I headed to the first of the two places Bags had written down—the one he’d heard Fender hung around—not so much because I thought I’d find Nevarra, or even Fender, there, but because there was a slim chance I could beat information out of someone, and I needed to do something. I couldn’t just wait around, and I couldn’t put Nevarra’s safety on this one cop’s shoulders.
There were risks in what I was doing, and not just the risk that I’d get killed, or turned in for a bounty. I was well aware that if someone in the Disciples found out I was coming for them, hunting them down, then they’d lock Nevarra away so tight I’d never find her. They needed to not worry about me, not even know my name. We hadn’t left anyone alive at the warehouse last night, and I was sure when the Disciples had discovered the bodies, they’d chalked it up to a robbery by a rival gang. We did take a bunch of their shit. They’d never connect that crime with me—which was exactly what I wanted.
Vultures had a reputation. We were thought to be cowards who avoided any sort of violent conflict. We swooped in, grabbed the goods, then got the fuck out. We hovered around the edges of fights, only joining in if we had to defend ourselves. If the Disciples thought about me at all, they’d be imagining me hunkered down in some hidey-hole, trying to get across the border with the loot and the money. They’d never imagine that I’d risk my hide looking for a younger foster sister; I’d not risk my hide picking them off one at a time until I managed to find out where she was being held.
I had to be stealthy. And I couldn’t leave any survivors to snitch on me.
The “no survivors” thing didn’t bother me. It was just one more thing that made me a freak, one more thing I had to hide from everyone. Oh well.
The address Bags had given me was a car parts place. The Disciples had taken over what had once been an AutoZone store, surrounding it with a tall chain link fence that had loops of wire around the top, as if it were a prison yard. Instead of keeping the bad guys inside, the Disciples were clearly hoping to keep their stock from walking out the door. The warehouse from last night had been secure, but this place had once been a retail store complete with glass windows and doors, and a layout that invited customers to come in to shop.
From the fence and the guards milling about outside, the only customers the Disciples wanted coming into this place were their own gang members or other organized crime groups looking to swap for car batteries and parts, not Joe Citizen picking up a pack of windshield wipers and some of those pine tree air fresheners to hang from the rearview.
There were stacks of fancy rims, some on and some off the tires. A pile of catalytic converters sat off to the side. Several high-end cars were lined up behind the fence in various states of being parted out.
Two guards were all that I could see at the moment, and they were doing a shitty job of watching the store. The bigger guy leaned against the wall, a pistol held loosely by his side. The other guy was making out with a woman beside a Ferrari that was up on blocks.
It was the perfect opportunity for me to slip by while the pair of them were distracted, but just as I went to sneak around the side, I looked back and saw that what I’d thought was a passionate embrace was one-sided.
The woman was struggling. And she was losing out against a guy nearly twice her size.
Damn it all. I didn’t have time for this, but I wasn’t about to just walk away. I also wasn’t about to go rushing in and get shot by the bored guard with the gun.
There was about twenty yards between me and the building. Along the way were two more cars, a metal trashcan that was probably used for a warming fire on cooler nights, and a set of expensive spinner rims on fat tires next to what looked to be a brand spanking new outboard motor.
I held my hand up and pushed, just like I’d done when deflecting the balls Sadie and Nevarra threw at me. The tires were a good distance away and a whole lot heavier than children’s balls, so all I managed to do was rock that stack a little.
The motion was enough to catch the attention of the dude standing guard. “Something’s over there behind the wheels.”
Rape-guy didn’t even pause. “Probably a rat or something.”
I pushed again, harder. The stack rocked and one of the tires fell off and rolled a few feet away, knocking a set of rims over with a clang.
Rape-guy’s head jerked at the noise, but he all he did was swear and turn his attention back to the woman.
The guard walked toward the tires, bringing his pistol up.
Shit. I’d wanted them both to investigate, although if I could separate them it might be easier for me to take them down one at a time. Holding my palm flat, I pushed once more and sent the fallen tire rolling past the car and around the edge of the building.
Now the guard swore and trotted after it. “Those fucking tires are worth a fortune.”
“If those Dub rims are dented, Fender’ll have your head,” Rape-guy called after him as he struggled with the woman.
I slipped around the edge of the car and darted to the next for cover, putting me in better view of the side of the building where the tire had come to rest. This next thing was going to be tricky. I’d either bring the guard down without a sound, or he’d scream loud enough that Knife-guy would come running with his dick out. Either option would work, so I waited for the guard to pocket his pistol and pick up the tire in both hands by the rim before sending a jolt of electricity across the courtyard, into the metal, and into the guard.
The guard fell to the ground, convulsing, the tire still in his hands. I ran to him keeping the electrical pulse up for seven seconds. The dude wasn’t smoking, so I assumed whatever I was doing it wouldn’t kill him. Not that I cared whether in the end I killed him or not. I just didn’t want him getting up anytime soon, or dying before I could question him.
I snuck around the side back to the other guard who was still struggling with the woman. Walking as quietly as I could, I came up behind him. Unfortunately, the woman gave me away, her eyes widening with surprise as she saw me over Rape-guy’s shoulder.
He shoved the woman to the side and spun around, pulling a knife from his waistband. The woman fell to the ground, her legs tangled as she went down. With a snarl, she kicked out at Rape-guy, catching him in his left ankle. It didn’t do much more than make him swear and kick back at her before trying to hop out of her reach, but it was enough. I grabbed at his hand with the knife, feeling a sharp sting as the blade sliced my arm. Then I stepped into the guy, slammed my head into his nose and employed my stun gun superpowers.
Men are idiots. They always expect women to fight like they do. I was shorter and slighter built than this guy, so I didn’t have his arm reach or his arm strength. He outweighed me by close to seventy pounds. I could punch until my fingers fell off and I wouldn’t win against him. The only way I’d prevail is if I went for his vulnerable areas fast and hard, if I closed in, kept him off balance, and let his weight and bulk work against him.
Sadly, my stun gun powers failed me this time, which left me having to fight a much bigger opponent who had a knife. I attempted another head butt, which he was smart enough to evade. He pulled his arms in closer, slashing the knife toward me. I wasn’t strong enough to overpower him, and my hand, slick with blood, slid off his wrist. The blade raked across the front of my jacket instead of my neck. I felt a sting, then a wetness on my chest.
Fuck, I needed my gun, even though shooting would bring whoever was in the building running. I couldn’t afford to be exposed, but I couldn’t afford to be dead either. Not that I could reach my gun with both hands frantically trying to keep the guard’s knife from slicing me to ribbons.
This whole thing was not going down as planned. My arm shook as he brought the knife upward and turned it. Fucker was going to stab me, and I wasn’t strong enough to do anything about it.
A whack sent the man against me with enough force that I nearly fell. The knife dropped from his hand, and he slid to the ground, blood gushing from his head. The woman stood behind him, her shirt twisted and torn at the shoulder. She was holding a tire iron in both hands and as I watched, she proceeded to cave the guard’s face in with three more blows.
So much for questioning this one. Hopefully, I hadn’t fatally electrocuted the other guy.
The woman tossed the tire iron aside, cursing the man in something that sounded like Russian. She spat on him a few times. I waited until she was done, then quickly went through the guy’s pockets, taking the knife and some of his money, before tossing the rest of the cash at the woman who was trying to straighten her shirt with shaky hands.
She froze and glared at me. “I’m not a whore.”
I shrugged. “Then be a thief. That’s what I’m doing.”
She flashed me a crooked smile and grabbed the cash from the ground. We both ran, her toward the street and me around the side of the building.
The guard was still on the ground. I checked for a pulse, then did some cursing of my own when I realized he was dead. Fuck. I was hoping to find out if Fender was here, or at least find out where Fender was before I killed this guy.
There would be more gang members inside, but I doubted it would go over well if I waltzed in the front door covered in blood and asked to speak with Fender.
Guess I don’t have any other choice.
If I was going in, I was going in prepared, so I grabbed the dead guy’s gun, then took his cash as well, because there was no sense in leaving good money behind.
First, I assessed my wounds. The cut on my chest was shallow and had already stopped bleeding. The one on my arm hurt like fuck. I wiped the blood on my pants, and decided it wasn’t deep enough that I needed stitches or immediate medical attention.
Hugging the building, I worked my way to the back corner. A quick glance told me there were no other guards outside, and the only two entrances were the main one in the front, and this steel door in the rear of the building. Whoever this Fender was, he was either an arrogant ass, or cheap. Only two guards? Okay, maybe that would have been enough if they hadn’t both been on the same side of the damned building, one of them getting his rocks off while the other chased a spinner across the lot.
The back door opened, and I knelt down behind an oil drum. A dark-haired man stepped outside, holding a cigarette. He was built like a piece of beef jerky with a clean-shaven face and a high-bridged nose that had a hook at the end. He took a few puffs, then pocketed the lighter, kicking a rock over to prop the door open.
This wasn’t Fender. I eyed the doorway, wondering how many more were inside, if Fender was actually in there or not. If I could manage to grab this guy, I might be able to find out if he knew anything about Nevarra or Fender—and then kill him before anyone knew I was out here. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but I was going to have to improvise and go with the flow.
The man smoked while I contemplated, weighing my alternatives. Soon he’d notice that the guards were oddly silent and nowhere to be seen. Soon he’d head back inside and I’d lose my chance to grab him out here alone. Making a decision, I pulled my pistol from the holster, thankful that I’d already chambered a round. Pistol in one hand, stolen knife in the other, I took a breath, hesitating as the man dropped his cigarette, ground it out with the heel of his boot, then unzipped his pants.
For a second I wondered what the fuck he was doing, then I heard the sound of water and realized he was peeing onto the frame of an Acura sedan. I lived with three women. I’d forgotten how cavalier men were about yanking it out when they needed to go.
It was the perfect opportunity. I walked up behind the guy, shoved my pistol against the back of his head as I wrapped my other arm around his waist and slid the knife up against his cock.
He abruptly stopped peeing and slowly raised his hands out to the side of his waist. “Your life really worth some cash and a pair of spinners?”
“I don’t want your money or a set of rims. Where’s Fender?”
He laughed. “What, he knock you up or something?”
Why did everyone assume I was pregnant? “Where’s Fender?” I repeated.
“He’s not here. Try down around the airport.”
I believed him. A man with a knife against his dick tends to tell the truth.
“I’m looking for my sister. Fender had her last I heard.”
He shrugged. “That Russian bitch? Butch and Blade are probably giving her a ride out front. You wanna join her?”
I tucked the knife in closer and felt him tense. “Not her. The little girl Fender picked up from the Fixers last night. He took her. I need to find her, or find Fender.”
The man’s breath came out in a hiss. “I don’t know nothing about little girls. I don’t fuck with that perverted shit. None of my boys do. Fender neither. He doesn’t screw kids.”
“Where is he?” My finger tightened on the trigger. One wrong move and this guy was going to be minus a chunk of brain as well as his dick. “Fender picked her up. Does he keep the girls with him until they’re sold?”
“Fender’s just a pick up and delivery guy,” he scoffed. “He wouldn’t have her. I don’t know who he’d take a kid to. That’s not part of the business I deal with. I just manage the chop shops and parts sales. That’s all I do. I don’t know nothing about kids.”
He was lying. I don’t know how I knew this, but I did. Pushing him closer to the Acura, I nicked him with the knife. He let out a high-pitched scream, then shut up as I pressed the blade so tight the slightest move would emasculate him.
“Who has my sister? Give me a name.” Someone probably heard that scream, which meant I had seconds until one or more guys came to investigate, even if they thought it was the Russian girl screaming.
“Desiree, you crazy fucking bitch,” he breathed out in a pained whisper. “He would have taken a kid to Desiree. She runs that side of our business.”
“And where’s Fender?” I demanded.
“Fuck if I know.”
“You said he’s down by the airport. Where?” I couldn’t go searching all over LA for this guy, and I doubted by the airport meant in the airport. Fender could be anywhere from Torrance to Hawthorne, and that was way too much ground for me to cover.
“I don’t fucking know.”
I didn’t have any time left for this. And unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of options that would allow me to kill this guy silently, so I pulled the trigger at the same time as I yanked the knife up and away. Blood and brain matter all sprayed all over the Acura frame.
I ran, my sliced arm stinging and still bleeding as I held tight to my pistol, my other hand and the stolen knife wet with the man’s blood. I ran, and didn’t look back, my ears ringing so loudly from the gunshot that I couldn’t tell if someone was after me or not. Darting down side streets, weaving in and out of alleys and crossing main thoroughfares, I didn’t stop running until I was a good mile away. People looked, but then quickly turned away, not wanting to know what was going on. Just another day in New Hell, seeing a blood-splattered figure fleeing with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.
I washed off in a public fountain that still had a few inches of oil-slicked water in it, then yanked a bandana out of my cargo pants to tie around the cut on my arm. I was pretty sure I looked a mess with a slice across the front of my jacket, and splattered blood all over my clothes. But that didn’t matter because I had a name.
Desiree. I hadn’t expected a woman to be allowed into the Disciples as more than a groupie. Clearly the gang was more enlightened than I’d thought, although not so enlightened that they thought twice about selling kids into slavery.
I still didn’t know where Nevarra was, or how to find this Desiree, or even Fender for that matter, but I was getting closer. And if I had to interrogate and kill every Disciple one at a time, I’d find them. Then I’d find Nevarra.