Tyson

Walking away from the place I know in my soul Hemmingway is being held prisoner guts me, but seeing as it’s still daylight hours, I can’t go in undetected. This operation needs to be put into play in the dead of the night. The people of this neighborhood need to be passed out from whatever their alcohol or drug of choice is.

I don’t need any busybodies sticking their noses into my business, and the less chance of that happening, the better. I shake my head in disgust as I walk back the way I came. On every corner, someone’s shooting or lighting up.

No cops come to this area and patrol. It's known for its illegal dealings. Drug and gang occupants are the majority of who you’ll find housed in this community. Now that I know where to look and where to go, I can bide my time and sneak in when there’s less chance of being seen or anyone hindering our escape.

I’ve been corresponding with Pops more than the club. Each time I’ve tried touching base with one of my brothers, I get put on hold for a long time, which indicates they're dealing with something and I should be there. Instead, I’m tracking down Master’s sister and rescuing her.

I plan to hold back my judgment until I hear Hemmi’s side of the story and understand how she’s found herself in this predicament. It chaps my ass that I’m on a rescue mission when my family needs me.

I got fucking sick of hearing Cole whine, browbeat, and blame himself for my girl, Amara, leaping from the top of the building and taking her own life, regardless of who she hurt in doing so. I sent him back home, citing that I could do the job better if I were doing it on my own, which isn’t far off from the truth. It’s always nice having someone watch your back, but not one so riddled with grief that he can’t manage to separate the two from each other.

Unlocking the door to my motel suite, I push the door inward and walk directly over to the phone on the bedside table. When I pick up the receiver, I dial the number nine to get an outside line. Once I hear the dial tone, I follow it up with inputting the area code and phone number I’m wanting to call.

Luca answers with his monotone, one-word welcome, “Alvarez.”

I grunt before saying, “It’s Tyson. Need to talk to Pops if he’s available.”

“Got the girl?” Luca asks.

“Tracked down that dipshit, so I know where she is, but I don’t have my hands on her yet.”

“Julius isn’t gonna be happy. You should’ve already had her out of that hellhole days ago, son,” Luca admonishes me.

“Ain’t your son, Luca. I’m doing the best I can with what I have to work with. I refuse to jump the gun and get her out of there on y’all’s timeline if she’s gonna end up getting hurt in the process.”

“Do we need to send our guys in, Tyson? I have men on standby, waiting for word from me to hit the streets.” Luca continues pressing the issue and pissing me off further, the more he talks out his ass.

“I’ve. Got. This,” I grit through my clenched jaw. “Is Pops there or not?”

I’ve had enough of Luca’s gibberish. As far as I’m concerned, he’s inconsequential.

He’s all steel, thunder, and full of shit, but I ain’t got time for his caveman tendencies, browbeating, and posturing. He’s not going to swoop in at the last minute after all the time I’ve dedicated to this and save the day.

Fuck. That.

He’ll get to do that over my six-foot, dead, and buried body.

As far as I’m concerned, he can go wrap his overachieving, silver-spooned fist around his dick and go fuck himself because he won’t be screwing me over. I have too much time invested in this. I won’t sit back and let someone come in and take the credit for my hard work.

“He’s here. I’ll go get him for you.” The man is too cheery when he says this, like our back-and-forth standoff didn’t just take place.

“You do that,” I issue, but hear nothing but silence greet me on the other end. “Jackass put me on hold, having to have the last word, just like a fucking asshole who thinks he’s royalty and us commoners need to bow down to him.”

“Who’d that be?” Pops’ voice comes over the line, overhearing my tantrum.

“Just some asshole, Pops.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” he remarks with a chuckle protruded in every syllable. “Luca, leave me.” His unquestionable order to his younger brother has a smile broadening on my face. I’m not a petty person, but I feel like pumping my fist through the air, as if I’ve won this round of wills.

Childish? Maybe, but Luca seems to bring that ugly side out of me. It’s a conundrum because he’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s also not one of the ones I dislike the most. He’s like that annoying older brother, in that what he says goes, and he expects the younger sibling to follow along and do his bidding.

I have a feature story for him. I don’t operate that way and I never will. The only people whose dictates I willingly follow are my president and vice president… as well as Pops, because he’s Pops.

I can have mad respect for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be a pansy or your patsy.

“Have you located our girl?” Pops asks, interrupting my inner victory dance.

“Found her, don’t have her… yet,” I add, answering his question.

“Problems? Anything my association can do to help, Tyson?” A smile forms on my face when he says my name.

Tyson is the road name he provided me with. The name I was birthed with no longer exists outside of my birth certificate and state driver’s license—anything that’s official and that the government insists I carry on my person or have in a file. Tyson is because of the way I hit. I always manage a complete knock out of my opponent before I acquiesce.

A lesson I learned as a kid, from the roughneck neighborhood I was raised in, and kept in mind through adulthood. If you leave your adversary where they can pop up and retaliate, you’ve failed and could possibly land yourself in a shit load of trouble. Never turn your back, not until you know the other is out for the count and not bouncing back.

“I’ve got it covered.” I answer Pops’ question, pulling myself out of any and all thoughts of the area and people I grew up around and near. They aren’t worth it. Not anymore.

“There’s a lot happening back home, but I won’t bother you with that yet. Your mission requires your mind to stay on task.”

“Pops, gotta know. Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah, Tyson. Everyone is whole and things will be good. I’ll make sure of it. For now, you worry about you and Hemmingway. Master needs you to get her out. He’s having trouble staying rational, holding onto his temper, and not hitting the road to come and get his sister himself. Especially with his old lady expecting and due any minute now. I’ve never seen a man so torn.”

“He’ll do what’s right by Aspen, Pops,” I impart, knowing that as much as he’d like to be on this reconnaissance and rescue mission himself, he’s where he needs to be—with his family.

“When are you going in?” Pops asks, changing the topic back and keeping things on track.

“That’s in the plans for tonight,” I answer, wanting to get on with it already and set her free. Hopefully she has enough information that we can take these men down and let the military deal with them, rather than me having to get more blood on my hands.

“Call me tomorrow with an update.” This is a demand, not a suggestion. Pops may be old, but he’s not anyone I’d cross and strife with. He knows how to hit you where it hurts, if not with his hands, with other things—too many to sit here and list or think about.

“Will do. Later, Pops.” Without any comebacks, he disconnects the line. “That was rude.” I chuckle, not surprised at the least that he didn’t say goodbye or wish me luck.

Needing to be in top-notch condition for tonight, I decide to grab a bite to eat and rest my eyes for a few hours. As soon as I have her removed from that rathole, I plan on getting the hell out of this town. Not too far away, close enough to where we can still keep an eye on these guys and take them down, but putting enough distance between us and them to where we’re not easily found.

* * *

Being part of the DreamCatchers has taught me a lot of things. Each man had something he’s taught me as far as how to be a good tracker, the patience one needs while gathering all the intel before infiltrating that person’s homestead, and how to be stealthy when entering that abode.

Last time I sat out behind this house, I heard one baby cry. This time, I could swear I heard two different babies crying. What are these assholes doing with a set of babies? Are they snatching and trafficking them? That thought gets me up in arms, ready to fucking slit their throats. Fuck being tactful. Now, instead of rescuing one person, I’ll be rescuing three.

There’s no way I could sleep at night if I were to leave such innocent kids behind for whatever malicious intentions they have where their lives are concerned.

No fucking way.

I’m not that kinda man.

Kids don’t ask to be born, and they most certainly don’t ask to be whisked away and sold to the highest bidder for a profit. I’m not sure how I’m going to pull this off. My planning only had one extra person in mind, not three.

Running my fingers through my hair, I begin to mentally revise and amend my approach. Hemmingway, no doubt, is going to be weak and need my help to get out, but those babies, if I grab them last, may give the men inside a chance to snatch them and get away. I can’t let that happen either.

“Shit,” I hiss, trying to decipher who I should go after first.

Rifling through my backpack, I go through the tools of the trade I brought with me. My 9 mm sits on top in case I needed it if things get sticky, but I dismiss that. It’ll garner too much unwanted attention, only giving me a short amount of time to make our escape. Something so loud and deafening as the kick from the bullet leaving its chamber would alert the neighborhood. I can’t take the chance of them waking up, coming to investigate, and charging in.

In a neighborhood such as this, they’d all come brandishing their own weapons, and I’d end up in the midst of a shootout with three rescuees at my hip. Here’s the thing about communities like this. They all stand up for one another and don’t allow outsiders to come in and wound one of their own.

Criminals stick together. They watch out for each other, not wanting the law to come in and figure out their misdeeds and cart them away in cuffs. I’ve witnessed how they stand strong while fighting at one another’s side. I don’t have the backing with me to wage an all-out war with a suburb full of gangbangers and drug dealers.

Shaking my head, I continue digging. “Yes,” I say in triumph. I forgot about this device I’d purchased from some punk on the streets when I started sneaking around and hunting. How some wannabe arms dealer got his hands on an arsenal of tranq guns and ammunition for it is baffling, but in this instance, I’m glad I got it and the projectiles from him.

“Shut those fucking brats up before I come up and do it for you!” The voice that shouts is from someone who has years of commanding under his belt. His timbre crackles but is full of unquestionable authority. If I were a lesser man, I’d quiver in my boots. This lets me know that the Admiral is in attendance. He, unlike his son, is not considered as being AWOL from his base. He’s been making physical appearances at his post, to keep up the charade of being a loyal and dedicated leader, keeping up with his delegated duties, and has actually been ordered to lead the troop that’s been assigned to find and bring in his boy so he can face charges.

Gritting my teeth, going against all of my instincts, I stick to the plan. I do not attack and extract Hemmingway and the young ones until the house shuts down for the night and those two assholes are tucked into their beds.

“I’ve got it, Admiral!” Miller hollers back at his ole man. This tattered house, one I worry will fall down around me when I enter, allows me to hear everything with a crystal sharp clarity.

“See that you do!” Admiral shouts in response. Their voices echoing through the vicinity grates on my last nerves. They only stretch so far before they snap. I couldn’t be around those two. I’d have to strangle them just to shut them the hell up.

Keeping to the shadows, the snapping of twigs has me stiffening. I only relax when I see that I’m being tracked by Little Fucker, the black-and-white pelted tuxedo cat, and his frenemy, Shithead, the calico cat. The two begin meowing and purring as they rub against my squatted frame. Not wanting them to catch the attention of anybody that should pass by, I try to shoo them away. They both stop, slant their heads to the sides, and I shit you not, they both narrow their eyes at me.

“Don’t fucking scold me with those fucking slitted cat eyes. Get the fuck away. I got a job to do and don’t need any tagalongs.”

“Meow,” Little Fucker responds.

“Yeah, meow to you too,” I grunt. “Argumentative shithead, aren’t ya?”

“Meow.”

“Fuck you too, Shithead. Y’all go on now. Get gone.” They both look at me for a short second before they plop their asses on the ground and refuse to move. Shithead starts grooming himself and Little Fucker lies on his back with all four paws stuck up in the air.

“What game is the universe playing on me?” I grumble, leering at the two mini terrorists who are determined to stick their furry asses to my side. “You guys are needy. At least stay out from underneath my feet and don’t trip me when it’s go-time.” My instructions are met on deaf ears as the two stop grooming and posturing themselves. They start winding themselves around me and rubbing their scents all over my clothing. “Don’t listen for shit, just like every other asshole in this world.” My harrumph is met with another round of purring.

All I can do is hope there’s not a dog tucked away in the house that I haven’t heard or seen. It’d have a field day trying to get to me and attack based on the odor I now carry on my person. Stupid little fuzzy assholes.

Two hours, fifteen minutes, and forty-nine seconds is how long it takes before the house shuts down for the night. I give myself an extra hour before I begin breaking in.

“Go-time,” I mumble to my two observers. As if they understand how important this task is, they prowl into the shadows and disappear from sight.

That was kinda cool. They only stuck around to keep me company, so I wouldn’t be alone. Maybe they’re not so bad after all.

Shaking my head, I grab my assembled items and focus on the only task I have right now—rescuing Hemmingway.