Ebb Tide Ch. 03

{Origins of the Disloyalists}

Stunningly, they got out of my way and I hurried off ~ at the speed limit. I knew the principles of public relations. I simply hated using them. Besides ... I was trying to evade justice. My only regular path of egress was the Las Vegas Parkway south to Route 564. From there, I should have headed west into Henderson.

A man living a sin-free life would have headed that way, because it was the fastest way home. The only way to deviate from that was to head east when I hit 564, then headed up Route 147 north where it turned into Lake Meade Rd. That would circle around near Nellis Air Force Base and Sunrise Manor (another suburb).

I was the opposite of angelic and never much into trusting others, or not making contingencies. There was a service road for maintaining the power lines running N-S and I could reach it. The speed limit in such areas was ... questionable. I'd been looking forward to test my upgraded suspension on my Corvette anyway, so off I went.

It was the eastern branch of Lake Butte Rd. and wasn't designed for anything but 4X4 and dirt bike traffic. No one would be expecting me to take a sports car that way. The only downside to it was the dust cloud my passage was making. I had to wind my way north until I hit Route 147 ... the same road I'd met Reagan and CAM on, last Monday night, just farther to the southeast.

The net result of this was that it allowed me to scoot around the City of Las Vegas. 147 circled north, then into North Las Vegas due south of Nellis Air Force. North Las Vegas had its own law enforcement jurisdiction - not part of the LVMPD. Rumor had it the two weren't married to the concept of helping one another. Considering my personal problems to date, that was a benefit I'd be a fool to ignore at the moment.

When I reached Route 147 (aka Lake Meade Blvd.), I tapped my messaging service to check on Dabney, G and Reagan. They were good ... at my place ... they had taken Reagan into my home. Was I the only fucking person in Las Vegas who knew what Operational Security meant? Sigh. To be fair, I was the public owner of record.

I'd bought it in my own name, mainly because it discouraged people from thinking to look for my other properties. I owned a dozen places (mostly rattraps) under assumed names, scattered about the quad-state area ~ Southeastern California, South and Central Nevada, Southwestern Utah and Northern Arizona. Anyway, the girls were fine. I also had a message from TC (IAB Detective Lieutenant T. [Trixie] Crowe Buchannan).

"Where the fuck are you!" was how she answered the phone. I guess I was the only one without a Caller ID to give her a ring in some time, or maybe she was terribly rude.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you were involved in a shoot-out, Stupid," she growled.

"I didn't shoot any cops. No cops shot at me. What's your problem?" I answered.

"I want to talk with you," she insisted.

"I'm now at the point where I am wondering why I would want to talk with you," I told her. "Care to help me out here?" There was a long pause.

"What happened?" she broke the silence. That gave me a chance to study the background noises from her end. She was driving a car and not alone. Someone with her was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Why don't the five of us do dinner?" I suggested.

"Five?"

"You are on speaker, not Blue Tooth, which suggests you are driving and someone else is listening in. I'm not clairvoyant, so I don't know who it is. I imagine there is a reason they are with you and it's not likely you are on official business. I know you were taken off the case, remember?"

"It is Detect ... Soledad," the other person identified themselves.

"This is awkward," I replied, "since I've already dealt with Detectives Griffon and Sabatini. They refused to give me their first names so I refused to be of any help beyond the minimum required by law." To do less could be misconstrued as Obstruction of Justice.

"I gave Sabatini all the relevant - to me - details," I responded. "Since you don't know what's going on, I have to conjecture you two have become Rogue Crusaders for Justice. That fusion of morality, professionalism and pragmatism elevate you both in my eyes. What can I do for you?"

"Are you mocking me?" TC accused me.

"No. Mocking either of you doesn't help me," I related. "I am genuine in my willingness to look past your badges and recognize you as something more than liabilities to my desire to live free."

"You are an asshole," Soledad remarked.

"I'll challenge that opinion over dinner," I offered. "I'll attempt to be as useful to you as you are to me."

"Are you okay?" TC repeated. Oh, damn it.

"Why do you like me, or even care? As Soledad said, I'm an asshole."

"I don't care about you," TC evaded. "I don't have much of a case without you."

"The case you are no longer on?" I pointed out.

"The case has been 'set aside' pending further information, or complaints," TC quoted the official spiel.

"Pretty much what I expected," I shrugged.

"Then why did you drop this turd in my lap?" TC snapped.

"TC, keep in mind that I hit everything I shoot at and I kill everything I hit," I reminded her. "You are not now, nor have you ever been, the person I'm after."

"Are you really going after Lloyd Pharris?" Soledad murmured.

"We'll discuss your utter lack of communication security when you stop my place tonight," I countered. "Pick up something for six. Surprise us."

"You are assuming a great deal," TC responded.

"Not really. You have two things in your favor. You expect me to do something for you," I said. I let that hang there.

"What's the other thing?" Soledad broke down because TC wouldn't.

"I don't want you in my life. Since that desire has completely backfired during the past week, I feel a certain sense of foreboding just talking to you two," I confessed.

"I concur with Soledad; you ARE an asshole."

"Okay."

"Okay?" TC sounded suspicious.

"Okay. We are back to Tuesday afternoon with you and yesterday afternoon with Soledad," I explained.

"Your opinions of my personality don't matter to me. What matters is that you find me useful, without the need to regurgitate your most recent meal or shower in scalding water after we part ways."

TC was about to get incredibly defensive.

"Do you think we find your assessment of us anymore credible?" Soledad stepped in.

"Yes, because I base my attitude and judgment of you two as being driven professionals who have an ounce of consideration for your oaths of office," I countered. "I don't care if you fart, pick your noses and think Rosie O'Donnell is the greatest comedic talent of the 20th century."

"My opinions are based on your skills and willingness to use them, nothing more."

"We'll be there in an hour," TC spoke. "Bye." She was gone and I was left wondering ... I'd actually gotten some serious tail in High School. I was a 'bad boy' and never much thought about it. I nailed chicks that dated jocks yet wanted to take a walk on the wild side.

I was fearless about it. In the service, I had never struck out at a bar. I didn't make a habit of going to one without comrades. I hadn't been a horn-dog and I'd never use my dangerous career to get laid. I certainly wasn't a Casanova. I had to re-examine my relationship with Dabney and G. Could they have been drawn to me sexually? The idea seemed rather far-fetched.

Reagan was waiting for me. The dynamics inside my beloved bunker had to be an Estrogen Inferno by now. I almost fell on my knees and thanked the Supreme Being when I discovered they had locked my doors - BOTH of them! As I unlocked the screen door, the front main door swung open. Dabney was improving her aerodynamic assaults.

I receive a face full of cleavage as she leapt upon me. She'd changed clothes. Why? It was a woman thing that I didn't understand. She'd also been very liberal with the perfume she'd figured out I liked (found the least offensive) and dabbed it between her bountiful mounds ... that she'd incased a 'push up' bra. I didn't knew they made them in her size.

I needed my right hand free, so I put my left hand on her ass and held her in place.

"Oh God, I thought you'd been arrested!" she exclaimed. Replying wasn't physically possible so I finished walking her in, locked the screen door then the main door. All the while, I was holding my breath. Her bra was purposely shoving her boobs into my mouth.

Air wasn't a problem. SEALs are divers and have great breath control. I also knew my house layout and could walk the entire thing blindfolded ~ which I did regularly. Bumping my shin into the coffee table was an unwelcome surprise. Mother-fucker! They had moved my stuff. Playfully hurling Dabney in the direction my sofa was supposed to be stopped being an option.

I could peel her off, but there were easier ways to do things rather than applying brute force. I walked my right hand up to her underarm while Dabney rained kisses down the top of my head, or tried to - face full of cleavage. She gasped, giggled and then rocked backwards while wrapping her legs around my waist. Her crotch was humping my belt buckle.

Now she was at a thirty degree angle leaning away from me. I could see she wasn't worried one bit. She was using her concern as an excuse to molest me in front of company.

"Dabney, would you like to go back to the bedroom and fuck?" I asked the question I already knew the answer to. Dabney was obsessed with scent marking me around other women.

"Sure!" she smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "I'd like that."

"It is not going to happen because we have company and two more are on the way," I glowered. "Dabney, I'm not going to vanish one day, like I did 15 years ago. I'm not leaving you. I want you, but I also want you to become a team player."

She was mulling that over.

"Hi Reagan. Thanks for hanging around. If you keep looking at G like she's a washed up has-been, I'm going to start thinking you don't value my opinion and insight. If you keep disrespecting me, I'm going to go tell your mother and we both know that's not going to end well."

I was basing my verbal interactions on some visual clues and regular psychology. There was no ring on Reagan's finger. She didn't act overly divorced. That implied that she wasn't adjusting to a double-life the way her mother, Sandra Cho had. Either she kept a man outside her life and he got irritated that she was sneaking around behind his back ...

Or, she told him what she did. That meant he was already a man of questionable moral character for her to confess her numerous crimes to. Reagan was the Madam of All Madams in Sin City. He likely couldn't avoid sampling the goodies. It was the nature of males to let their testosterone overwhelm their common sense.

Reagan had access to people who hurt people and followed her instructions. So that type of jerk would always end up treating her badly, then get to spend some time in a body cast contemplating the reality that Reagan really was temperamental, criminally connected and very smart. That's why she dated Kristoff Declan back in high school; he was just as bright as she was.

Now she had me as her man-toy. I didn't think she loved me. I doubted she was nostalgic for what we never shared in our youth. I was a man she could communicate with who: didn't give a damn about what she did for a living, wasn't judgmental of her style of human exploitation and was turning out to be both capable and reliable.

That Dabney didn't understand and I did, was Dabney was making herself an obstacle to Reagan's plans for 'us' ~ Reagan and me. She was treating G like that because she was Lloyd's cast-off, thus dangerous to me, plus Reagan harbored a secret desire to punish G for being better looking and for being an emotional punching bag for Lloyd's perversions.

It didn't make sense. Beyond the rough mental framework, I didn't understand women and I'd never really made the effort to learn. Since I was not likely to find myself living alone anytime soon, I was going to have to remedy that. Reagan carefully mustered her response to my observation.

"You are annoying," she grinned. "Also, who is coming over? I didn't think you had any friends."

"IAB Lieutenant Trixie Crowe Buchannan and Homicide Detective Soledad Moreno. I am going to help them commit criminal acts in the pursuit of their personal agendas. These agendas are something the normal LVMPD hierarchy has being foiling for internal reasons to the point they are getting desperate," I added.

"Oh shit. You can't do that," Reagan informed me with authority. "At least I can't be a party to that."

Dabney was back to wiggling her hips against my belt buckle and licking her lips while giving me a seductive 'O'-face. I was made of sterner stuff ... which was another aspect Dabney found appealing. I wasn't lost in her sensuality which meant I liked her for her personality while not being a metro-sexual.

"I believe you have a very good reason for backing out at this juncture. I'm not going to be deterred from my current course of actions. G doesn't have the luxury of running and I'm not going to let Lloyd Pharris break her. I'll have a talk with Kip and work out a series of loan payments. You'll get your money. Dabney?"

"I'm out of the escort business, Reagan. I'll find another way to make a living," Dabney's sexy aura turned into one of immense compassionate vulnerability. Reagan looked at G.

"Hey, I've told Vance repeatedly he's lost his mind by sticking with me. He's convinced he can make Lloyd back off ...and I believe him," G's voice rose in confidence.

Reagan's mind was a whirl of dire onuses and competing fortunes, ... resulting in some personal capitalization ~ redemption. She was making her final calculations. I didn't know what factors she was weighing. I knew she was enticed by the possibilities. She stood.

"V, we need to talk in private," she motioned me toward the kitchen.

I released Dabney, letting her slide languidly down my body. I kissed her on the nose. That was the affection she craved more than lustful passions. Reagan led the way and I followed. I pulled out my larger sugar jar. I pulled out a low frequency sound generator to discourage eavesdropping.

"Okay," I indicated she could safely begin.

"You don't want to mess with Lloyd Pharris. I can't say I understand your loyalty to Ms. Norquist. You are on a Fool's Errand. You cannot beat Mr. Pharris with all the assets at his disposal. I'm giving you and Dabney an out. I can't save Ms. Norquist," Reagan reasoned.

"Do you know what resources Lloyd Pharris has at his disposal and what he'll do to win?"

"Yes, Vance. Yes I do," Reagan insisted.

"Do you know what resources I have at my disposal and what I am capable of?"

"I ... you are one man. I know Mr. (Jessup) Alexander pretty well and I know he wouldn't have a prayer against Pharris. Not a hope in hell," Reagan tried to explain to me.

"Why do you think I'm only one man? You think that because I'm the only person you see. You are not looking at the sum total of my assets and abilities, Reagan," I said. "I'm not CAM. He's great man, a great instructor and a great warrior. I'm not him. I don't think like him. I would have left the SEALs instead of turning to drugs to attempt doing what I was no longer capable of."

"I don't know the extent of Lloyd's power, but I am aware of his numerous vulnerabilities."

Reagan paused. I didn't knew her peculiarities yet. I knew her type though and I could see her face transform.

"You've got a plan," she gave a sliver a cunning grin.

"That's the first stupid thing you've said since I've come back home," I studied. Ego driven people were of no use to me and I had to prod her a bit more to be sure.

"Ah... ouch," her grin become full-blown. "You are right. You took down Pablo and engineered a peace with Circe inside of five hours."

"We are used to thinking of things like structures and profit margins," Reagan weighed her words carefully. I had already won her over. Reagan would be jealous of her mother's success, but wanted to prove she could expand in ways her mentor hadn't. She was smart, and considered herself smart, which raised my deviousness in her mind.

Despite the apparent disparity in power between Lloyd and me, if I had out-maneuvered her, thus, by her logical progression, I could defeat Lloyd as well.

"Outside of a public attack on you, you've bought time against Lloyd's possible means of aggression," she added.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You are going to give me information as you think I need it and I'll read you into my plan when I feel it is prudent," I told her. "You aren't helping us out of any sense of affection, or devotion. You have your own selfish reasons for helping me and I'm good with that. I haven't told anyone here my plans because, like you, I have a realistic expectation of what the people around me can contribute to our success."

"Dabney and G are worthless to us," Reagan tried to point out. 'Us?'.

Reagan had created an 'us' and had dropped hints about a 'we' on me earlier. Jo wasn't with Lloyd, or Circe. She was with some character whose code name was Thulsa Doom. Circe was a witch who turned men into pigs, which was somewhat appropriate to the sex trade.

I needed some immediate information and an internet search wasn't something that I could safely do at this very second with Reagan in front of me. So ... I made a call to Dutch Girl.

*Me - simple search - Thulsa Doom. I will stay online*, I relayed to my best friend in Europe. My words and tones expressed to her I had an audience.

The text she sent:

'Robert E. Howard - author 1906-1936 (suicide - depression)'

'Thulsa Doom - fictional character - no legendary/historical basis - necromancer - invulnerable - sense of immortality'

'Key words: undead - evil -wizard - Weird Tales - King Krull'

'Antagonist to fictional protagonists - Krull - Conan the Barbarian'

'Hope this helps'

What could I make of that? Circe was a witch, as was Thulsa Doom. That strongly suggested that other 'magically-themed' underworld king/queen-pins had a basis in reality. To the best of my recollection, that meant there were five other Vice Lords out there who weren't underworld fables. Shit. In turn, that equated to other Reagan's and Jo's - those who have mastered the art of sin - and were waiting in the wings for someone to drop dead. Few criminal masterminds ever really retired. Al Capone only succeeded in that because his brain had been rotted out by Syphilis.

"Thulsa Doom is the arms merchant of Las Vegas ... so there are five others still out there I haven't pissed off yet?" I studied Reagan. She gave me a silent applause. "Let's rejoin the others." I put up my toy before we returned to the main room. The resulting conversation was stilted and awkward. Dabney kept crawling into my lap which had a whole new level of danger because I had strategically decided to stand the coffee table against the wall and put my collapsible bed in its place.

I was 240 lbs. and Dabney was a healthy, lush 140 lbs. This bed was rated at 300 lbs. capacity and it was protesting the violation of its specifications. I didn't chastise Dabney because she wanted proximity. G and Reagan were adjusting to that. I could remain focused on the conversation and lovingly stroking Dabney like a prized thoroughbred.

Seconds after Dabney's horniness overcame her decorum (she had a great deal of coolness under pressure when she chose to exercise it) and began tonguing my ear, the doorbell rang. For an instant, fear flashed across Reagan's face. She was contemplated some level of treason, no doubt. I manually cut on the 72" TV (none of this remote control crap) and punched in the code for an eight screen split view.