Desperate Hours

By D K Gaston

Minnie and Shanna, the teenagers Joe saved from a life of crime and drugs in Lost Hours, become the targets of a Russian crime family and a corrupt city official.

While Joe protects Shanna from being pulled into a murder investigation (where she's the prime suspect); Kool-Aid also has his hands full after being hired by Minnie to keep her out of harm's way. One or both girls' might be keeping secrets from their protectors that could place all their lives in mortal danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D K Gaston
• Release date: Jul 9, 2016

Book preview

Chapter One

Angry shouts erupted from the outer office. Coming out of my chair too quickly, I brushed against the unsigned documents at the edge of my desk causing them to spill to the floor. The sheets transferring full ownership of my parent’s home to me crumpled under my feet as I rushed to the door its loose pages trailing in my wake. Antiquated hinges creaked in bitter protest as I yanked the door opened.

My assistant, Trish, was pointing her pistol at the chest of a man I’d hoped never to see again. Grady, an organized crime enforcer was standing in mock surrender, hands splayed in the air. He cursed loudly at her. She cursed just as loudly back at him. Both were oblivious that I had entered in the room.

What’s this about? I shouted reaching for my own pistol.

Grady slowly gestured with his hands for me to stop. Whoa, there Hooks, I come in peace. There’s no need for the heaters. That’s what I was trying to explain to Christy Love over here.

He spoke as if he’d watched too many Edward G. Robinson gangster movies growing up. Lowering his hands slowly, he grabbed both edges of his quarter length jacket and held it open.

See, Hooks, no weapons on me. He gradually spun around like a carousel. When he faced me again, he added, I didn’t want a repeat of the last time I was here.

Grady and two of his goons had come into my office a few months back making demands and threats. If Trish hadn’t come back from her lunch break early… Well, let’s just say, she would have been forced to look elsewhere for employment. I’d been expecting another visit from him seeking vengeance for running him out of my office with his tail between his legs. Apparently so had Trish. Though I relaxed my hand, she kept her pistol pointed at the enforcer’s chest.

I looked past them, through the open front door and into the empty hallway. Where are your bodyguards?

He cracked a half smile. I don’t need fucking bodyguards, he shot back, his words just short of threatening.

Should I pat him down, Joe? Trish asked eagerly, stepping around her desk, advancing toward my uninvited guest.

I didn’t doubt that her version of a pat-down would have included a swift knee into the man’s privates. No, I answered. Grady would have already pulled his gun if he had one on him. If he says he’s not carrying, I believe him. Although the man was a coldblooded killer, he had some misguided sense of honor he stood by.

There was another motive for my not wanting Trish to approach him however. A man like him knows a half dozen ways to kill or cripple someone with his bare hands. Much better that she kept her distance out of arm’s reach. Grady smiled again with a bit of smugness in his expression. He must have thought I paid him a compliment.

Listen to him, Honeybuns. You can put your heater down ‘cause you’re making me real nervous. And I’m not the kind of guy you want to make nervous.

Her scowl deepened. She lowered the pistol toward his crotch. Why you little di—

Signaling with my hand for her to lower her piece, I cut her off before she could begin her tirade. She gave me a skeptical are-you-sure expression. It’s okay. We’re cool, I said, regarding both of them.

After the tension in the room subsided to a manageable level, I turned my back to the enforcer and walked back into my office. This left me vulnerable. It was my way to let Grady know I wasn’t afraid of him. I was also confident that Trish would guard my back in case he decided to take advantage of the situation.

The heavy padding of his feet followed behind me. I can see why you and your partner get along so well, he said with a derisive snort.

Glancing over my shoulder, I asked, Partner?

Kool-Aid, he explained, saying my best friend’s name as if he wanted to draw some kind of reaction from me.

I just shrugged. Ex-partner, I corrected, expressionless, though butterflies fluttered inside my stomach. Apparently, Grady’s visit wasn’t about me at all, but regarded Kool-Aid. Striding across my office, I gestured for him to take a chair.

He looked back into the outer room. Trish’s harsh gaze stared back at him. He kicked the door closed behind him. Let’s keep this between us, he barked.

With Trish on the opposite side of the shut door, I quickly circled around my desk and sat in my chair, relieved that my unguarded back was no longer exposed. Though I wasn’t afraid of the man, I wasn’t stupid enough to keep my back to him very long, recalling the old scorpion and frog fable.

He glanced down at the floor spotting the papers I’d knocked over. Thankfully, he didn’t show any true interest, looked up and stepped over the documents.

I waited until he sat in one of the empty chairs in front of my desk before I asked, Keep what between us exactly?

Grady leaned forward, placing his elbows on my desk and pounded his fist into his palm. You heard from your partner in the past twenty-four hours?

I cocked an eyebrow saying nothing. What has Kool-Aid gotten himself mixed up in this time?

Is that supposed to be a fucking yes or no?

Leaning back, I drummed my fingers on the arms of my chair. Neither. I’m simply waiting for an explanation before I answer.

My client wants to know where to find your partner—

Ex-partner, I corrected again. Client is such a civilized word, Grady. Would this client of your have ties to an organized crime family?

No, he grimaced bitterly. I don’t work for them anymore… Thanks to you and your friend! He jabbed his thumb in my direction like he wanted to drive it through one of my eye sockets.

I stopped my drumming. You want to elaborate?

Veins visibly throbbed at his temples. No. I. Fucking. Do. Not. His hands became fists and for a splitting moment, I expected him to start beating his chest like some wild prehistoric Neanderthal.

The last time Grady and I met, he was after something I had in my possession. Could his failure at retrieving it have caused a fallout with his old employer? Can’t say I felt bad about that. Well, at least that explained why he hadn’t come after me. He had other problems to deal with, like finding a new job.

I kept prying. So who do you work for these days?

He lifted his elbows from my desk and gave me a salacious glance as if he’d been waiting for me to ask. An old pal of yours actually. He told me to tell you, ‘Hi,’ when I stopped by.

I didn’t like the sound of that. Still, I forced myself to smile. Good to hear it. Who might this old associate be?

Meriwether, he replied, leering. Remember him?

I sank a little in my chair. Oh yeah, I remember him.

Lucius Meriwether, a dirty city council member, had his hands in just about all the major corruption in Detroit. Lucius was also the man who’d recruited Kool-Aid and me as teens into Young Boys Incorporated. A former street gang that had no rival, controlled by ruthless men who had no qualms about turning boys into drug dealers and killers. Lucius had been the worst of them and on more than one occasion, I’d watched him kill in cold blood.

What does he want with Kool-Aid? I asked, not bothering to hide my uneasiness, though I should have. Grady took on air of superiority like he’d gained the upper-hand. Maybe he had.

He said nothing, instead taking a thick cigar out of his inside jacket pocket. Grady flaunted his stogie in his fingers like he held a trophy. When he saw he had my rapt attention, he said, Did you know that a cigar has two ends? Of course, you do, that’s obvious isn’t it? Here let me show you what I’m trying to get at. He tapped the part that goes into his mouth. "The bottom is the cap, while the top is the foot. It’s backwards to me but what the fuck do I know? He extracted a wooden match from the breast pocket of his shirt and with a flick of his thumb lit the stick. I hand rolled my cigars these days."

Placing the flame to the foot of his cigar, he pressed the other end between his lips. Grady took a long exaggerated pull, watching me the entire time, enjoying his supposed victory in our little game of domination. Smoke exited his nostrils like an old fashion coal-powered steam engine.

I waited patiently for him to finish his performance, because that’s all it was. His coming to my office without any weapons or backup and telling me about Lucius. Grady put on the show to let me know that Kool-Aid was in over his head.

He took the cigar out of his mouth and puffed his chest out with self-importance. Your partner is into shit he shouldn’t be into. Shit that’s gonna get him killed.

I folded my arms together, trying to regain some of my earlier bravado, and smirked. You really think you can take Kool-Aid?

He wagged his cigar at me like it was his dirty finger. He’s not the only badass I’ve dealt with! A bullet to the head can put him into a six-foot deep hole like every other wannabe badass, he growled, his face had gone cherry red. If you hear from your partner, tell him to let that shit go. Do that for me and maybe, just maybe, he’ll get to breathe a while longer!

His outburst placed me back in control of our game and he knew it. I gave the enforcer a slow, appraising glance. Why come to me? You could have called him on the phone and left a message to say that. Hell, you could have gone directly to his office. He has a staff you could be harassing instead.

Grady’s eyes narrowed with contempt. ’Cause the two of you are attached at the hip like fucking Siamese twins. When one’s in the shithole, the other comes running to pull him out. So before he enlists your help, I wanted you to know exactly what that little endeavor would lead to.

Let me guess, a shithole?

Exactly, the enforcer agreed. He looked me straight in the eyes, and crushed his hand-made cigar on the desk and dropped the remains on my floor.

I stood up so that I could stare down on him and pointed to the door. It’s time for you to go.

He calmly retrieved a fresh cigar, lit it and took another long pull. The enforcer did a repeat of his steam engine impression and then got up from the chair. I won’t let you two embarrass me again, Hooks. He spun around.

The next time you want to educate me on cigars, you better bring a damn ashtray with you.

He shrugged before storming out of my office. Grady crossed through the outer room and then around the corner in the hallway before I sat down.

Trish hurried inside. What was that about? she asked.

Pondering what kind of dilemma Kool-Aid had gotten himself into, I said, Trouble.

Chapter Two

I was probably the only person who knew that Trish and Kool-Aid had been dating for months. He had divulged their secret, because he thought we were going to die during a shootout in a billionaire’s garage. There had always been a connection between the two, but it took helping me through a personal crisis to bring their buried feelings to light.

When I had questioned Trish about Kool-Aid whereabouts, she told me she didn’t know, nor had she heard from him in the past twenty-four hours. That in itself didn’t raise any red flags for her. Kool-Aid was never the, call or see you everyday type personality.

I called his office and was told that Miles, one of Kool-Aid’s top employees, had been severely beaten. He was in the hospital. This news, plus with the sudden appearance of Grady at the office, turned Trish’s normal calm into concern.

***

A half hour later, I arrived at DMC Sinai-Grace Hospital. Removed from surgery, Miles rested in a recovery room. He laid stiffly in the bed with IV lines and electronic monitoring leads attached. Doctors had placed him into a medically induced coma due to the swelling on his brain. A nurse told me that Miles was lucky to be alive.

In bandages covering much of his body, his skin was scarcely visible. Miles’ hands and one leg were set in casts. He would need help to eat and go to the bathroom once he recovered. His two black eyes, broken nose, and swollen lips, only added to my anger at seeing him like that. Miles, a big, physically fit person, knew how to take care of himself. Not too many people with any measure of common sense would try to take him on directly. The attack likely had been by multiple assailants or at gunpoint.

Grady, I muttered aloud, he and his goons probably had something to do with Miles’ condition.

Assuming Kool-Aid wasn’t already aware of his employee’s injuries, he would hunt down those responsible. If Grady’s name should come up at some point, the enforcer better start running and keep running before my friend caught up with him.

My fingernails dug into the meat of my palms as my hands tightened into fists. Kool-Aid wasn’t the only person who wanted a piece of those that put Miles in the hospital. I was indebted to the man; Miles had saved my then wife, Nina’s life. A killer had wanted her dead just to hurt me. I would repay him by finding out why someone put a hurt on him.

First, I had to find Kool-Aid before Grady. To do that, I had to think clearly by letting my anger go. Unclenching my fists, I took several deep breaths. I tried not to concentrate on Miles’ comatose, broken body in the bed and instead thought back to when Grady entered my office. He had mentioned his new boss, Lucius Meriwether saying, Hi. Obviously, it was Lucius’ offhanded way of telling me he was the one after Kool-Aid. Could it have been an invitation for me to visit him as well?

I crossed the room and stared out the window, trying to wrap my thoughts around what the councilman could want from me. We hadn’t spoken in years, avoiding each other like the plague. We were part of each other’s past and neither he nor I wanted it revisited. My mind raced back twenty years.

***

Kool-Aid had rolled himself another joint, his third in the past hour. I was still working on my first. The party had been going on for nearly nine hours and at three thirty in the morning, it didn’t look as if it would ever end. Kool-Aid lit the tip of his joint and then took a long pull. Withdrawing the fatty from his lips, he said something, but I couldn’t hear him over the blaring of, La Di Da Di by Doug E by Fresh and the Get Fresh Crew from the boom box.

What? I yelled.

I said, this shit is da bomb, he shouted, moving close to my ear so I could hear. I hear it’s good for the complexion, keeps blackheads away.

I grinned. Right, I said, drawing the word out with sarcasm.

He rubbed his fingers across his cheek like he’d just finished shaving. Just look at my face, Joe. Not sportin’ one bump on my baby smooth skin, Kool-Aid said.

If that was true, nobody else here would have bumps on their faces, I countered, pointing to a half dozen other teens, boys and girls with bad skin. Most likely, it’s that Jheri curl oil that keeps dripping down from your head keeping it smooth. I reached over to touch his thick curls.

You need to chill, homeboy, he said, playfully slapping my hand away. Don’t dis a brother’s hair. You’re just mad cuz your hair is ill. That’s why you’re hidin’ it under that doo rag tied around your head.

We laughed and then took pulls. The joints glowed red. We lost our grins as Lucius pushed his way through the crowd of partiers headed directly for us. His stone cold expression meant he was ready to work.

Kool-Aid glanced over at me. Guess we’re back on the clock. Shit, I was just startin’ to have fun.

Lucius’ muscled frame and long body towered over us. He placed a hand on our shoulders, squeezing. Time for you brothers to step up, he shouted over the music. His breath was heavy with beer and weed. Come with me. I gots a job for you boys.

Saying nothing else, he spun both of us around, literally piloting us out of the house and onto the front yard. The street was packed with cars—some even parked on the front lawn. Maneuvering through the vehicles, we stopped at the curb. I think Lucius held on to us like he did because it gave him a sense of control, that, and to keep his drunken ass from falling over. He was high on more than just liquor and grass.

When I finally built up the nerve to speak, I turned and asked, Where we going?

Lucius’ blood red eyes beamed down on me. I’m pretty fucking good at reading people, he slurred. You two aren’t like the rest of the homeboys. That’s why I’ve been keeping you away from the hard shit. But it’s time for you two to grow the fuck up.

A black Chrysler New Yorker without its headlights on, turned around the corner, and drove slowly down the street. At first, I thought, Drive-by, but the dark tinted windows never rolled down for guns to come out. The New Yorker pulled to a stop in front of us.

Lucius opened the rear door, but didn’t get inside. Instead, he looked at Kool-Aid with a knowing grin. Do the Fantasy Island dude’s voice, he said.

Doing his Ricardo Montalban impersonation, Kool-Aid intoned, Soft Corinthian leather, from the old Chrysler Cordoba commercials.

Lucius’ drew his head back and laughed so hard, he almost pushed the both of us to the ground. He had tears in his eyes when he said, Love that shit, Kool-Aid. You should be a fucking comedian like Eddie Murphy.

Kool-Aid did the Murphy signature laugh next, which caused Lucius to roar with laughter again as he ushered us inside the backseat.

We drove from the west side all the way to the east side of Detroit. We arrived at an abandoned building that had once been a Coney Island. Boz, the New Yorker’s driver, who was also Lucius’ top enforcer, as a rule always kept close to him. However, that night, Boz had selected to stay behind the wheel as Lucius prodded Kool-Aid and me with the point of a flashlight.

He directed us inside the rundown restaurant. His flashlight beamed ahead of us, barely illuminating the minefield of used syringe needles and trash strung across on the floor. Toward the rear his light brightened a small corridor decorated with exposed electrical wires dangling from the ceiling and colorful graffiti on the walls. Two doors came into view further down the hall, men and women restrooms. Lucius stretched out his long arm and pushed open the ladies’ room entrance.

We hesitated, Kool-Aid and I looking at each other with questioning expressions.

Move your asses, Lucius bellowed.

What could we do? He was older, stronger, and carried a gun, so we filed inside obediently.

Did we stop here for a piss break? I asked trying to sound lighthearted, but missing the mark entirely.

Shut the hell up, Lucius snapped.

The ladies’ room was pretty much in the same condition as the rest of the building, but carried the powerful stench of urine and shit.

In the silence, a low whimper came from one of the stalls.

What the hell is that? Kool-Aid asked.

Wait, Lucius demanded. He shoved open the stall and flashed his light inside. Loud panicked muffled shrieks erupted within. He reached in and yanked, but something resisted his efforts. Lucius tugged harder and a woman bound with duct tape flew out and spilled onto the trash-covered floor.

Who’s that? I yelled.

This is going to make you two men, Lucius answered.

I thought at first he meant