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AVIA III: Cons and Cops
Kidnapped by the Sanchez, thrown into the backseat of a black Cadillac and hit in the head, Avia is on her own when it comes to escaping her captors and returning to her uncle’s La Pryor ranch. However, she is determined to escape from the blood-covered backseat and disgusting garage where Xavier and Jamie Sanchez have decided to hide after realizing their car’s radiator is leaking.
In the meantime, Benton has been rushed to the hospital suffering from a deep bullet wound to the shoulder. Upon waking from surgery, he is dismayed to learn that Avia is still missing. He demands to be released in order to find her but is refuted by Brian, who tells him that he must stay in the hospital until he’s healed enough to go home. In an effort to calm Benton and to alleviate his own fears about where Avia is and what might be happening to her, he tells Benton that he will go look for her.
Unbeknownst to Benton, Brian has ulterior motives for finding Avia. Her kidnapping has brought to the forefront a barrage of emotions that the Company hitman has yet to deal with, but one this is certain, he can’t stand the thought of losing Avia.
Chapter 1 – Locke
Locke and Josephine Looking for Avia and Benton in Texas - Sunday Evening
Locke looked down at the tires on his rental car as if he expected them to patch themselves and re-inflate. The truth was that they were full of bullets, and the occupants of a black sedan were responsible. He scanned the road in both directions. It was nothing but weeds, dust and scraps of grass or what passed for grass in this area. “This is a desolate stretch of road.”
“I hear sirens,” Archer said.
“I hear them. I don't see them,” Locke said. “You didn't see much of that black car either, did you?”
“It was a black sedan. I caught the tail end of it. Reminded me of a Cadillac, but I can't be sure.”
“Fucking figures,” Locke said as he glanced both ways down the road. “Where are they?”
“Give them a minute. I bet they're coming around that curve,” Archer said as she walked around the car to look at the tires. “Not a scratch on the paint. Tires are done though.”
“I’ve got to give them credit. Whoever that was, was a damned good shot,” Locke said.
“The bad news is that we're not going anywhere any time soon,” she said. “Which, I'm sure was the point.”
“I'm on the same page as you. That was the Company sending a message.”
“If we can prove it, you have your life sentences,” Archer said just as she saw the police cruisers come into view. “There they are.” She motioned.
“It's about time,” Locke said as the first black and white cruiser pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped behind them.
“Wow, those tires are flat,” the officer said.
“Shot out. Black sedan,” Locke said.
“They're going to look,” the officer said. “They can't be too far down the road, and we didn't pass any black sedans on the way here.”
“I bet they’re halfway to San Antonio by now,” Locke said.
“We sent units up that way,” the officer said.
“You better call the SAPD too,” Locke said. He glanced at Josephine as they started preparing the rental to be transported on a flat bed tow truck. “We need a new car.”
“That's a rental?” the officer asked.
“It is,” Archer said.
“Call them. They should be willing to bring you another one,” the officer said.
Locke pulled out his cell phone and dialed the rental car company. Once they answered with their standard scripted greeting, he spoke. “I need another car brought to me.” He listened to the pre-fabricated, paragraph of reasons as to why they would not send another car, unless Locke met a variety of conditions that were untenable. “Because this one is now a crime scene.” Locke listened again while the agent had a mini-heart attack. “Look, it's not my damned fault we were involved in a drive-by shooting. I can let you talk to the police officer here if that makes any difference.” Locke rolled his eyes and handed the phone to the officer.
“This is Sargent Frank of the Uvalde police department.” He paused. “That's right. That rental is now a crime scene. They're on a case, and they need another car. The sooner, the better,” He paused. “There's an Enterprise in Uvalde. Look it up.” He handed the phone back to Locke after giving the agent directions to their location on the highway. “They're sending another car.”
Locke put the phone back to his ear. “You better send two cars and bring all your paperwork if you need me to fill anything else out.” He ended the call a minute later. “New car will be here in a few minutes.”
“With any luck, those bullets will match something on file,” the officer said.
“I hope,” Locke said. “That sedan is getting close to San Antonio by now.”
“Thirty to forty-five minutes out, I'd say,” the officer said. “We'll alert the SAPD, but there's only about ten-thousand black sedans up there.”
“We should check to see what kinds of cars are in the Company's name,” Locke said.
“We can do that when we get to town,” Archer said.
“What were you doing before the drive-by?” the officer asked.
“Looking for Grant Bays' ranch,” Archer said.
“It's right up the road.” He motioned. “But blink, and you'll miss it. The dirt road leading up to that house is hard to see.”
“What does it look like?” Archer asked.
“A gap in the cactuses,” the officer said.
“Are you kidding?” Locke asked.
“Not even a little bit,” the officer said.
“There's no sign?” Archer asked.
“No sign. No gate. No fence,” the officer said. “At least, not on the front. I don't know what they have around back, but they do have people patrolling that property twenty-four hours a day.”
“I'm not worried about who's patrolling it. I just want to find it,” Locke said.
“Five miles that way,” He motioned. “Don't blink.”
Locke nodded. He looked at Archer as the officer walked away to help load the rental on the flatbed.
“You know that's on purpose,” Archer said.
“They don't want it found, so the entrance looks like everything else,” Locke said.
“You know it,” Archer said.
“I see the new rental,” Locke said.
“They're slowing down. I bet that's it,” Archer said.
###
An hour later, Locke and Archer entered the outskirts of La Pryor. It was a nondescript area. Locke could see a few houses and fewer businesses.
“Turn here,” Archer said.
“Left or right?” Locke asked.
“Left.”
Locke made the turn. “I think we passed that ranch and made a wrong turn.”
“I'm sure we did. Let's see if these MapQuest directions get us any closer.” She paused. “Now right,” Josie said. “Then an immediate left.”
“This looks like a residential neighborhood. Are those directions right?” Locke asked.
“MapQuest. Probably not,” Archer said. “I can’t tell you how many times it’s told me to turn right when I really needed to turn left.”
“I think we need to find our way back to the main road before we get lost in these neighborhoods,” Locke said. “This is nowhere near where that officer pointed.”
“Let me try again. Look for a house number,” Archer said. “I already know the street name.”
“I’m looking,” Locke said. “Most of these houses are missing numbers.”
“Turn down this next street. It looks like a main road,” Archer said.
“Which way?” Locke asked.
“Right.”
Locke turned right. “I think we may be entering the retail district or what passes for the retail district.”
“Stop at that gas station. Maybe we can get better directions to that ranch,” Archer said.
“Maybe they've seen Avia,” Locke said. He parked the car and opened his door after removing his keys from the ignition.
Archer closed the passenger's side door. She walked into the gas station and up to the counter. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the clerk said as he walked up to the counter. “How can I help you?”
“Have you seen this woman?” Archer asked and handed him the printout of Avia's picture.
“Can't say I have. Who is she?” he asked.
“We think she's currently going by the name Avia Bays, but she could also be using Tasha Bays,” Locke said as he stepped next to Chief Archer.
“Never heard of her,” the clerk said.
“What about her uncle? He has a ranch just down the road,” Archer said.
The clerk shook his head. “Lots of ranches around here.”
“If you see her...” Locke handed the man his business card. “I'm Detective Locke. We're looking for her in connection to a case we're working on.”
“I'll give you a call if I see her,” the clerk said.
“Appreciate it,” Locke said.
“Not a problem. Have a good evening,” the clerk said.
Locked walked out of the gas station. “You think he was lying?”
“Hard to tell,” Archer said. “I don't think he was telling us the whole truth.”
“He could be working for them,” Locke said.
“I doubt it,” Archer said. “But he may have other reasons for keeping his mouth shut.” She opened the passenger's side door of their second rental car of the day and stepped inside. She closed her door just as Locke got in on the driver's side.
“I think we should head on to San Antonio and University Hospital. We know Benton is there,” Locke said.
“I agree, but let's get a hotel tonight and get to the hospital early tomorrow morning,” Archer said.
“And get some food,” Locke said as he set the cruise control.
Locke and Archer at the Shimmering Pools Hotel Sunday Night
The drive to San Antonio was an hour and a half.
Locke parked the rental in the lot of the Shimmering Pools hotel and spa. Check-in was quick, and Locke paid with his credit card. He still owed Archer for the flight, and after he subtracted the cost of the room, he still needed to give her eight-hundred-dollars.
Their room was on the top floor. Locke opened the door. He tossed his bag on the first queen bed. The career officer in him didn’t like stopping for the night. He wanted to question Benton, but he could see Josie’s point. They were exhausted after the early morning flight, briefing in McAllen and the drive here. Not to mention, there was a possibility that Benton may not even be conscious yet. The most recent information they had was that Benton was in surgery.
Locke unzipped his bag. The first thing he needed was a shower. “What about your flight tonight?”
“I haven't booked it yet,” Archer said. “They're not going to miss me for another day, but if it takes longer than tomorrow, I need to email or call my deputy.”
“That'll work. I'd like you with me at the hospital tomorrow morning,” Locke said.
“I thought you might,” Archer said as she put her bag on the other side of the bed and opened it. “Did you want first shower?”
Locke dug out a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt and a pair of boxers from his suitcase. “Go ahead. I can wait.”
It took Archer 15 minutes to shower, and soon Locke was scrubbing the travel-grime from his body, hoping the room’s hot water didn’t run out. Just because it was a luxury spa hotel didn’t mean it had unlimited hot water. Though, for the price of the room, if he did run out of hot water, he’d be on the phone to the front desk.
Locke rinsed and stepped out of the shower. He dried and wrapped the towel around his waist. After stepping over to the sink, he applied toothpaste to his toothbrush and brushed his teeth for the recommended three minutes, which amounted to 180 mental Mississippis. Once he finished, he realized he forgot to bring his clothes into the bathroom with him.
Locke exited the bathroom hesitantly. “I left my clothes on the bed.”
Josie turned her head and grinned. Locke was wrapped in nothing but a towel. “It’s fine. You’re not the only one.”
He turned to view her sitting in the hotel chair, watching TV still wrapped in her towel. “I guess not.” He chuckled. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’ve never been a fan of putting on clothes when my skin is damp,” Josephine said with a slight grin.
“As long as you’re comfortable,” Locke said as he walked over to the bed. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his suitcase.
“I have something you should put on,” Josie said.
Locke looked up then smirked. She was holding a condom. “Well, I was thinking we could use a night cap. Of course, that wasn’t the type of cap I envisioned.”
Josie couldn’t help laughing. “What do you think about doing both?”
“I am not opposed, but there’s not much to put your cap on at the moment,” Locke said as he moved to stand in front of her.
Josie removed his towel as she looked up at him. “I think that can be changed.”
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AVIA ii: Bullets and Betrayal
Greg Locke is the detective who thinks he can put away both Avia and Benton in the next book in the series Avia II Bullets and Betrayal. These two are very close to going to jail or going on vacation to Hawaii when their heist goes bad. They are stuck in a life of crime, and they cannot seem to get out. Thriller author Stacey Carroll tugs you through all the twists and turns of these two and their lives while showing you that crime can pay in the worst ways.
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CHAPTER 1--AVIA AND BENTON
Avia coughed, choked and gagged before hanging her head over the hotel toilet and vomiting. Once her stomach was empty, she laid with her back across the stone tiles and looked up at the ceiling while she tried to catch her breath.
In the other room, she could hear her cell phone screaming, alerting her to the fact that she needed to shower, dress and get the hell out of the door so that she could fly to Texas. She groaned. The noise did nothing for her heroin and alcohol-induced headache.
Avia crawled out of the bathroom and grabbed her cell phone off the bedside table before pressing every button to get it to shut up. She then yanked open the bedside drawer and fumbled for her pack of cigarettes.
After pulling one out, she checked the end. Avia barely remembered turning half of them into coco puffs before shooting-up and drinking far too much whiskey. She fumbled the lighter, nearly dropping it before she finally lit the damned thing and inhaled deeply.
Her lethargy and mental fogginess dissipated immediately, having been replaced with the chemical alertness offered by cocaine.
Avia picked herself up off the floor and looked around the hotel room. She was alone. For half a second, Avia couldn't remember why. Then, she remembered the argument. Benton had stormed off to get a separate room under the guise of sleeping.
“Fuck my life,” she muttered before turning and exiting the bedroom for the bathroom.
She needed to shower, dress, pack and get to the airport. She doubted Benton would show. Knowing him, he'd book a commercial flight and arrive in Texas hours after her just to avoid traveling with her.
As she stepped into the shower, Avia decided it was fine. She'd fly by herself. It'd make things easier since she wouldn't have to explain the condition of the Seneca or why it wasn't fixed.
Going down to Texas meant dealing with L, and Avia was not in the mood. Being ordered to travel down there today put her in even less of a good mood. There was a vacation in her immediate future, and she was tempted to take it by herself.
Avia finished showering. She wrapped a towel around her hair and one around her body before walking into the bedroom. Her suitcases were on the floor. She lifted the largest one onto the bed and opened it. Jeans. T-shirts. Socks. Underwear. Avia opted for a light summer dress and sandals. She tied her hair back in a sloppy ponytail and called it good enough. She wasn’t going to a party. She was flying a beater Seneca for 13 hours.
After dressing, she packed her clothes and took one last look around the room for anything she had forgotten. Her black zippered case was inside the bedside table drawer next to the hotel-issued Bible. Forgetting it was not an option.
She reached for it. Avia was 90 percent certain Benton would take a commercial flight. However, the 10 percent chance that Benton would join her stopped her from opening it. Instead, she slid the black zippered case into her bag. If he didn't show, she'd shoot-up in the air after setting the autopilot.
Avia grabbed her bag and walked out of the hotel room. There was no line at the front desk. Avia slid her card. Normally, Benton would have paid, but Avia didn't see him in the lobby and when the elevator doors opened, two elderly couples exited, embroiled in a debate over the best pain relieving muscle cream.
“The gentleman in the room with you?” the desk clerk asked.
“He rented a different room last night,” Avia said as she signed the credit card slip with the name that appeared on the card – Tasha Quade.
She crumpled and trashed the receipt on her way out the lobby doors. The weather looked good. It was still slightly chilly but nothing intolerable. By the time she arrived in Texas, it’d be 80 degrees.
Standing under the carport, Avia scanned the lot for the car before it occurred to her that she'd arrived with Benton. The car in the lot was Benton's, and if she stole his $80,000 Corvette, he’d kill her the next time he saw her.
Avia rolled her eyes. It occurred to her to call a cab to drive to the Dodge Stratus she'd left on the side of the highway, but that was weeks ago. If no one had bothered to steal it, it was impounded somewhere, which was fine with Avia. If it was impounded, no one would find it for years, and it was guaranteed the tow yard would eventually auction it to recoup their storage fees.
Avia walked out of view of the hotel cameras. Most of the cars in the lot were new, which meant automatic, preinstalled, car alarms. None of those would help her this morning.
She started to set her bag on the ground when a 1991 Chevy caught her attention. It was located at the back of the lot but closer to the street than she would have liked. At least, it was dark.
Avia stepped off the curb and walked across the lot, paying attention to any footfalls that might be behind her and sounds of the lobby doors opening. She didn’t hear anything as she approached the car.
She tested the door handle, betting the car was so old the door locks no longer worked. Avia grinned when it opened and tossed her bag into the passenger's seat.
Now, she needed a screwdriver. There was one in her airplane, but it didn't help her here. Avia opened the glove box. Car registration. Pen. Miscellaneous paperwork and a metal nail file. The file would work in a pinch, but she preferred to have the durability of a screwdriver, especially if she had to crack open the underside of the steering column. The nail file was more likely to break in the ignition than start the car.
Avia slid the switch on the dash for the trunk and heard it pop open. She stepped out of the car and walked around to the back. Opening the trunk farther, she noticed it contained a set of jumper cables, an emergency flashlight that plugged into the cigarette lighter, oil, antifreeze, windshield washer fluid and no immediate sign of a toolbox or a screwdriver.
In a car this old, there had to be a screwdriver. Even a rusty one would work. Avia dug a little deeper in the trunk and found a small box. When she reached to grab it, her hand was immediately assaulted by grease, spider webs and God knew what else. Avia gagged as she moved the box to the front of the trunk. She flipped the lid and immediately found the screwdriver she desired.
Avia closed the trunk and walked back to the driver's side of the car. She slid in and closed the door. She had two choices. She could jam the screwdriver into the ignition or break apart the underside of the console. She decided jamming the flathead into the ignition was the better option. Avia turned the screwdriver and listened. The car cranked once. Twice. Three times before the engine roared to life.
Someone was going to miss this later today. She wiped her nasty hand on the passenger’s seat, put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space.
The airport was a 30-minute drive, and soon she was walking around her Seneca with a flashlight, performing a needless preflight. These checks and tests were designed to ensure the plane was safe to fly. Avia already knew it wasn't. They were going to crash in the middle of a tumbleweed and cactus field. There would be an FAA investigation to determine the causes of the bullet holes and other suspicious damage. Technically, Avia needed a ferry permit for this mess, but she didn't want to deal with the paperwork or the fucking A&P who would sign off on it.
Avia walked back to the car. She pulled out a roll of duct tape out of her bag and started retaping the holes in the sheet metal. They didn't call it 500 mile an hour tape for nothing. When she was finished, she checked her watch. It was 4:30AM with no sign of Benton.
She pulled out her pack of Pall Malls and lit one, taking a deep drag. When she felt the rush of cocaine, she dropped the cigarette onto the tarmac and crushed it. She wanted to calm down not amp up. Avia made sure the second one was plain before lighting it and inhaling deeply.
She still needed to fill the hydraulic lines with a bottle of water. She had a second bottle for the landing. While gravity was great for getting the main gear down, it almost never locked the nose wheel into place, and Avia wasn't in the mood to wait for new propellers when she spun hers into the ground.
Avia crushed the half-smoked cigarette under her sandal and picked her bag up off the tarmac. She threw it in the aft cargo hold and put the bottles of water on the front seat. She was ready to climb in when she saw headlights coming towards her from across the tarmac. Avia hoped to hell it wasn't a cop or airport security. Though, she was confident she could talk her way out of both situations by showing her pilot's license or offering a blow job. She didn't care which. Whatever got them off her back and onto someone else's.
As the car approached, Avia realized it wasn't a cop. It looked like Benton’s new Corvette, but under the haze of the airport lighting, she wasn’t certain. Avia stepped down off the wing and walked around to meet the individual in the car. She was alone out here. There was no way they were here for anyone else.
When the man stepped from the car, she realized it was Benton. He hadn't opted for a commercial flight after all. Avia couldn't decide if she was happy or angry.
“Where'd you get that?” Benton asked as he stepped out of the car and motioned towards the 1991 Caprice.
“I wasn’t going to walk here,” Avia said. “And since you decided to leave last night, I didn’t expect you to be here.”
Benton sensed a continuation of last night’s argument and decided to avoid it. If she pushed the point, they could stand here and argue, but arriving in Texas at midnight was not preferable. “Is the plane ready?”
“Yeah,” she said. “If we want to land in Texas at some point today, we need to take off now.”
Benton nodded and walked around to the copilot's side door, which was misleading. It was the only door that led directly into the cabin. “Up and in, Captain.”
Avia stepped onto the wing with a butt-boost from Benton. She slid into the pilot's seat and started her preflight checks as Benton made himself comfortable.
Once the door was closed, Avia started the engines and taxied towards the runway. Since it was an uncontrolled runway, all she needed to do was make sure no one was landing behind her or at the other end of the runway. She also needed to stay below 1,500 feet, or she'd have to talk to ATC at the controlled airport.
Avia saw nothing ahead of her or behind her in the night sky or on the runway, so she pushed both throttles forward along with the propellers and stood on the breaks until the engines reached full speed.
She released the brakes. They were in the air and climbing 20 seconds later. Avia set the autopilot and leaned back in the seat. “Get comfortable. It's a long flight.”
“Shorter than a commercial flight,” Benton said.
“Just because there are no layovers,” Avia said. “The flight time is longer.”
Flying was notoriously boring at night. There was nothing to look at but lights. Small lights in straight lines and predictable curves indicated highways. Large batches of lights were towns and cities, and over the years, they had simply grown larger. Avia remembered when Indianapolis and Plainfield were two different sets of lights. Now, they were continuous, and the map indicated it.
Like most pilots, Avia found flying to be a serious exercise in not falling asleep interjected with moments of mortal terror, and given the status of her plane, she expected terror at some point along this flight. She hoped it wasn't until they crossed into Texas.
As they traversed across the early morning night sky, she could see Benton glancing at her periodically, but he wasn't saying anything. Avia didn't want to talk. What she wanted to do was keep an eye on the gauges, listen to the engine and pump crap through her veins until she passed out, but Benton's presence made the latter impossible.
To her surprise, the Seneca flew well enough. It wasn't perfect, but the autopilot seemed to be able to compensate for the increased drag and other factors that kept their airspeed low and the engines revved high, but Avia couldn't complain. They weren't crashing, and they were almost to L's ranch.
Landing at L’s didn't fill Avia with exuberance either, but staying in the air was not a possibility. They had flown the entire flight without refueling, and the extended tanks were almost empty. She'd get one, maybe two attempts to land before the engines shuddered and choked from lack of fuel.
Avia lined up her black and maroon Seneca for the straight approach into L’s private runway – airspeed 70 knots, flaps 10 degrees, gear down.
Forty-five seconds until touchdown.
She flipped the landing light switch. It flickered. Something was sizzling in the dash. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have turned off the lights, but L’s runway contained zero runway lights, and after a 13-hour flight, the sun was setting.
“The minute this plane lands, L is dead,” Avia said.
“You can’t kill him,” Benton said.
“There’s a 45 under your seat,” Avia said. One headshot was all it would take.
“No,” Benton said.
“Then you kill him,” Avia said as she compensated for the crosswind and added a second notch of flaps while checking the hydraulics’ gauge. Zero pressure. She had the water bottles, but it was too late to fill the reservoir.
“We’re not talking about this right now,” Benton said as he watched her. She was staring at one of the gauges. He couldn’t determine which from his angle.
“We are,” Avia said.
“Land the damned plane,” Benton said as he looked out the windscreen. The runway was approaching too fast and too crooked for his liking.
“It's a crosswind,” Avia said. “Be glad it isn't covered in tumbleweeds.”
She trimmed the plane for 60 knots, pulled the throttle back and watched as the airspeed decreased to 55kts. She pushed the throttle forward. Pulled it back. Fucking wind. Fucking short runway. Ground effect was not her friend this evening, and Avia watched as half the runway disappeared behind them.
Finally, the left wheel touched down followed by the right. Avia pulled the throttle all the way back and pulled the yoke to her chest in an effort to keep the nose wheel off the ground for as long as possible. She suspected it was down but had no way to determine if it was locked.
The short runway had her slamming on the brakes much sooner than she would have liked. The nose of the plane dropped. Avia cringed, waiting for the nose down angle and grinding and shuddering that indicated her propellers were being destroyed by asphalt.
When it didn't happen, she breathed a sigh of relief. Avia kicked the right rudder peddle and revved the engines, spinning the plane around and back-taxiing to the hangar. She turned the engines off for the last 10 feet.
They rolled to a silent stop in front of the closed hangar doors. The mechanics had long since gone to their cabins for the night. Avia was tempted to take a Jeep out to see if any of them were still awake. It wasn't that late – not yet.
Avia turned her head when she heard the door open. Benton was getting out. Avia was tempted to grab the 45 under the seat but knew Benton would confiscate it.
She moved over to the copilot's seat and waited for Benton to get off the wing-step. Avia was halfway out of the plane when she felt his hands around her waist, lowering her onto the dull-gray asphalt tarmac.
“They need to repave this,” Avia said.
Benton slid an arm around her petite waist as they walked toward the Jeep. “Money he doesn't want to spend.” He cast his gaze to the Jeep near the hangar. No driver. That was typical. The keys were under the floor mat. He’d drive.
Avia glanced at the hangar. “I need to talk to the mechanics.”
“Not tonight.”
“Yes. Tonight,” Avia said. “It needs parts. They have to order them.”
“We need to talk to L and get settled. Do it tomorrow morning.” Benton tightened the arm around her waist and guided her towards the waiting Jeep.
Avia broke away from Benton’s grip. “It'll take days to get the damned parts if they don't order them tonight.”
“And just how are they going to do that?” Benton asked. “It's almost 8:30PM. None of our suppliers are open.”
“They can order them online, and the supplier will see the order in the morning,” Avia said.
“There's no online order form. They have to call. The guys have to pull the parts, and we have to pick them up,” Benton said. “There's no UPS in our line of business.”
“That is bullshit.” Avia opened her own door and stepped into the Jeep, making herself as comfortable as possible on the barely padded seat. Both doors slammed in unison. “Then, what are we doing here?”
“Probably that damned run L keeps talking about,” Benton said. “But seriously, whatever the fuck he wants.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Avia said.
“Not kidding. The sooner we get this shit done, the faster we can leave.”
Avia grumbled and leaned back in the seat. “Fine.”
Benton resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was a damned argument every time they came down here. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Let's just get to the damned house,” Avia said.
Benton watched her cross her arms and shook his head. She was mad because he didn't want to fuck, left and got his own room. “Sometimes, people need to sleep. Your overactive sex drive can wait.”
“Then, we can wait the entirety of this trip,” Avia said. “I'm sure that would make L happy.”
“You're impossible.” Benton downshifted and turned the Jeep off the dirt road. If they were going to have this discussion, they were doing outside the view of the cameras and any patrols.
“What are you doing?” Avia asked.
Benton gave no answer as he parked the Jeep behind a line of trees. He grabbed the emergency brake and yanked. This was far enough from the mansion to avoid the cameras. It was outside of the patrol areas, and L seldom ventured out back.
Benton slid his seat back with one hand and unfastened his pants with the other. “Come here.” He grabbed her waist and spun her into his lap. His level of frustration was enough to give him a raging erection.
“Benton!” Her right leg slid between the door and the seat. The other settled somewhere near the emergency brake.
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AVIA - 1 Thunderstorms and .45s: 2018 Avia Version
This is the old promo video. I used to have a different cover on this book. I changed it after realizing that the engine on that airplane was half-missing. Where did the back half go? LOL
Avia might be able to con a rich woman out of 50 million dollars before her vacation to Hawaii, but she's going to need some help to do it. She has to call in people she terms her "cousins," and she has to deal with the fact that she is still an alcoholic and heroin addict. With the help of Benton, can Avia actually pull off this heist and get out of town before it is too late?
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Before I owned a microphone and could do the voiceover. The text with exciting music. If you want silence, mute it.
CHAPTER 1 – THE PICK-UP
It was after midnight when Avia and Victor reached the side of the road about a half mile from the Grand Rapids airport and 500 feet from their Dodge Stratus. Rain pounded the pavement, leaving the visibility of the roads almost nonexistent. The howling wind overpowered the sounds of the creaking signs as they shifted and rattled under the pressure of the fierce storm.
“If this was the east coast, I’d swear we were having a hurricane,” Avia said just as a large boom of thunder drowned out the sounds of the rain and wind. She glanced down at her watch. Her black duster was no longer collecting beads of water. It felt more like a steady stream flowing down her back, starting at her black Fedora. Sighing, she removed her hat for the tenth time, draining the water from the brim before placing it back on her dampening head.
"Are you ready?” Victor asked as he cast a sideways glance at his wet cat of a partner. It wasn’t his idea to do this tonight, but Avia had left him little choice. Ten phone calls and a 13 hour Seneca ride later, he found himself standing on the side of the road in a torrential downpour in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
"Yeah,” Avia said, shaking more water from her head as her heels both crunched and sloshed in the black gravel. She was standing in the middle of a growing mud puddle that hadn’t been there when they had arrived. “Whose idea was this again?” She asked, glancing over at Victor. He had always had good taste in clothing, and tonight was no exception. He would have been better placed at the grand opening of an art gallery than standing on the side of the road.
“This was all you,” he said as he cast a sideways glance at her. At least she had dressed appropriately. Victor had been half-worried that she’d be sporting her usual attire of jeans, tunic, and boots. Instead, his red-headed partner had actually chosen well; black slacks, a white blouse, black stiletto shoes, and a matching overcoat. "Okay, let’s get this show on the road." He checked his watch before sticking his black gloved thumb out to the passing cars. “They should be here in two minutes, if Brian did his damned job.”
“If he didn’t, I am kicking his ass,” she said as she rubbed her aching wrists. This cold weather was not conducive to good circulation, and her ankles were quickly becoming as painful as her wrists.
“You are ninety-five pounds. You’re not kicking anyone’s ass,” Victor said. “What’d you weigh when you got out of rehab?”
“Hundred and five,” Avia said.
“And I saw you right after you got out. You’ve lost weight over the last six months,” he said as a white Camero slowed beside them.
“I have not. I eat,” Avia said as she turned to watch the white car. “What is she driving?”
“Not a Stealth,” Victor said. “I think it’s a white Camero.”
Avia shifted her stance. “They need to hurry. My toes are going numb.” She turned her gaze when a red Jeep started to slow down. “Any chance it’s a red Jeep?”
“No. That wasn’t a car that was listed when Brian sent the report,” Victor said.
Avia cursed.
“Hang tight. I think I see it,” Victor said.
“If I have to walk to that damned hotel…” Avia said.
“You won’t have to shoot anyone. I see it,” Victor said.
Avia watched as a white Camero slowed down and then pulled over about 20 feet ahead of them. “Finally,” Avia said as she turned to face the rapidly reversing car. She could see the water and gravel spraying up behind the tires. When the car came to a stop, Avia saw the man’s window slide down and his arm beckoning them over.
“Need a ride?" the man asked from the passenger’s side after they had walked within shouting distance.
"Yeah,” Victor said. “We would appreciate it.”
"Get in." The man opened the door and moved his seat forward, allowing Avia and Victor into the tiny back seat.
"Thanks a lot,” Victor said, closing the door.
"Where are you headed?" the woman driving asked as she pulled off the curb and sped down the waterlogged highway.
"The nearest hotel,” Avia said. She gripped the arm rest as the car hydroplaned into the lane. "We came here for a business trip, but it was canceled due to bad weather, and of course, they didn’t send a car.”
“I’ve had that happen more times than I can count,” the woman said.
“Who were you meeting?" the man asked.
"Some investors,” Avia said. “We’re trying to break into the biofuel market.” She paused as if in thought. “We found a few restaurants willing to pay us to take their used cooking oil, but we need some venture capitalists in order to buy the 500 acre farm that we’ll need for storage and processing.”
"Brilliant idea," the man said. “With the fuel prices getting to be the way they are, we certainly need an alternative fuel.”
"You’re telling me," Victor said. “Who would have thought that a barrel of oil would reach past sixty dollars?”
"Sure as hell, not me,” the man said. “And the name’s Brian." He extended his hand backwards and shook Victor’s briefly.
"Tell you what; we’re staying at a hotel, so I guess I could get you a room for a couple of nights,” the woman said. “At least that would give you time to organize another flight.”
"We would be grateful,” Victor said. “But you certainly don’t have to do that. Just getting us to the hotel is enough.” He paused. “And the name’s Victor.”
“Nice to meet you, Victor,” Brian said. “This is Stephanie.”
"Oh, don’t worry about it,” Stephanie said. “It’s the least I could do. You’re both soaked as it is.”
"We really appreciate it," Avia said. "When we get back home, I’d certainly be willing to reimburse you for the room."
"That won’t be necessary," Stephanie said.
“I can’t thank you enough," Victor said as he glanced out the window. With all the rain, he barely recognized the area, but it looked like they were headed downtown.
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The Tiny Vampire From Outer Space That’s Bitey VI: Clan Carboni
The homeless shelter is renovated and ready to open just in time. They have less than a month of bloodbags left, but circumstances on Earth have proven more challenging than they expected. Marcus hopes that moving them deep into the woods outside Beach City will provide them the shelter and safety they need to create their food and start Clan Carboni
Audible coming soon
Kindle Unlimited
Chapter 1
Homeless Kitchen Opening Night
Marcus walked up to the front door of their homeless kitchen. There were a few homeless loitering at the entrance. Marcus watched them for a moment. They were unwashed, but Marcus couldn’t help them with that tonight. He didn’t have anyone to monitor the upstairs, so he asked. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” the man said.
“The food is this way. I believe I smell lamb chops and mashed potatoes.” Marcus opened the door and motioned toward the dining room.
“Lamb chops.” The man looked astonished. “You’re not serious.”
“I am serious. Follow me.” Marcus led Shadow and the two homeless men into the dining room. He spotted Oliver dishing mashed potatoes near the middle of the buffet they had set up in the dining room. “I found two more.”
“The front of the line is down there.” Oliver pointed. “Sylvia was managing the front but we ran out of lamb chops. She’s cooking some more.”
“Looks like a good turnout,” Marcus said. He counted twenty-five eating in the dining room.
“It just picked up. I think word is spreading as they leave,” Oliver said. “This may have been a great idea to open at night. A lot of these guys said the last kitchen in the area closes at five, and if you aren’t there by three, you’re not eating.”
“Is that early?” Marcus asked.
“Yes,” Charles said. “Most people eat dinner at six. It’s almost eleven now. These guys are starving.”
“Let them eat as much as they want,” Marcus said. “We’ll keep this schedule. “We’ll open from nine to midnight.”
“That’s fine. That’ll give us time to clean up and still be in bed by two or three in the morning,” Charles said.
Sylvia walked out of the kitchen with a large pan of lamb chops. “These are finished. Did I just hear we’ll be opening from nine to midnight?”
“You did,” Marcus said. “Is that okay?”
“It’s fine with me, but when would I clean your house?” Sylvia asked.
“Hopefully, we’ll have a few volunteers,” Marcus said. “And you won’t be forced to serve food every night.”
“A group just walked in,” Shadow said. “Do we need to help?”
Marcus looked toward the front of the building. “Where can we help?”
“If you could serve the lamb chops, Marcus. Shadow, the rolls,” Sylvia said.
Shadow stepped behind the table and put two rolls on every plate that passed her.
Marcus placed a lamb chop on every plate with a pair of tongs. It took them about ten minutes to serve the fifteen people that walked through the door. “How many do you think we’ve served?”
“At least forty so far tonight,” Charles said.
“We could set up movies they could watch while they eat,” Shadow said.
“That’s a good idea,” Charles said.
Marcus chuckled. “She’s not being entirely unselfish in her suggestion. She wants to watch a movie while she passes out rolls.”
“It’s still a good idea, especially once we open the second floor,” Charles said.
“It’s fine. How much does it usually cost?” Marcus asked.
“For a TV and movie service? Not much,” Charles said. “I still have some money leftover from the door. I can do it with that.”
“We need to open bank accounts for them,” Oliver said. “We need a way to pay them.”
“I can do it when we get home,” Alera said.
Marcus looked at the clock on the wall. “Oliver and I need to go. Can you guys handle this?”
“We can,” Alera said. “I’ll walk Shadow home if you’re not back.”
“Thank you.” Marcus walked outside with Oliver. “We need to go behind the building.”
***
Oliver walked behind the building with Marcus then stepped through the portal. When he stepped out, they were in front of the cabin. “Where are the supplies?”
“Inside,” Marcus said. He stepped onto the porch and opened the door. Most everything he’d taken last night was in the living room. The rest of it was in the barn.
“I’m surprised these floors are holding,” Oliver said.
“This cabin is built remarkably well. I’d say it’s at least 1,500 years old,” Marcus said. “But no one has touched in at least 500.”
“Judging by the fixtures, that seems about right,” Oliver said.
“My plan is to use the Romodelator first. Whatever it doesn’t restore, we’ll replace,” Marcus said. “Materials we don’t use will go in the barn.”
“Where’s the Remodelator?” Oliver asked.
Marcus pulled it out of his back pocket. “Right here. It’s about half a million Empyrean dollars, so I didn’t want to leave it here.”
“Unholy Hades,” Oliver said.
“We couldn’t have bought this even if we wanted to.” Marcus looked at the settings. “Let’s see what this looked like originally. We can make changes later.”
“That’s fine with me,” Oliver said.
Marcus set it to the standard setting. “Stand back. Let’s see what it does.” He aimed at the living room wall and squeezed the trigger.
A beam of light shot from the end of the gun. Marcus winced.
Oliver shielded his eyes. “Not what I expected.”
“Nor I.” Marcus squinted as he aimed the gun, fanning it across the wall. “I should have gotten us some sunglasses.”
The rotten wood slowly unaged. The black mold disappeared. The discoloring stains faded. The rot healed and the woodgrain reformed.
Marcus released the trigger. “Impressive. That looks new.”
“That would have taken at least a night to replace,” Oliver said.
“It took this thing less than five minutes,” Marcus said.
“Do the rest of the room,” Oliver said.
“You better stay behind me.” Marcus aimed the gun and slowly moved it across all the walls in the living room.
It took him an hour to do the bottom floor and two hours to do the top floor. Marcus found out the hard way that the worse the damage, the longer the Remodelator had to be left on the area.
“How’s your foot?” Oliver asked.
“Healed,” Marcus said. “But I’m starving. We have to stop for the night, or I won’t be able to get us home.”
“That’s fine. I’m sure the girls are at home either playing cards or watching a movie,” Oliver said.
Marcus listened to the Bond. “Cards, I think.” He opened a portal and waited for Oliver to step though.
Marcus landed in the living room. As predicted, Shadow and Alera were playing cards in the kitchen.
“Already have the bags in the microwave,” Oliver said.
Marcus sat down on the couch and removed his shoes. He looked at the bottom of the right shoe. It was destroyed. “Damnit.”
“What?” Shadow asked.
“Destroyed a shoe tonight,” Marcus said.
“Hit it with the Remodelator,” Oliver said.
Marcus pulled the Remodelator out of his back pocket. He aimed it at his shoe, depressed the trigger and waited three seconds. Then, he released it. He set the device on the end table then examined his shoe. “That worked.”
“I made you a double-glass.” Oliver walked into the living room and handed it to Marcus.
“Thank you.” Marcus drained the glass in three swallows.
“Do you need more?” Oliver asked.
“I think I’m all right,” Marcus said.
Shadow walked into the living room. “What happened? You never drink that much.”
“Put my foot through the second floor,” Marcus said. “I’m fine, and I just fixed the shoe, but I was starving.”
“The cabin is looking good. I think we’ll have it mostly done by the end of tomorrow night,” Oliver said.
“I think we ended up with about sixty homeless for the night,” Alera said. “If you two just want to go to the cabin tomorrow night, Shadow and I can handle the homeless shelter.”
“That's fine with me,” Oliver said.
“We can do that,” Marcus said. “What do you think, Shadow?”
“They wouldn’t let me lick the lamb chops,” Shadow said.
Marcus grinned. It wasn’t funny that she wanted to lick the lamb chops, but the image of her doing it was hilarious. Vampires hated cooked food. The smell. The texture. It was all terrible, and they certainly couldn’t eat it. But Shadow’s love of those lamb chops in any form meant they were on the right track for a good food supply. “If you lick them, no one will want to eat them.” He looked at Alera. “Did she get some marrow mix?”
“I made her some fresh marrow mix once we were done,” Alera said.
“You can have more marrow mix once you’re done tomorrow night,” Marcus said.
“I plan on making a lot more. It seems to work really well,” Alera said.
“I’d like to eventually start working on bloodchocolates and bloodwine as well,” Marcus said.
“I’m sure we could figure that out,” Alera said.
“Let’s all reconvene late tomorrow night once we all finish our projects,” Marcus said.
“We’ll be done about one, maybe sooner,” Shadow said.
“Let’s say one in the morning then,” Marcus said.
“We can do that,” Alera said. “Let’s go home so I can work on some more bone broth.”
Marcus opened a portal. He closed it once Oliver and Alera were through then looked at Shadow. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Shadow said then grinned. “It’s pulsing.”
Marcus laid a land on her abdomen. “It’s going to be a strong vampire. Are you sure you feel okay?”
“I’m just chronically hungry with this one,” Shadow said.
Marcus offered his wrist. “Have a bite. Let’s see if it helps.”
“You were just injured,” Shadow said.
“I’m healed and I just fed,” Marcus said. “Have a bite.”
Shadow sank her fangs into Marcus’ wrist and drank deeply.
Marcus let her drink for three minutes. “How do you feel now?”
Shadow pulled off his wrist. She inhaled and licked her fangs. “That’s better.”
Marcus kissed her. “That is definitely my son in there.”
“He needed your blood,” Shadow said.
Marcus resumed kissing her. “Let me eat and shower. Why don’t you put on that little outfit you got with Alera?”
Shadow grinned. “In a mood?”
Marcus drug her hand down to his loins. “I just might be.”
Shadow felt along his cloth covered erection. “Where do you plan to stick this?”
“Anywhere you want,” Marcus said.
“I’ll find that outfit.” Shadow walked into the bedroom. She found her red lace nighty in the closet and laid it on the bed. Then, she undressed. She found her stockings in her dresser and the heels in the bottom of the closet.
By the time she had everything collected, Marcus was walking into the master bathroom.
Shadow put on the nighty. She was surprised it fit. She had to be distended at least four inches. Then, Shadow put on the stockings and heels. She wished she could see herself in the mirror, but she was certain Marcus would like it.
Now, she just needed to decide where she wanted to display herself. Shadow decided the padded lounge chair would be best. He’d see it just as he walked out of the bathroom.
Marcus finished his shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He hoped Shadow was ready for him, because his mutto was ready for her.
He stepped out of the bathroom to see Shadow sprawled in the chair. If he’d been alive, he would have lost his breath. She was stunning. He slid his eyes over her. Her little nighty stopped high on her thigh. The bodice was low and sheer enough that he could almost see her nipples but not quite, and that simply made his mutto harder.
Shadow grinned. Marcus was emitting a low growl. It was a primal sound, and she could tell he was extremely aroused.
Marcus removed his towel and tossed it on the floor. He was barely dry, but it didn’t matter. “You are stunning.”
“Even with a distension,” Shadow said.
“More-so with it.” Marcus stood in front of her. He’d never pegged himself as having a distension fetish, but he loved watching her little bulge. He slid his hands up her thighs to her hips then leaned forward and kissed her passionately.