Armed & Dangerous (Book 2 Soldiers Series)

1

LA California…

Desman Reynolds tossed the flower into the grave and stepped aside followed by his father. They observed a respectful moment of silence for one of their biggest contenders. Jamul Simmons, known on the street simply as Shank, was one of the only two Soldier Veterans left. One of only two remaining founders of the Soldiers. At the age of seventy-four Shank passed away due to a heart attack leaving his fortune and empire to be divided among the surviving Veterans… which at this present date was strictly Desman’s grandfather.

Jonathan Richards was now the sole leader of the massive Soldier’s organization which was a problem for Desman’s parents. Though his grandfather was once a respected and feared professional hitman, known as the Reaper, he was now spending his days pacing his mansion attended to by his private nurse. For the last four years, his mind had been slipping. Dementia had taken hold of the once formidable man.

From the stories Desman heard growing up his grandfather had left the Soldiers to live a respectable life but when his mother was eighteen, his grandfather got sucked back into the underworld he had tried so hard to escape. But after a bloodbath that wiped out the other veterans, Jonathan Richards became flushed with power and money. His father told him that his grandfather had married a nice woman and had tried to run his empire legit for a few years but the lure of fast cash and power seduced him back into a life of crime. His wife left him, and he jumped back into the lifestyle.

Once a Soldier always a Soldier.

In the last four years Desman’s father Darnel Reynolds, known on the street as Mace, had been filling in as his grandfather’s voice. With Mr. Simmons in the ground Desman’s father was thrust to the head of the organization. He was now the most powerful man in six major cities across America with over seven thousand members.

Mace made the sign of the cross respectfully as did Desman and the two men turned heading back to the waiting limo on the main road. “I’m heading back to New York this afternoon to deal with Shank’s NYC holdings.” He said idly fixing his navy-blue suit jacket. “Your Mother will be in Miami this evening to speak with the estate attorney. Next week I’m flying out to Trenton and from there to Vegas.” He stopped short and fussed over the lapel of Desman’s black overcoat. “I want you to stay here in LA. With Shank gone we need a representative here. Someone that shows we are on top of things.”

“Do I really have to stay?” It wasn’t that Desman didn’t like LA it was just that his ex-girlfriend still walked these streets and when she found out he was back she would be banging down his door, and personally he didn’t want to see her.

“Sometimes with power you have to do things you don’t want to. Your Grandfather needs a representative here in LA, and you’re the man for the job.”

“I have plans next week.” He and some of his friends had tickets on a party cruise to the Bahamas. It had been planned for weeks.

“A week is all we need. By then your Mother will be back, and you can go about your plans.”

“I have a better idea. You stay in LA, and I’ll go back to New York and deal with Grandpa.”

Mace grinned knowingly. “Still dodging Chantal?”

“She’s obsessed. She still calls me in New York. If she finds out I’m in LA she’ll never leave me alone.” He tried to explain. Chantal was the special kind of crazy that was even too much for him. After their first date, she was talking about marriage. He dumped her that night, never called her again but she always seemed to know where he was. She stalked him. Though she didn’t scare him, she did annoy him greatly. All he wanted was a good time which when he was in LA rarely happened thanks to Chantal always being ten feet behind him.

“It’s seven days. You’re thirty years old, man up.” His father said sternly. “You’re a Soldier act like one.” Desman sighed as he watched his father get into the limo and shut the door. It pulled away and left Desman standing by the road.

Well if he had to stay in LA he was going to stay somewhere Chantal couldn’t find him. He looked over to the grave. Shank’s house was now empty, and Chantal didn’t yet know where it was.

He flagged down a taxi and made his way across town to Shank’s beachfront property. Desman walked around to the back. He climbed up the wooden steps to the deck. Lifting the barbeque lid, he reached inside and felt around for the house key. Desman had spent many days growing up in this house visiting with his father and grandfather. The three men had been close not just personally but professionally as well.

Finding the key Desman shut the barbeque lid and slipped the key into the backdoor lock. Desman went inside and shut the door behind him. Usually, this place was packed with Shank’s most trusted and useful members. Men to do his bidding, run his empire and watch his back. Now that he was dead the massive house sat empty.

Desman walked the main floor taking it all in. The house was filled with fine furniture with a rustic kind of feel to it: polished wooden panelling and expertly constructed masonry. The feature wall in the large living room was grey flagstone from the cherry wood floor to the high slanted ceiling with the large wooden beams. There was a huge fireplace inset in the wall.

Over by the floor to ceiling windows was a magnificent hot tub. It was built into the floor and could seat six. Flanking the tub was a towering water feature built into the corner with a small waterfall trickling down the rocks and into the tub below. From the tub, one had an unobstructed view of the white sand beach and the endless blue sky and water. Shank certainly knew how to live.

Desman headed down the hall looking through each door as he passed. There was a small library with brown patent leather couches and first editions. Farther down was a home office with a polished oak desk, no computer; Shank was an old man and not exactly technically inclined. There was a tall window behind the desk. A locked filing cabinet and paintings on the wall which Desman happened to know hid a wall safe. The carpet beneath the desk was a white Persian worth a hefty sum.

Around the corner, Desman found a half bathroom with white marble floors and black fixtures. Across the hall was a media room with a cozy white sectional, surround sound speakers, a plasma TV mounted to the wall and the latest entertainment system; no doubt given to the old man as a gift.

Desman walked back down the hall to the stairs. He went up to the second level of the house to look around. There was the main washroom with Jacuzzi tub and glass stand up shower, black marble tile, track lighting over the mirror, and gold-plated fixtures. There was a second door that connected on to the master bedroom.

The bedroom was large with a king-sized bed with a dark wood headboard. The bedding was a deep red like the drapes and carpet. The furnishings were the same dark wood as the bed. There was a phone on the bedside and a large walk-in closet on the west wall. Farther down the hall were two more bedrooms. Guest rooms furnished as nicely as the master. He could certainly live here.

Desman lived well, always had a nice house to live in, with everything he could ever want. His parents had provided him with all he ever needed. He grew up far from the ghetto. Most of the Soldiers troops were poor hood rats. Kids from poverty-stricken homes that were looking for something better, but like any massive national organization, the top dogs were well off. In turn, they lifted their followers up; elevating them to a better life, they couldn’t have gotten on their own.

Desman had moved out of his parents’ home ten years ago. Though his apartment was quite nice, it wasn’t quite this nice. Shank had a handful of houses in various cities. It was safer and more convenient than staying in hotels. In the event of his death, his business partner got all his holdings. It was more houses than his Grandfather needed. His father would likely sell most of them maybe keep one for himself. He wondered if he asked nice maybe, just maybe, his father would let Desman keep this one.

With nothing better to do, Desman headed back downstairs. Dropping onto the couch, he took out his cellphone ordered a few pizzas and called some old friends. He was in town so he might as well have a party.

***

New York City, New York…

Morgan mounted the steps to her third level apartment, a bucket of fried chicken in her arms. She had a lot of packing ahead of her, in three weeks she was transferred from the NYPD to the LA-based office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations organized crime division. She had made Detective just last year. She was the youngest detective in her precinct. She had come up in the ranks rather quickly having only joined the force three years ago. Many of her co-workers disliked her. They felt threatened by her youth and her genius. Not too many people liked the fact that she was smarter than them. They liked her even less now that the FBI had recruited her. There were Detectives that were twice her age that hoped to be recruited and was still waiting. Her success was like salt on their wounds.

She had joined the force at the age of twenty-one after having finished her doctorate in criminal psychology in under five years. She was the youngest Harvard graduate and valedictorian at the age of twenty. Morgan had an IQ of one-ninety-seven, far beyond most recognized geniuses. She had gone through grade school fairly quickly being skipped numerous grades. She was fifteen when she graduated and moved on to post-secondary education, five years after that she enrolled in the academy having finally met the age requirement. In under a year, she was presented with her shield. Three years later she took the detective test and moved her career forward. Just three days ago she was offered a position with the FBI, and she jumped at the chance.

As accomplished as she was it was difficult to find people that didn’t despise her for being their better. She had a few friends but not too many, and absolutely none that worked with her. Unaccepted by her co-workers, Morgan’s recruiter suggested a transfer — a fresh start in a new city where people didn’t know her yet. Personally, Morgan welcomed the change. She had been in New York too long anyway. She had gypsy blood in her veins. Her whole life had been moving from one town to the next. Staying in one spot more than a few years was just not in her nature.

Morgan was slipping the key in the lock when she noticed a Fed-X delivery man come up the steps. He smiled politely at her and held up a cardboard envelope. “Are you Morgan Perez?” He asked.

“Yes.” She answered.

“I got a parcel her for you.” He took out his digital clipboard and asked her to sign. He then handed her the envelope and headed back down the stairs. Morgan opened the door and headed inside. She tossed the envelope on the desk and placed the chicken on the kitchen table. She took a beer from the fridge and looked around at her apartment with a sigh. She liked moving but not packing, and she had a lot to pack.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a beeping from her computer which she always left on. Morgan walked over to the desk and sat down. She placed the beer beside her and brought up her Skype window.

Morgan smiled to see her father. He was a man of fifty; his dark hair was cropped short, his face clean shaven. He had dark commanding eyes and a slick cocky smile. People had always told Morgan she looked more like her dad than she did her mother. He was seated there in a tank top with a gold chain around his neck. His arms and back were covered in tattoos. A perfect hood, he always had been. Growing up most people would ask her if her father had done time; but as far as she knew he’d never been arrested.

“Hello, Daddy.”

“Hello, Peanut. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“How have you been? Your Mother tells me you’re moving.”

Morgan nodded. “I got a job in LA.”

“I love LA, very beautiful out there.” He said with a smile. “What department?”

“The FBI organized crimes division.”

“I hope it works out.” So, did she, but she didn’t have high expectations. She doubted she’d be accepted. She never was. “How’s Matt?”

Morgan sighed and sat back in her chair. “We split up.” She confessed picking up her beer and taking a sip. “He didn’t much like that I accepted the job in LA.”

“The man is a fry cook; he can’t flip burgers in LA?”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t like him anyway. He was a pansy.” Morgan smiled he had a way of cheering her up. “Has your birthday gift arrived yet?”

“What gift?”

“I Fed-X it to you yesterday it should be there. It’s in an envelope.” Morgan reached over and picked up the envelope and showed it to her father. “Yep, that’s it.”

Morgan opened the envelope and reached inside pulling out three tickets to a luxury cruise to the Bahamas. The corners of her mouth turned up in a little smile. “You did pay for this right? You didn’t just rearrange a few things?” When things he wanted didn’t work out, her father was known for going onto his computer, hacking whatever system he wanted and just changed things to his liking.

“I paid for them.” He promised with a crooked grin. “It’s all on the up, and up I swear.”

Well if that was the case, then it was a very nice gift. “Thank you.” She read the departure date on the ticket. “This leaves Friday.” She noticed.

“I figured you could go and still have enough time when you got back to pack before you moved.”

It sounded great, but there was no way she and her friends could get their passports by Friday. “I don’t think Vivian or Pat can get a passport by this weekend.”

“Look in the envelope.” Her father instructed.

Morgan reached back into the cardboard envelope and pulled out three small booklets. They were passports, three of them. She opened each book. There was one for each of them. Now she knew these were not legal. Before she was born her father used to dabble in forged documents and ID. It wasn’t genuine, but he was such a good forger his work was often better than one properly issued. Even experts could not tell the difference.

“Daddy, I can’t use this.” She scolded.

“Yes, you can, they look just like the real deal I promise no one will know.”

“I’ll know. Daddy, I’m a cop.”

“Much to my dismay.” Her father had been so disappointed when she joined the force. He had a real dislike for government and authority figures. He took real issue with the military and law enforcement. She had thought a few times about joining the army, but she knew that would have killed her father. He believed the government and their war machine to be corrupt. So, she decided she’d be a cop instead. He still had not been happy, but he had been more forgiving.

“They’re forged.”

“Everything about them is government issue.” He assured her. “Right down to the ink and paper. They have the correct watermarks too. Don’t argue with me. Go on the cruise.” He ordered. She just shook her head. “Would it make you feel better if I said they were legal?” It would, but she knew better than that. “It’s not going to hurt anyone if you use them Peanut.”

“What do I tell my friends when I give them a fake passport?”

“I don’t think they will care if they are going on this trip. Come on Baby it’s a party boat. You will have the time of your life.”

Well, she really could use a vacation, and she supposed no one would know the difference. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. “Ok, I’ll go, but you can’t do this again. Swear to it.”

He crossed his fingers over his heart with a victorious grin. “You’re going to need a few things. Some dresses for dinner, club clothes, and maybe a new bikini.”

“I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“Alright Peanut, I got to go. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She clicked her mouse and closed her Skype window. Morgan looked at the tickets next to her and the passports besides them. She shook her head. Her father would never change. Morgan took her beer and walked over to the chicken and brought it into the living room placing the bucket on the coffee table. She drank her beer and polished off half the bucket while she watched the evening news. Feeling groggy Morgan dozed off on the couch. She’d call Vivian and Pat in the morning.