t hold up your little party for us, we’ll manage." Eagle-eye nods towards the stage.
Kozlov doesn't look happy to be dismissed, but what's he gonna say? People are already looking, and making a scene will only make things worse. For a moment I think he's gonna say something anyway, but then he takes his cane and walks away.
I glance at my watch. "Not a lot of time before the auction."
Eagle-eye nods. “Spread out, boys. Make some people nervous.”
Me, Beast and Piston wander the room, looking for the rescue’s entry to check up on Travis and make sure he isn’t misbehaving.
What we sure as fuck weren’t expecting to find is Sandra crouched behind the table where the dog training coupons they’ve contributed are displayed, folding leaflets on the floor.
She jumps when she looks up to see us staring down at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Us? What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were staying home, and you’re not supposed to go anywhere without an escort, remember?” I try not to sound too fucking angry, but we literally talked about this.
“I was, but Travis messed up our entry and left the sign at the office. Carl called and we had to—it doesn’t matter, we weren’t planning on staying. And it’s the Woodley! Why would I be worried about coming here?”
She looks up at me with wide eyes, like she actually believes that we’re the ones in the wrong here. It’s almost enough to distract me from the way her shirt clings to her tits, and the way her hair is pulled up in a style that exposes her beautiful neck.
“Travis is with you?” Piston asks.
Sandra nods. “He’s mingling while I fix the display. Carl’s down with the van. What’s going on?”
Beast nudges me. “Over there.”
Travis stands near another table, dressed in a suit that's not nearly as nice as Kozlov’s. He spots us and turns an unattractive shade of green. Just knowing what he’s done, I decide that I’m going to kill him. I don’t know when or how, but the guy needs to go.
"Guys, you’re scaring me.” Sandra looks back and forth between us. “I know you don't like him. I don’t either, but we’ve had this planned for months and it’s for charity. I don’t want the shelter to lose out just because of Travis. Should I leave?”
Fuck. “You shouldn’t be here in the first place, but at this point I want you to stay where we can keep an eye on you. Message Carl and tell him not to wait. We’ll take you home.”
She stands up and I put my arm around her, placing my hand at the small of her back and pulling her in close enough to put a kiss on her ruby red lips.
“Is something going to happen?” she asks.
Beast crosses his arms in front of his chest. He looks about as happy as I’m feeling.
“It shouldn’t get violent, but with this kind of shit you never know how it might go.
Stay away from Travis. I don’t care what he needs help with, you don’t need to be the one to do it, and see that jackass in the white suit? Stay far, far away.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Piston volunteers. “Go back to the guys.”
Me and Beast join Eagle-eye and the rest of the boys in the seats Animal and Quickshot held for us. Nobody wants us here, but that’s too fucking bad. Just as my ass drops into the chair, the auction starts with a painting from some local artist. Not great, not bad.
"The River Divides Them by Regina Hogswell.
Oil on canvas, featuring the lifting bridge between Blackworth and South Side, a statement on the schisms between communities in our dear city.
Do I hear a thousand dollars?" The auctioneer is a skinny little man with a big bald spot on top and thick hair around it, like a pot missing its lid.
Standing behind a podium on stage, he wields a gavel like he's ready to smite someone.
He's got a strong voice, though, amplified through the PA. But fuck, a grand for that painting?
Eagle-eye raises the paddle that was on his seat. "One dollar."
The auctioneer evaluates Eagle-eye very carefully. Probably deciding if doing his job is gonna get him killed. Then he screws up his courage. "Sir, that’s well below the reserve price."
"Anyone's free to outbid me."
A guy to the left starts to raise his own paddle, but one glare from Eagle-eye and it slowly goes back down. Another looks like she's thinking about it, but shakes her head.
When it's obvious no one dares to outbid Eagle-eye, the auctioneer grumpily bangs his gavel on his podium. "No sale. Please bring out the next item."
Staff carry the painting out and replace it with a large, ornate vase on a plinth. "Untitled by Arthur Catsswain. Gilded ceramic and hand painted. I'd like to open this at five hundred doll—"
Eagle-eye bids again before the auctioneer is even done. "One dollar."
"Sir! Again, this isn’t how the auction works."
Eagle-eye just nods, then looks around meaningfully. This time no one even tries.
The auctioneer’s frustration is getting obvious. "Sir, this auction is for charity. Please, if you could stop disrupting the proceedings, it would be better for everyone."
"One dollar."
Kozlov is sitting up front and to the side, glaring out at us. He looks fucking furious. I love it. I'm sure Eagle-eye’s noticed too.
"No sale." The vase is carried out, and then a fancy bicycle from a sports store is rolled in. Looks nice, if you don't want an engine on it. Some people seem to like that too.
"One dollar." Eagle-eye doesn't bother waiting for the auctioneer this time.
Kozlov storms out of his seat, thundering across the stage until he's looking right down at us. "What the fuck are you doing? This is a farce, and this sort of behavior is exactly why you shouldn’t be allowed to have the kind of reach you do."
"You want this to stop? It's up to you." Eagle-eye stands.
He shrugs like this is just an unfortunate misunderstanding.
"I tried to handle our dispute like an adult, but you refused to come to the table.
You wanna talk business, you come to me and we'll talk fucking business.
But if you don't want us to squash you like the roach that you are, you're gonna pull your slimy little tendrils out of our neighborhood or this is just the start.
I suggest you pick up the phone tomorrow when I call. "
Even as Eagle-eye turns and signals for us to follow, the word is spreading fast through the rest of the audience.
By the time we've cleared the seating, Kozlov looks like he’s trying to get away from the crowd, but everyone wants to talk to him about what just happened.
Is he even gonna make money off this shit show? I hope the fuck not.
On the way out, we meet back up with Sandra and Piston. Travis is there.
Piston has him by the front of his jacket, backing him away from her. “I don’t want you to even breathe the same fucking air as her, you got it?”
“Sandra, being seen with them is a bad idea. It’s one thing at work, but people are watching. They’re going to assume we’re on the side of the bikers.”
She throws up her hands. “I am on their side.”
"Do you seriously think we're leaving her with you?” I ask. “We’ve already been far too fucking nice to you for her sake, but it ends today.”
"If you leave now, you're fired," Travis is finally brave enough to say. "I can’t afford the risk if Kozlov thinks I’m working with the Eagles.”
Sandra looks at him for a long moment, then turns to us. “Fine.”
"You're seriously going to throw away everything we do for those guys?" He sounds amazed that anyone would ever make that kind of a decision.
“I can’t believe you’re actually asking me that after what you did,” she spits. “You want to fire me? Fine. Go right ahead.”
She comes with us, and when I glance back, Kozlov is standing at the side of the stage, glaring daggers as the auctioneer tries to talk to him. Guests are already starting to file out.
The last thing I do on the way out is give him the finger.