Liquid Courage Page 10

  After doing my homework I located Bruno rather easily. Thirty minutes after that, I was strutting through Mr. Sylvester’s office and wasn’t stopped by his entourage. I imagine a five foot nothing female spinning a ball bat around made a guy stop and think. I knew it was him by his grin. Men in charge grinned just like this. “Mercy Mohr, I presume?”

  “Listen Sly, you and I have a mutual problem.”

  “Do we now?”

  “Yes, his name is Nicholas Kennedy.”

  “Your husband.”

  “Wrong,” I gag involuntarily. “Ex-husband.”

  “Interesting,” he grins again.

  “So is finding my woman here,” Dion says from behind me.

  “Are you stalking me?” I ask with a smirk.

  “Yes,” he offers without hesitation. “Sylvester is a member of the den, so it’s not uncommon for me to be here. But I would like an explanation as to how you came to be here.”

  “Because Sly here sent his men to my house to shoot at me while I was taking the trash out. Both literally and figuratively.”

  “Is this true?” Dion advances on him.

  “Absolutely not,” he swears. “Jesus Christ, Nick Kennedy is a shitty businessman but I’d never harm his woman—ex-woman—over it. My issue lies with Nick, not Mercy.” Facing me he vows, “This was not my work, I promise you.”

  “Fair enough,” I nod. “But if I find out otherwise…”

  “You won’t,” he says laying his hand over his heart.

  “Bruno would never harm a man’s woman over money, beautiful. Now you’ve got my word on that too,” Dion adds.

  “Then I apologize,” I offer sincerely.

  “Any idea where Nick keeps his money?” he grins.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. But the only way I’m telling you is if you promise to torture him for it.”

  “I am a man of my word.”

  No lie, I really liked this guy.

  “Let’s start with where he keeps his boat…”

  Mercy was on edge. Not because she was sending me on my first ‘solo’ gig but, because she felt like Pita was pulling away from her since finding out about the drive-by. She didn’t want to hear that he was a nineteen-year-old man boy who’s probably getting laid or hopes to get laid. She’s convinced something is wrong, that Pita was mad at her and while I warned her that suffocating the kid wasn’t the way to go, Mercy tuned me out.

  While she was driving toward the riverfront, I assumed she was still caught up in worrying about the kid when she slammed on the brakes causing my face to acquaint itself with the dash. “The fuck was that for?”

  “Did you just litter?” she says white knuckling the wheel.

  “No?” I try and lie.

  “I saw you, Dion,” she snaps.

  “You are seriously wound up,” I point out as she takes a turn far sharper than necessary while mumbling, “Fucking litterbug.”

  A few minutes later, we’re pulled off to the side of the road as Mercy gives me the run down and I patiently listen. Fine, I pretended to listen. “—armed,” she was saying. “Fast on foot too,” she says putting on lip gloss and my cock loved Mercy in lip gloss. “Scrapper,” she says popping her lips together. “Hates authority, so don’t yell threats at him.”

  “What flavor is that?” I ask leaning in.

  “Repeat what I just said.”

  I was doing my best to recall her words when she squeals, “No time like show time, baby!”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s right there! Go! Make me proud!”

  Shit. Folding out of the car, I eat up the distance and when I was close, I threatened, “Don’t move or I’ll break your God damned neck. I need to give you –”

  And the fucker didn’t even stick around to hear the rest. Reaching for his side, Mercy yells, “Down!” and hurdled over my back with her own gun drawn. “Your family hired me to find you, Richie,” she says calmly.

  “You, I’ll talk to, maybe,” he shrugs. “That suit wearing motherfucker? Naw.”

  “It’s his first big boy job,” she shrugs back. “Learning curve, come on, Richie.”

  “You a cop?” he questions.

  “No.”

  “He a cop?”

  “No,” she sighs.

  “Then fuck you both!”

  Like a bolt of lightning Richie was gone. Looking up at her I expected to see disappointment not amusement.

  “My first big boy job, huh?”

  “I’ll make a PI out of you yet, Dion.”

  Extending her arm, she helps me up and spends the next forty minutes explaining our next lead and this time, I fucking listened.

  “Harris Nelson,” I repeat, still finding it funny he has two first names. Staring at his photo, I had to admit he didn’t look like much, but according to Mercy, the guy was nuts and trigger happy. This job was intel only. This Nelson guy wasn’t the big fish, his boss was. Because she had a way with earning people’s trust the department had asked for her assistance on this.

  All I needed was the boss’s name. That was the job.

  A name.

  I also needed to show Mercy I could fucking handle any task she gave me and I was embarrassed to admit that so far, I blew at it. I was an action guy not an asking guy. But, even I should be able to get this prick to give me a name. “There he is,” she points at the Temple Bar. “He stays for one drink, that’s it. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  Exiting the car, I jog across the street, walk in and find Nelson at the bar.

  Noticing he drank fast, I initiated conversation and was ignored.

  I nudged him to get his attention and he told me to fuck off.

  When he threw his money on the bar top, I did the same and followed him outside. I wasn’t around the corner when he fucking fired at me.

  “Shit!” I yell running in the opposite direction and then there she was, my Mercy.

  “How’d it go?” she fucking giggles.

  “I think,” I pant. “I may need a gun.”

  “Oh,” she says raising her shirt. “Here, take one of mine.”

  “You are fucking scary,” I grunt taking it. “So now what?”

  “Um, now you chase him down, Dion.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” I mumble and tucking the pistol in the back of my pants I was about to ask where he went when she says, “he’s parked in the lot off Charlotte.”

  “Fucking great.”

  And then I took off.

  The plan was to impress her, prove that I could do this gig with little to no training.

  That plan failed and instead of impressing her, I’d made a fool of myself.

  Knowing Dion wanted to impress me made my stomach flutter.

  But, he also thought PI work was something anyone with a pulse could do.

  He’d underestimated our mark and was currently running full tilt to catch him. Keeping a steady pace behind, when he ran out of his loafers my own rhythm faltered because I was laughing too hard to keep going.

  A few steps later he stumbles on the gravel and yells, “Fuck!”

  “Keep going!” I encourage him.

  Staring back at his shoes, it was obvious he was torn. Catching up to him I ask, “Why, are you having a moral dilemma right now?”

  “Those are my favorite Ferragamos,” he groans and literally bit his lip.

  “Is there really a choice here?”

  “I paid six-fifty for those, Mercy.”

  “So? Catching Nelson and getting that name pays three times that, Dion.”

  “I hate running,” he mumbles.

  “Listen, Father Time, you wanted to partner up. That means if the mark runs, you run. But, I’ll tell you what. Track Nelson down and I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes.”

  “You’re buying me new Ferragamos for catching that asshole?”

  “Ha,” I snort. “No. I’m buying you a nice pair of Pumas for catching that asshole.”

  “Pumas?”

  “Yeah. They re
tail for about seventy-five dollars and they stay on your feet.”

  “Mercy…”

  “Don’t make me race you, Dion.”

  “God dammit, my leg is cramping,” he gripes. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Two pairs of Pumas and that’s my final offer.”

  “Deal.” When he takes off at a sprint, I call out, “You forgot your loafers!”

  Dion’s response to that was flipping me off.

  Giving him time to find Nelson, I went back into the bar for a quick shot before slowly walking back to my car.

  When I heard gunfire, I forewent slow and hauled ass around the block to find a loaferless Dion behind a garbage can and Nelson behind a brick wall.

  Men.

  Running toward Nelson, his eyes went wide and it was clear he didn’t know what to do next. Here he had Dion with a gun and now some crazy woman running straight for him. “What the fuck!” he yells. “I don’t want to hurt you, lady!”

  Holding both arms up, I plead innocent and ask, “Just need a name, Nelson.”

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend,” I smile trying to appear friendly.

  “No friend of mine has hair like that.”

  “Hey,” I whine. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “That asshole with you?” he nods over to Dion.

  “He’s not an asshole,” I huff. “He’s my partner.”

  “He also ain’t got on no shoes.”

  “Yes well, he’s in training. Cut him some slack.”

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I told you, I need a name.”

  “I’ll give you a name,” he smiles showcasing his missing teeth. “Right after you suck my –”

  Pulling the trigger, I cut off his ridiculous rant and can’t help but chuckle when he hits the pavement face first.

  Wearing only one sock, Dion runs over and yells in my face, “Are you crazy?”

  “Probably,” I shrug. “But I wasn’t the one hiding behind a garbage can without proper footwear so…”

  “He was shooting at me!”

  “And you have a gun, so why weren’t you shooting back?”

  “He could have shot you, Mercy.”

  “Please,” I snort. “I’m too cute to shoot.”

  “I swear to God –” he begins to threaten.

  “Get the name, Forrest Gump,” I wave him off. “I’ll be in the car.”

  Ten minutes later and with bloody knuckles, Dion falls into the passenger seat giving me the name.

  Messaging Pita to deliver the intel and the invoice, I ask Dion where to and when he says, “The den,” I don’t ask questions, I just drive.

  Upon parking in the lot, he says nothing, just extends his hand to me and I take it. Hauling me into his arms, he guides us inside not bothering to speak to anyone. Passing the bar, he reaches over, grabs a bottle, and we continue our trek to his office. Slamming the door, he leans against his desk and mumbles, “Liquid courage,” then takes a pull.

  Handing it to me, I do the same but hold onto it. “What’s going on in your head,” I ask cautiously.

  “Not a fan of getting shot at, Mercy.”

  “That’s understandable,” I agree. Gunfire was an ugly, normally rare, part of the job.

  “Not a fan of seeing you in harm’s way either,” he says reaching for the bottle. “How much does that job like that pull in again?”

  “Three grand.”

  “You need to start charging more,” he decrees.

  “Dion –”

  “That name,” he says, pushing off his desk and prowling towards me. “The one we got shot at, almost killed for. That fucking name is trouble. That fucking name is a member here, Mercy.”

  “Oops?”

  “Not all of our members are on the up and up,” he explains. “And I don’t take issue with that as long as their shit stays off my property.”

  “Wise,” I agree.

  “Today, I brought the shit home with me.”

  “How about this,” I say throwing my arms around his neck. “Tell him that for six grand, I’ll share with him the name of the man I left on the pavement.”

  “The man we left on the pavement,” he corrects.

  “He doesn’t know that Dion.”

  “Fuck, you are a shifty little thing.”

  “It’s a gift,” I smile then kiss his lips. “How’s your adrenaline?”

  “Need to burn it off, Mercy,” he says gripping me tight.

  “I’m right here,” I say running my tongue along his jaw.

  “You mind rough?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” I say palming him through his pants.

  And there is no use in denying that I loved the looks we received as Dion carried me upstairs.

  The plus side was, without shoes, he got naked really really fast.

  Every morning when she wakes up, I’ve already counted all the ways I planned to make her happy that day.

  And as much as I want to push, even tried to push, that us living together made sense; she’s resisted.

  It’s not like she hasn’t been open and honest about why she’s hesitant, it’s simply that if Mercy has a problem, I want to solve it. The kid practically lives here and treats my office like he’s Hugh Fucking Hefner.

  Mercy though…

  So, this morning when she left me to go shower, change, and check on Pita, I racked my brain on what I could do to get her to fully commit. Telling her she could work from my office was out since she already was. To be fair, Mercy had a home and I had a makeshift apartment above my business but I considered showing her my other home. The one in the woods I actually live in. But that would be asking her to leave the city. She loves the city.

  Lunch.

  We’d start with lunch. That in mind, I drive over to her place where I intended to do the chauffeuring. The less time I spent in that Mustang the better. Mercy drove that car like she stole it and twice she’s almost run over pedestrians.

  Rounding the corner on to her block, I pull into her driveway and notice her garage door open. Getting out, I check the garage first to find her sitting on the ground with her head against her car. Dropping to my knees, I pull her hands down and see she has a bloody nose and swollen eye.

  “Talk to me,” I demand. “What the fuck happened?”

  “One minute I was getting in my car, and the next I was jacked twice and told to stay out of his business.”

  “Whose business?”

  “No clue,” she winces. “I even said the same and got a bloody nose for it.”

  “Can you stand?”

  “Maybe you were right,” she whispers. “I have gotten by on luck.”

  “Mercy –”

  “I didn’t even hear them,” she sighs. “Motherfucker, I got too cocky.”

  “You’re moving in with me,” I announce at the same time I lift her into my arms. “Now is not the time to test me, Mercy.”

  Burrowing into my neck she says, “Kay,” and I looked around to see if I was crazy.

  Because that was a lot easier than I expected. Setting her in the passenger seat of my truck, I run into her place to lock up and grab some of her shit. When I got back, she had the saddest look on her face as she stared out of the window.

  “Any word from Pita?”

  “No,” she says softly.

  “I’ll call him,” I offer. “See what he has to say.”

  “I appreciate that,” she says in a flat voice. Mercy considered Pita hers and his detachment was really hurting her. If I had to guess, even more than the blows to her face did.

  After tucking her into my bed, giving her some ibuprofen and ice, I poured us each a drink settling in next to her.

  “I was wondering,” she asks turning to face me. “How much does a blow job retail for?”

  “Minimum two hundred dollars last time I checked.”

  “I’m really in the wrong line of work,” she mumbles. “Okay for two hundred is swallowing m
andatory? What about ball play?” This woman, she got to me and the expression on her face confirmed that she knew it. “Did you just growl at me?”

  “The only cock your lips will be wrapped around is mine,” I did in fact growl, again.

  “Are you going to pay me two hundred bucks?” she challenges.

  “You testing me, Mercy?”

  Lightning quick, she was up and straddling me. Biting her gorgeous lip, she winks and says, “Yep.”

  “Before you blow my mind, I wanted to get your take on something.”

  Reaching over, I open the drawer and grab the book handing it to her.

  “Ah,” she lights up. “The infamous book of positions.”

  “Interested?”

  Grinding on me, she pretends to be reading… okay fine, maybe she was, but what she was doing to me was fucking amazing. “We’ll start with this one,” she muses.

  “Which one?”

  “It’s called, Head off the Bed,” she winks.

  Doing as she says, I climb off and watch as she rotates and allows her head to hang over the side of the bed. Reaching out, I take one of her hands, using the other to guide myself into her mouth. Immediately the suction is incredible. And since she does nothing by half measures, I couldn’t let this go on for too long. But watching her take me like this was so hot, I couldn’t stop myself from telling her, “We’re going to spider, spork, and snow angel. I want to waterfall, David Copperfield, and hot horseman. Ah fuck, I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”

  Releasing me with a pop, she flips over and asks, “No angry dragon?”

  Tackling her to the bed, I promise, “No angry dragon.”

  “How do you feel about Queening?”

  Rolling to my back then hauling her up, I put her where she needs to be, which is on my face and order her, “Your majesty, please take the throne.”

  With lust in her eyes, she does.

  The only thing missing while Mercy straddled my face was a tiara to place in her hair.

  “The word you’re looking for is apprentice, Dion.”

  “No,” he argues back. “The word I’m looking for is insane, Mercy.”

  “Ugh, this again,” I complain.

  “Yes, this again! You can’t just zap someone who doesn’t listen to you.”