Wild Fire: A Chaos Novella Read online

  Dutch started chuckling.

  “Though, I will warn you, my attention was scattered seeing as that was hotter than you taking over my blowjob,” she continued.

  He kept chuckling but spoke through it this time.

  “Baby, you give fantastic head. I had to fuck that mouth.”

  “Feel free to do that too. Whenever the spirit moves you.”

  Murtagh flew off, protesting with an irate, “Merow!” when Dutch shifted to his side so he could pull Georgie in his arms, full frontal.

  “You’re not supposed to move when Murtagh’s settled in, Dutch,” she educated.

  “He’ll settle in again.”

  “Yes, on you,” she mumbled. “Because you’re a cat thief.”

  “Georgie, baby?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Be quiet, please, and go to sleep.”

  “Okay, honey,” she whispered, and nestled closer.

  That must have been what she needed, Dutch needing her to go to sleep, because within five minutes, she was gone.

  Dutch was not.

  He couldn’t get used to the new feeling in his chest, something he’d never felt.

  It was weird.

  Warm.

  It wasn’t empty.

  But it wasn’t tight.

  He just didn’t know what was filling it.

  He felt Murtagh settle in at the back of his head on his pillow.

  The cat purred for a while.

  Then that stopped and Dutch knew he, too, was asleep.

  And it was then, Dutch got it.

  All of it.

  Everything.

  His whole life.

  His dads’ life.

  Both of his dads.

  And he lay in that bed with Georgie in his arms and what had become their cat on his pillow, and he knew what he’d been looking for.

  He knew what his path was.

  He knew what his life was about.

  He thought it was big.

  He thought it was dramatic.

  Being a soldier in a war.

  A man on a mission.

  A brother with a purpose.

  But it was simple.

  It was just…

  This.

  Your house dark and quiet.

  And your woman in your arms.

  Happy and safe.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chaos Strikes Again

  Dutch

  “You have got to be…fucking…kidding me,” Dutch groused when his phone ringing woke them both the next morning, him on his stomach, Georgie again curled into his back.

  “Gluh,” she mumbled, pressing closer as Dutch reached for the phone.

  He saw on his bedside clock it was late morning, they’d slept way in, it was after ten.

  They should have set an alarm.

  He grabbed his cell and didn’t know what to think when he saw it said Eddie Calling.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “What?” she asked.

  He twisted. She shifted.

  He caught her sleep-cute eyes.

  “Eddie.”

  “Oh boy,” she said.

  He took the call with a, “Yo.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Eddie replied.

  “You woke me up in bed with my woman,” Dutch told him.

  “Then whatever it is, I best get to sayin’ it.” Eddie Chavez sounded amused.

  “I’d be obliged,” Dutch returned, moving more, so he was up in bed, back to the headboard, Georgie moving too, to stick close.

  “Jessica Browbridge, I’m thinkin’ you know who I’m talkin’ about, strolled in bright and early this morning, tweaked as all fuck, falling all over herself with apologies, doing her best to impress on us just how very upset she was at the time she falsely reported to police officers she was in the middle of an attempted rape when her assailant became a killer and shot Khalon Stephens. She shared effusively how much she liked her neighbors. They were nice. The wife gave her Christmas cookies. The husband fixed her sink and switched out her smoke detectors when one started acting up. The kids were always nice and respectful.”

  The more Eddie said about how the Stephenses had looked after that woman, the more Dutch thought he was going to be sick.

  “Instead,” Eddie continued, “she shares she was having one helluva tiff with her boyfriend who’d found out she was sleepin’ with some other guy. Stephens shows when this guy is in the throes of bein’ seriously fuckin’ pissed his piece is steppin’ out on him, so much so, he’s jackin’ her up and brandishing a weapon. Since he is, as she put it, ‘not himself,’ he lost it when Stephens arrives. So Stephens takes a bullet.”

  “Holy shit,” Dutch whispered.

  “Yeah.” Eddie did not whisper.

  Georgie pressed closer.

  He gave her his eyes.

  When he did, she read them and hers got big.

  “She gave us a name,” Eddie carried on. “And incidentally, Hank and me are close when this is goin’ down, but Hank’s on the phone with Lee, talkin’ about Lee and Indy lookin’ after his and Roxie’s kids so Roxie and him can hit Breckenridge to do some skiing, ’cause they got whacked with a huge early snowfall last night, and they’re feelin’ some slope time and then some alone time. I overhear Browbridge. Hank overhears her. Lee has already filled both of us in that he and his boys are on the job and they know where Carlyle Stephens is and what he saw. The detectives get a name. Unsurprisingly there’s a mugshot. Hank texts that to Tack, and a judge is called out of his bed early on a Saturday morning for a warrant.”

  His heart racing, Dutch curled his hand around the back of Georgie’s neck and brought her closer.

  Eddie kept talking.

  “Browbridge is now a font of information and can share where he is. And as such, James ‘Jimmy D’ Dooenck was picked up five minutes before I phoned you. He’s been charged with murder. And as cooperative as she was, the minute the man was cuffed, she was charged with false reporting and accessory.”

  “Fucking A,” Dutch pushed out.

  “Chaos strikes again,” Eddie said.

  When he did, Dutch stared unseeing at Georgie.

  “Now, as a cop, there is no way in fuck I’d advise a citizen to charge into an uncertain situation. As a man, and the man I am, I get it, and so does every cop I know. And I’ll tell you what, this case has been stickin’ in all of our throats. So you got our gratitude. And the officers on this case are gonna push hard neither of them get a deal. No matter that woman finally did the right thing, she’s been lying for three months. And no matter what else they’re involved in, and I suspect you know what I’m talkin’ about with that too. But I’m gonna warn you, and I’ll do it advising you warn Carlyle Stephens and his family, if they got good shit to stop bad shit floating around the streets of Denver, they’ll probably both swing deals.”

  “Right,” Dutch grunted.

  “Good work, Dutch,” Eddie said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Later, man.”

  “Later.”

  Eddie disconnected.

  Dutch dropped his phone hand.

  “What?” Georgie asked.

  “Jessica came clean. They picked up Khalon’s killer this morning.”

  “What?” she cried, bouncing up to her knees, a smile spreading on her face.

  Seeing that, he started grinning.

  “How did that happen so fast?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But I suspect it’s about something Vance said to me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Vance said people like this, the shit they’re tied up in, don’t like mess or distractions. She made a mess. Chaos picked up Bronson and he probably reported that to his superiors. It’s been a while since we’ve been in the game, but we’ve proved, repeatedly, we get the job done and we don’t fuck around. Eddie said she came in and she was tweaked. So my guess, they served her up to serve up the killer, and in the meantime, they probably packed up that
warehouse and are currently setting up in Pueblo or something.”

  “Well, whatever, has Carlyle confirmed this is the guy?”

  Dutch nodded.

  She threw herself at him to give him a hug.

  He lifted and rolled as he returned it but did it so he ended it with him on her and Georgie on her back.

  “This is amazing, Dutch,” she said, beaming up at him.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Does Carlyle know?”

  She asked that as his phone rang.

  Since it was still in his hand which was at the end of his arm that was around her, he pulled his arm from under her and looked at it.

  It said Tack Calling.

  “I’m about to find out.”

  He kissed her quick and took the call.

  “Yo,” he greeted.

  “Yo, Dutch. Listen, Carlyle wants to see his mom and sister. If you want in on that, you best get your ass up here with them because Red and me don’t think he should wait. I also wanna make sure all is copacetic before we expose him. So Chaos needs to roll out with an escort.”

  “I’m in. Does he know the guy’s been arrested?”

  “Eddie was talkin’ to you while Hank was talkin’ to me.”

  “How is he?”

  A beat of silence then, “There’s relief, brother. But with this obstacle out of the way, nothin’ left to hold back grief. Get his mother here.”

  “On it,” Dutch said.

  “See you soon. Later.”

  They disconnected and he looked to his girl.

  “We gotta go. Carlyle wants his mom and sister.”

  She shoved him off before he could roll off and he got a view of her ass as she scrambled out of bed while he pushed up on an elbow.

  She did this bossing.

  “This time, I’m on coffee and cat food. You in the bathroom first. I’ll sort travel mugs. You just pour the coffee in while I get ready. Then we’re outta here!”

  The last two sentences were shouted from the hallway.

  He only had a second to stare at the door.

  But he took that second to let it settle in his woman was safe and happy.

  And the man who took Khalon Stephens from this world was going to pay for it.

  Then Dutch got out of bed.

  * * * *

  “They’re right, Shizlayaya is the shizla.”

  Dutch looked from Georgiana—who, along with Carlyle’s little sister, Christian, was trying on about seventeen pairs of Tyra’s shoes—to Carlyle.

  “Yup.”

  Carlyle turned into him, and the way he did, his back was to the room and Dutch was hidden.

  “Man—” he started.

  “You don’t have to say it,” Dutch told him quick and low.

  Carlyle looked to his shoes.

  Then back to Dutch. “You didn’t mess around.”

  Dutch looked around him to Georgie, muttering, “I had help. A lot of it.”

  “Did they find yours? The guy that—”

  Dutch again caught his gaze. “Yes.”

  Carlyle aimed his eyes over Dutch’s head.

  Dutch made a decision.

  “Listen, Carlyle,” the kid looked back to him, “I wish I could say this is closure and one step closer in a process to bein’ able to lock up the feelings that grip you so fuckin’ tight, you think they’re gonna choke the life right outta you. But there is no process. This is just another day in a life without him.”

  Carlyle looked back to his shoes.

  “You steer clear of your mother and sister because he saw you?” Dutch asked.

  “Yeah,” Carlyle grunted.

  “Okay then, that seals it.”

  Carlyle lifted his head. “Seals what?”

  “He’s not lost because you’re here. You’re gonna look after your mother and sister. You’re gonna become the man he made you. Him. In his image. He carries on because he made a good kid who’s gonna become a good man like he was.”

  “That’s not enough.” His face froze. He cleared his throat. And then he said, “I want him back.”

  Dutch clapped him on the shoulder and held on, tight.

  “You don’t get that, brother. But what you earned in this mess is me. I know how this feels. And when those feelings creep out of that box you put them in and grip you tight, you call me, and we’ll figure out some way to get you past them.”

  Dutch dropped his hand.

  And Carlyle asked, “Why you doin’ this?”

  “Because I’m the man my father made me.”

  It hit him then and Dutch didn’t look away when the wet shone bright in his eyes. He kept hold on Carlyle’s gaze when the first one silently fell. And the next. And the ones after.

  They stood that way, Carlyle’s back to the room, Dutch giving him his attention, until Carlyle sniffed. He lifted his hands and rubbed his face with the heels of his palms.

  Then he took them away.

  “I’da’ve liked to’ve known your dad,” he said quietly.

  “And I’d have liked to have known yours,” Dutch replied.

  “Carlyle, Georgie’s gonna take me shopping!” Christian shouted.

  Carlyle sniffed again, muttered, “Definitely the shizla,” lifted his chin to Dutch and turned. “Girl, you don’t need more shoes.”

  “A girl always needs more shoes,” Christian retorted.

  “This is the God’s honest truth,” Tyra decreed.

  “Jesus,” Tack grunted.

  Georgie was smiling at Dutch, so as Carlyle headed his sister’s way, he started hers.

  He felt something and looked right, to see Tamira Stephens studying him.

  Seeing that look on her face, a look that he’d seen carved into his mother’s face way too many fucking times his entire life, he gave Carlyle’s mom a tight smile.

  She closed her eyes slowly.

  Opened them.

  And returned it.

  * * * *

  “I told you, a couple of days. I’m on vacation. Tomorrow’s my man’s day. It’s brownie baking and snickerdoodle-rama Monday,” Georgie said on the phone to Kraken as they made their way down the mountain.

  It was early evening and they were headed home.

  Georgie had been sharing they got the bad guy.

  She was now listening.

  Dutch kept driving.

  She again started talking.

  “I don’t know what getting tased by Luke Stark buys you. I make a really good cheesecake with this kinda sour cream-like layer on the top. It doesn’t sound good, but it cuts the sweet of the cheesecake amazingly.” Pause then, “Listen, just come over for dinner.”

  Dutch choked on his own breath.

  He felt her eyes on him when he did.

  “We’ll see. I’ll talk to Dutch. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.” Pause then, “Yeah. Yalola back at cha.”

  Out of the sides of his eyes, he saw her phone hand drop.

  “Before you ask, ‘yalola’ means ‘catch you later,’ and I have no idea how that came about,” she shared.

  “Tell me you did not invite those two men to your place for dinner.”

  “They’re harmless.”

  “They found, captured and tied up a six foot nine, three-hundred-pound seventeen-year-old.”

  “They live on the streets so they know how to get by on the streets,” she returned. “But Kraken is a graffiti artist, and a really good one. Even at twenty years old, or maybe because he’s that young, Banga is a master of spoken verse, and his poetry is honest and sometimes hard to take, but it’s unbelievably good. They’re African American men who are members of yet another generation that has been let down by the system, so they don’t acknowledge the system in any way. Even dedicated non-conformists would think, ‘Yeesh, these two need to get a job.’ But I hope they never do. Because Kraken might become the next Banksy. And there is no one like Banga. He’s so committed to what he does and how he does it, I don’t think he’s
ever written down a word of what he creates. But if someone listens, writes it down and shares it, I think his words could change the world. We might not understand everything they say when they come over for dinner, because they hate the system so much, they’ve made up a language so they don’t have to speak white man’s English. But they’ll be a fun night in.”

  One thing to be said about that, he couldn’t argue it.

  “What article were you writing when you met them?” he asked.

  “It was about disenfranchised minority youth,” she told him. “That was a tough one. But I met those two through it, so it’s one of my favorites.”

  “Hand,” he ordered.

  She gave it.

  He threaded his fingers through hers and put them to his thigh.

  Then he said, “Right, now it’s time to share what went down with that Jackson fuck.”

  Her fingers spasmed in his.

  “Dutch—”

  “Babe, even if he was a total asshole, I’ll only rough him up a little bit.”

  Another spasm and a horrified, “What?”

  He started grinning.

  She yanked her hand from his so she could swat his arm.

  And then she caught his hand again when she was done.

  “So?” he prompted.

  “So…what?”

  “What’d that Jackson fuck do?”

  “Well, I will preface this by saying, I do not take any responsibility for him being a lech. However, I may not have played that as I should, and it was all your fault.”

  The fuck?

  “My fault?”

  “You’re gorgeous and you had my cat and I wanted to get to your house. So I started in asking him for information that we didn’t get from Eddie and Hank without buttering him up. He gave a little, then said something total euw like ‘you gotta pay to play’ and grabbed my breast right at the dinner table. So I told him I didn’t have to do anything of the sort, and if he didn’t want me to punch him in the throat, he could slide out of the booth where he’d pinned me. I must have looked pretty ticked, because he didn’t argue. He got out and I took off.”

  Dutch said nothing.

  “So you see, it wasn’t that bad. It was just gross.”