Chapter 38
Dean
A crimson dirt bike was parked by the stairs leading to Antonio’s grand front door. On its seat was a black helmet. The rider was nowhere in sight.
Neither Vince or Antonio were concerned about the bike sitting there, so I figured I wouldn’t worry either and did as they did; get out of the car. And prepare myself for a debrief of the meeting.
It was a two-birds-with-one-stone kind of night…
My eyes landed on the bike again, and I noticed it didn’t have plates.
At the bottom of the porch steps, Antonio stopped and motioned between Vince and me, looking depleted. “Send him the address.”
Vince pulled out his phone and tapped out a text. A second later, I received it. An address and a small job description: Collect fifty thousand dollars and come straight back.
“Right…” I pocketed my phone.
“This job was meant for Jacob,” Antonio explained with a tired sigh. “But that won’t be possible for him, seeing as his head was removed...”
I approached the bike, knowing I wouldn’t have any other choice but to go, and picked up the helmet, finding a pair of gloves inside. I pulled them on. “You know Seb rides a bike, right? He would’ve been perfect for this.”
The only time I ever rode a bike was when Seb needed his bike serviced.
“I know, which is why you’ll meet him at that address… This job needs your expertise and a decoy. Just in case.”
I hate just in cases…
Antonio offered me a tight-lipped smile as he turned for the house, relying a little more on his cane than usual. “Get it done.”
Vince didn’t hang around long either, as he followed the boss inside.
This job would give me a temporary outlet for the anger I felt. Based on what Antonio said, the guy I was meeting was a problem if it was a two-man job.
“Bring on the problem,” I muttered, pulling the helmet on and climbing onto the bike.
It was a kickstart and required several of them before the engine finally turned over with a cough of smoke from the exhaust pipe.
A kickstart with issues. Great.
I charged through the screen door at the back of the East Flatbush home and vaulted over the rusted handrail on the stoop. Seb followed close behind, clinging to a duffle bag of cash as he went.
Hearts pounding, we sprinted through the overgrown backyard, dodging a swing set that hadn’t been used in a while as we neared the 7-foot-tall back gate.
The last time I scaled anything this tall, I was a nimble 5’8” fifteen-year-old, weighed one hundred and fifty-four pounds, and used a large marble garden statue as leverage to get over a wall. I was a fraction lighter than what I was now.
Seb seemed to be having similar thoughts.
“Ah, shit!” he groaned.
The gap between the gate and us was closing fast, and there wasn’t anything to use as a step up. We didn’t have time to look for another escape.
I sucked in a breath and made the jump at the same time as Seb, taking two heavy horizontal steps up before I gripped the top of the gate and pulled myself over in a half flip, half fall to the alleyway on the other side.
The entire maneuver pulled and twisted at the cuts and bruises all over my body, making me heave a breath as I landed.
We had a second to catch our breath before the Rottweiler that chased us from the house scaled the same gate.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” I said, breathless.
My boots pounded against the uneven, trash-strewn street as the dog gave chase. It gained on us fast, growling and snapping at our heels until the growling morphed into the rumbling of an engine.
I glanced over my shoulder for a second to spot the moment a pickup truck smashed through the gate. The driver was the guy who owed Antonio money. Except he decided he wouldn’t hand that money over when Seb and I came knocking.
Admittedly, I probably should have handled the situation better, but I was tired of dealing with entitled assholes and punched him in the face, much to Seb’s surprise.
Instead of retaliating with his fists or a weapon, the guy opened the interior door to his garage and introduced us to Rosie the Rottweiler. It prompted Seb to grab the bag as we got the fuck out as fast as possible.
My legs and lungs were burning, but I urged my body to keep moving as the truck's headlights illuminated the alleyway, casting our shadows out in front of us.
Rosie had finally given up the chase, but her owner hadn’t. He wanted the cash and would stop at nothing to get it back.
“Give me the bag, Seb!” I called as we ran onto the next street, taking the sidewalk back to the front of the house, where the bikes were parked.
Seb didn’t question it and threw the bag at me just as the truck swerved out onto the street. The driver attempted to mount the curb but parked cars and trash cans prevented him from getting closer.
Our bikes were in sight.
I pushed harder, breathing in and out of my nose and mouth. Sure, I ran most mornings but even that didn’t prepare me for this fucking shit.
“What’s the plan?!” Seb shouted, reaching his bike.
I looped the bag strap across my chest right before I leapfrogged over the tail light of the motorbike, trying not to crush my balls in the process when I landed on the seat. “Split!”
Seb climbed onto his sleek, matte black Yamaha with no issues starting it.
I shoved my helmet on, switched on the bike, cranked the throttle, and pushed down hard on the starter. The bike sputtered beneath me while the truck surged for my ass, drowning us in its headlights again.
“Dude!” Seb yelled, gesturing for me to move.
“Start, you motherfucker!” I kick-started it again, and the engine turned over.
Not waiting another second, I accelerated just as the truck's bumper nudged the back of the bike with a nerve-wracking crunch.
I twisted halfway in my seat and flipped off the driver as I drew out the space between us.
He still gave chase, but at least now we were even.
Seb raced beside me, capable of doing faster speeds on a sports bike.
Mine was built for off-road and awkward turns, but I had a plan.
With an intersection coming up fast, I motioned for Seb to cut behind me. He did, staying close and providing cover before I abruptly swerved, planting my left foot on the ground as I pivoted the bike and pushed the throttle.
Fishtailing onto the opposite side of the road, I aimed for the other direction as Seb sped off with a confused pickup truck driver giving chase.
I still had the duffle bag, but the driver had to slow down to double-check. It bought us time.
The wind ripped at my clothes while I looked for my next escape route. When the sound of screeching tires and sirens met my ears, I hit the brakes enough to pull into another narrow alleyway. It was lined with brick walls and dumpsters, making the path tight.
The sight of a 24/7 gym sign, just visible at the other end of the alley, caused me to slow right down.
With no one in sight, I pulled up behind a dumpster and switched the bike off.
I was met with silence, apart from the muffled thumping of music in the gym, and I manually wheeled the bike to sit by the brick wall before I got off.
Keys in the ignition, I removed the gloves and helmet and set them on the seat, like a cherry on top of a thief's dream find.
Heading to the adjacent street, I untucked the gun from my jeans and shoved it into the duffle bag of cash.
I then removed my hoodie, tied it around my hips, mussed my hair, and dug around in my pockets for an earphone or two.
I found one and shoved it in my ear. It had probably been through the wash a few times and most likely didn’t work, but no one else knew that.
To the public, I was just another gym-bro coming from a late-night session.
I stepped out of the alley and joined the rest of the late-night community going about their business, all the while minding my own as I began the walk to the subway. I would’ve called Seb for a ride back to Antonio’s, but there was a chance he was still riding, evading police.
I wondered if Lily was still awake.
Hoisting the bag over my shoulder, I pulled my phone out to check subway times.
My steps slowed as I read the temporary track maintenance warning.
“Fuck.”
I could book a ride, but it was Friday night, one of the busiest nights of the week, and, going off the line of people waiting on the curb for rides of their own, I doubted I would find one soon.
On a quieter street, illuminated by shop fronts and streetlamps, I crossed into Bensonhurst.
A street cleaner slowly cruised along the curb on the opposite side of the street, and bars were beginning to filter people out.
I already texted Lily, but got no response. I figured she was already asleep. Safe and hopefully finding some peace after the shit-show her parents put her through.
I rolled out my neck as I glanced at my phone again.
The soft beep of a horn brought my attention to the street, where a black Ford Mustang with a fleet number on the back pulled up beside me.
I never thought I would feel relief on seeing this car.
The front passenger window rolled down as I approached.
“Evenin’, sarge.” I rested an arm on the roof of the car as I peered into it.
“Has you walking around this late got anything to do with the description I heard over the radio about a high-speed chase involving a motorbike and a pick-up truck?” Mark asked.
Seb wasn’t being investigated, so I wasn’t about to bring him up. Mark would be none the wiser, thinking I was the one on that matte black bike.
I smiled. “I thought becoming a detective meant you didn’t have to worry about the usual traffic violations. Isn’t that below your pay grade?”
He looked at the bag strapped across my body and then rolled his eyes. More so at what he was about to say than anything else. “Get in.”
I climbed in without hesitation and dropped the bag on the floor between my feet. “What brings you to Bensonhurst?”
“Work…” He flicked the indicator and waited for a gap in the traffic. “A head was found in a dumpster.”