Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (8 page)

Max faces the music

Pounding music hypnotized rowdy patrons waiting in a line that snaked from the street corner, routing between concrete barricades, and ending at the front entrance. There, behemoth bouncers provided order with firm persuasion.

The Luma Lounge was where the trenders of fads decreed you had to party if you wanted social acceptance. It didn’t matter if there were hundreds of nightclubs in the Hi-8 to choose from. Gaining access to this particular Lo-5 establishment stood as a rare distinction coveted by every fashion conscious youngster.

The thrill of slumming in the heart of gangland brought excitement to their glutinous and mundane lives. Little did these pampered teenagers suspect, but it was the same crime lords they feared who guaranteed their safety while venturing downstairs. It would have been bad for a boss’s bottom line if so much as a single rich kid succumbed to peril while within the borders of his district.

By early evening, the crowd outside had swollen to record size. In the course of half an hour, no less than a dozen loud-mouths had earned ejection from the club, much to the cheers of those still waiting in line.

In the middle of this chaos, Max rode in on an ill-gotten Veloco Racer, parking just outside the perimeter. Remaining on the bike, he meditated to the erratic vibes. The gaudy digiton banner towering over the front lintel sent a shiver down his spine. Until recently, this place had been a second home to him. Here, between its brick and mortar is where he learned life’s hard-knocks from the toughest of teachers. Patti Luma hadn’t meant to influence his malleable mind with the ironies of her vocation, but that was the outcome in spite of her stern efforts.

He watched the holographic projections of neon partiers skip in the air over the crowd. She would be in there waiting, already aware of his current predicament. How pissed would she be, he wondered. Pissed beyond reason, he expected.

Revving the bike’s engine, he parted the sea of teenagers. Some moved without complaint, but others were flippant and shouted insults his way. He ignored them and drove down the alley to the rear entrance. Unlike the front, this area was devoid of people.

As he parked the bike, the backdoor blew open, flooding the alley with music. An umber giant stomped out of the building, holding up an inebriated Hi-riser boy by a syntho-leather chest strap.

The puny kid flailed. “Take your filthy hands off me!”

“Sure thing, cupcake.” The giant obliged, tossing the boy onto a pile of trash.

Not far behind, another bouncer dragged the girlfriend out by her hair. Shoved hard, she landed on top of her companion. Stumbling to her feet, greasy food particles slid off her clothes. “
Mange de merde et meurs, soldat pute
!” she swore at them.

Holding on to one another, the soused couple swayed toward the street. The bouncers provided escort with boisterous laughter.

“So when did you become a garbage man, Tank?” Max greeted him.

Avery “Tank” Rocco spun on his prosthetic heels and showed his big grin. “Ever since it started piling up,” he answered. “How the devil have you been doing?”

Tank lifted him up in a crushing hug.

“Well — you know — just living the dream,” Max gasped.

The giant released his friend. “I hear you, brother. Where you been hiding?”

“I’ve been around. Besides, who says I’m hiding?”

“Patti’s been looking for you. That means one thing.”

“Do me a favor and tell her you didn’t see me.”

Tank placed a palm on Max’s shoulder. The weight of the mechanical hand was heavy and the boy’s knees buckled. “You know I can’t do that. I love my job too much. Go on. Grow a pair and see her.”

“How about helping me, you know like old times?”

“You ain’t a kid anymore.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “But, only for you.”

Tank slapped him on the back, almost knocking him over.

“Hey, if I don’t come back alive, just know I love you, man.” His heart skipped out of sync with the music spewing from the club. Petrified numbness made the first step seem impossible. The second and third were easier, but not by much.

“Hey, what about your bike?”

The fate of someone else's property wasn't his concern. If it got snatched, he would just
shop
for another. “It’s okay. It ain’t mine.”

Max disappeared inside the club.

Tank shook his squat head. That boy was heading nowhere good.

Max entered by way of the service area into the main lounge where hundreds of clubbers crammed the largest of the two dance floors. In the smoke, holographic patterns of psychedelic lines bounced to the beat of the relentless tracks. At the crescent-shaped bar, bartenders poured libations to greedy customers.

Weaving across the dance floor, he stopped to watch two sexy girls gyrating on one another. The seductresses noticed his attention and returned the favor by pulsating on his sides. Before he reluctantly tore from their favor, one of the girls pulled him to her and latched his lips to hers, delivering a signature calling card with her mouth’s moistness.

He groaned. “Oh, if only I had the time.”

Hidden in an ignored alcove at the far end of the club, Zoe saw him move from the girls and go to the grand staircase. She repositioned outside the range of flashing lights to better trace his movements as he climbed the risers to the top floor, minding not to draw undesirable notice to her attendance.

Concerned for her brigend mark, she ruffled her blouse collar to cover her neck. Incognito was pointless for many reasons, one of which was her choice of attire. It was not up to par with the affluent excesses flaunted around her. The females were more or less naked in their sheer outfits. By lifting their hands in the air, they raised hemlines and exposed parts that were typically hidden by modest attire. Because her prudish fashion sense was a generation or two out of style, a few judgmental eyes drifted her way.

With nothing for her to do but wait for his reappearance, her awareness roamed to the large viewer screens bolted over the bar. The latest hunter snatches displayed in ultra-dimensional clarity to the crowd’s delight. When the report of the Vega Brothers’ latest victories recapped, bookies paid out jackpots to the lucky gamblers. People cheered at the monetary value of Bronson’s death bounty. Zoe’s hate boiled in her veins. She wanted to seal up the club and burn it to the ground with these elitist scum trapped inside.

Her teeth dug the cracks of her bottom lip.

Calm down
!
I’m not here to start a fight
.

Max rooted his feet to the floorboards outside the office door. By confessing to his latest indiscretions, he predicted there would be plenty of yelling, cursing, and the always excruciating ear tugging.

Standing there, he felt like he did when he was the troublesome ten-year old caught stealing booze from the storeroom and selling shots to the local kids. By that age, he had learned to run when her anger flared. To avoid her raging conniption for that misdeed, he hid from her for days. After a while, she resorted to hiring a bounty hunter. Putting a prize on a child’s head may seem overly excessive to most rational adults, but for her, that was a reasonable reaction.

He inhaled another courage breath. Feeling cocky from the oxygen’s euphoric rush, he twisted the doorknob and swaggered inside. Seeing Boss Cho sitting in a chair across from Patti’s desk zapped the false bravado. The refined Asian didn’t flinch at his entry. He sat there and expelled thick cigar smoke from his mouth, coolly savoring its sweet taste.

Patti Luma rocked in a chair behind the desk with her back to the others, sipping whiskey from a glass. Max could tell she was pissed. He wanted to tuck-tail and run, but it was too late for a cowardly egress.

Paz and Paco, both worse for wear, waited in the background. The older sibling had murderous fantasies playing out in the empty theatre he called a brain.

Cho glanced at the boy. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Max twitched when the door closed by itself and made a loud pop. “I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he stammered.

“You owe me a lot of money. I’ve come to collect.”

“What? Hey, what happened ain’t my fault. I was going to come to you. If it wasn’t for these two shitheads —”

“Max, don’t give me excuses.” Cho waved. “I gave you a chance to make right what you did, and look what happened. You betrayed my generosity. I want compensation, in one form or another.”

“Yeh. Let me hav ‘em, boss. I wurk ‘im gud fo ya.” Paz begged.

Max should have thought before speaking, but he could not resist the invitation to mouth off. “Sorry fella, but I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now. But hey, if you ever get tired of tugging on your brother, then maybe I can hook you up with a nice rat hole somewhere.”

The brothers lunged, but Cho stopped them with a gesture. “This has gone on long enough. It’s the end of the line.”

Patti rotated the chair so she could face her guests. “Is this really necessary? I’m sure we can come to a reasonable settlement, so long as we act maturely and discuss this like civilized adults.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. Today was not the first time your ward has cost me money. For the past year alone, he has engaged in side deals without my consent, often in violation of territorial rights. For those infractions, I turned a blind eye out of respect for you, Patti.”

She sat like stone, listening.

“And, what has been my reward? His transgression against Jax damn near started a war.” Cho pounded the air. “I had to pay reparations to that bloated slug personally. Max signed a binding contract to serve off that debt to me, but he went behind my back again and blew what should have been a lucrative bounty. You know perfectly well under the Charter I’m within my rights to demand final compensation.”

He placed a holo-emitter on the desk and activated it. The holographic mug shot of Zoe Chacon rotated in front of her. The image with the reward amount broke her granite expression.

“Is this accurate?” She hoped it was a mistake.

“Yes.”

Sipping her drink, she thought over the allegation presented. The Lounge may have been autonomous from Cho’s dirty fingers, but everything else in Brooklyn was under his domain. The Hi-risers who frequented her establishment every night were a boom to his whorehouses and dope dens. Thus, a sympatric relationship was equally advantageous for both of them.

Unfortunately, Max’s wellbeing fell outside that arrangement.

“Yes, you are within your rights. That’s why you should give him another chance to make full restitution.”

“No. No. Out of the question. There will be no more chances. He’s an insolent punk.”

“Yes, very true, but the Charter does give the transgressor the right to make good faith efforts in repaying debts. You can’t seriously expect a boy to square with you so quickly. But, if you insist on being unreasonable and ignoring those rights, then I’m afraid I’ll have to consult with the other bosses on this issue. I think my voice still carries some weight with the Charter.”

That was a chip she never wanted to cash, but she didn’t have a choice. If she couldn’t bargain with Cho, then Max was as good as dead.

The gangster cursed under his breath. Underneath his façade of power, he was a volcano ready to blow. She was right about the Charter of Five’s Bill of Rights. After all, she was the one who drafted the thing. Back in the early days, her guidance helped create a truce between the warring factions. If he clashed with her on this affair, there would be blowback from the other four bosses.

He also cursed his greed. If he had just punished Max for going against Jax, instead of attempting to profit from the boy’s unique talents, then he wouldn’t now have to suffer the shame of backing down before the old woman.

“Of course, you are absolutely right.” He paused as he considered a countermove. “This is my offer; he has to pay me the flat rate of one hundred thousand. He will have until this time next week to get me the money. And, he must swear to stop all his unsanctioned side ventures. If he does this, I’ll consider his debt paid in full. Do I have your word he’ll honor this agreement?”

Max didn’t like the terms one bit. “What the muck? How am I —”

Patti shot her hand up, signaling for him to shut his mouth. “A reasonable compromise,” she contended. “You have his word.”

Max was speechless.

Considering the deal struck and the problem solved, she stood and went to usher out her guests. Cho pocketed the emitter and got up. He straightened his made-to-order suit as his host waited good-naturedly for him at the door.

On his way out, he stopped and respectfully bowed. “Patti, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise. It’s been far too long between visits. Let’s not allow bad business to become the only reason we see each other.”

“Agreed.” Her civility satisfied his honor. He looked at the boy. “You should be grateful. Your mother is as cunning as she is beautiful.”

He exited, expelling smoke to mark his trail. The Vegas followed.