Retaliatory Justice (The Talionic Files #1) Read online

  I don’t say anything, just scrunch my brows together and glance at my cards. I shove a couple of chips in and then put two cards down. He doesn’t say anything as he deals me two additional cards. We play in silence for a while. We are both lost in our thoughts, our memories. I hate this, I hate remembering my father and imagining what things could have been like for us. I glance at Joseph before I finally clear my throat.

  “Has Clayton been initiated into the ‘Four Aces’ fellowship?” I ask, trying not to smile.

  “Not yet, but I suppose it should happen soon, don’t ya think?” He asks with a wide grin.

  “Yeah, probably,” I reply with a chuckle.

  “How’s your case coming along?” he asks casually as he deals us another hand.

  I shrug. “Nothing new.”

  “Well, you’ll catch him, son,” he says as he looks at his cards.

  “That’s what my dad thought too,” I reply disheartened.

  4 Lay of the Land

  Dominique Walker

  June 10th

  Phillipe had told me to come by Saturday to get the lay of the land, and sign some paperwork, which is what I’m doing now. After signing all my employment papers, I headed straight to the kitchen. Le Creole is something else, completely modern with the finest kitchen imaginable. My hands run along the stainless-steel counters while my smile spreads. I’ve always wanted this. Cooking has been an escape for me. I never feel more alive than when I’m experimenting and trying new things and somehow all the bad things in life feel more manageable when I am in the kitchen.

  “Is everything to your liking?” I hear beside me.

  I turn to see Mr. Beauchamp watching me. “Yes, it’s all perfect. I still can’t believe this is mine.”

  He chuckles and steps closer. “Well, technically it’s mine.”

  I smile uneasily and nod. “Of course, I meant no disrespect, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  He gets a predatory look in his eyes before gently moving my hair over my shoulder. I feel a chill go through me as I step away from him which causes his lips to form into a small smile.

  “Please, call me Marshall.”

  “What’s going on?” Ms. Badour coolly asks from the entrance of the kitchen.

  “Nothing, my love,” Marshall turns with a beaming smile.

  I glance at her and she is giving me a look that makes me feel like cowering under the sink. She turns to Mr. Beauchamp and touches his face tenderly.

  “Phillipe is looking for you, darling.”

  He nods and takes her hand but she smiles sweetly at him. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  His lips twist into a smile and his eyes darken before he kisses her in front of me. I turn quickly, not sure what to do as I can’t leave at this point. I walk down a bit further and inspect the other stations. When I cooked for them I didn’t use everything and wasn’t trying to become overly familiar since I wasn’t sure if I’d get the job or not.

  “May I?” I hear behind me and turn to see Ms. Badour staring at me.

  “May you what?” I ask confused.

  She motions to my knife kit. I flinch for a moment because no one ever touches my knives. I worked hard to save up enough money to buy them and they’re perfect. They are special, they are mine, and, at this point, it’s as if they were made for only me. Unsure what to do, I set my case on the counter and open it up, hoping that will be enough to satiate her curiosity. She starts to touch one and my hand instinctually goes underneath hers halting her movement.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I, umm, I don’t like people touching my knives. I hope you understand.”

  She smiles but her eyes are dark and unwavering. “I understand completely. No one likes people touching what isn’t theirs to touch.”

  I stare at her wide eyed. Mr. Beauchamp touched me. He was unprofessional, not me, yet she is staring at me as if I copped a feel of her man. She brings her hand to my cheek and taps it lightly before breaking out into a high-pitched laugh.

  “I’m glad we had this little chat,” she says before walking past me and out of the kitchen.

  Blowing out a breath, my palms hit the counter top. “What the hell did I get myself into?” I mutter.

  June 15th

  It’s been nearly a week since I was officially hired as the executive chef of Le Creole and I’ve had no further issues with my three new bosses. Luckily for me they have been busy interviewing people and hiring so I have been pretty much left to my own devices. I spent that first week preparing the menu for the restaurant, which will be straight Louisiana cuisine along with my own little touches here and there. They hired the last of my line cooks yesterday, which is good because I plan on teaching my line chefs how to make everything tomorrow. The kitchen is well stocked but now that I have my menu prepared, I need to get the other ingredients. I head towards the back of the building where the office and storage room is located so that I can go over the procedure for ordering food. Seeing all three of them inside, I steady my breathing and knock.

  “Come in, Dominique,” Phillipe says standing and motioning for me to enter.

  “How can we help you?” Marshall asks with a smirk.

  I glance at Ms. Badour and she is arching her brow at me. Swallowing, I hand each of them the menu I created for their approval. All three of them take a moment to study it while I chew on my lip nervously. This is my first attempt at making a menu of my own so I hope it meets their standards.

  “This looks very good,” Phillipe says with a smile.

  “Thank you,” I reply happily.

  “Yes, quite good,” Marshall concurs and turns to Ms. Badour. “Whitney, sweetheart, what say you?”

  She nods. “It looks good. Do you have the specials decided as well?” she asks, eyeing me speculatively and I get the distinct feeling that she wants me to be unprepared.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, reaching in my pocket and pulling out a typed list of the specials.

  She looks it over and nods, handing it to Marshall who in turn hands it to Phillipe. Damn it! I should have printed out three copies this morning.

  “I will print a list out weekly for each of you,” I say quickly.

  “We will only be open Thursday through Sunday, so prepare accordingly,” Marshall says casually.

  “Oh, okay. I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Well, now you are,” Whitney snaps crisply.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say glancing down for a moment.

  My God! This woman seriously has it in for me. It’s her man she needs to keep on a leash not me. All right, Dominique, just deal with it, this is your opportunity to be an executive chef, don’t blow it. I just need to steer clear of her and her crazy boyfriend, lover, whatever the heck he is to her and do my thing. Just think of this as a temporary assignment, learn everything you can and if it gets bad you can leave.

  “Is that all, Dominique?” Phillipe asks bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “No.” I clear my throat and continue. “I need to order supplies so that I can prepare the line chefs for...”

  “I will do all the ordering,” Marshall interrupts me.

  My brows furrow. “But, I’m the executive chef. That’s part of my responsibilities. I need to know what I can get or not get and change the recipes on the fly. If I can’t order the food I won’t be able to do my job effectively.”

  He stands abruptly and in one stride is directly in front of me. “Are you questioning my authority?”

  I cower back slightly and hear a chair move. In lightning speed Phillipe is right there and although I can’t see Whitney I can hear her snickering.

  “Dominique, will you excuse us?” Phillipe orders and the gentle flirtatiousness he always has in my presence is completely gone.

  I slip out and immediately hear yelling from the room. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop but I can’t stop myself. This pertains to me after all. I lean against the wall and face the door, bringing my thumb to my lips I begin gnawing on my nail.

  “Wh
at the hell is wrong with you?” Phillipe yells.

  “I’m not having her order anything. She will interfere,” Marshall spits back just as loudly.

  “I don’t trust her. She’s already challenging us,” Whitney adds.

  “Stop, both of you. I’m the one that was selected to be in charge and I say we let her do the ordering. We can work around it,” Phillipe says casually but with a hint of authority.

  “Well, yes, sir,” Whitney replies mockingly.

  I hear movement and head out of the hallway and towards the kitchen. What the heck is going on here? I turn quickly when I hear footsteps approaching me only to find Phillipe stepping into the kitchen. He is all calm, cool, and collected with that flirtatious smile on his face again. Oh, great, now what?

  “I apologize for my colleagues’ behavior, Dominique. I assure you it won’t happen again. There are some issues with the ordering so I ask that you submit to me what you need and if there are any problems you and I can discuss it privately,” he finishes with a smile.

  I nod even though I don’t like this at all but they have made it abundantly clear that I am not going to get what I want in this scenario so I’m going to have to make the best of the situation. This is my first opportunity to be an executive chef. I can’t blow it before we are even open for business. I can make do.

  “Yes, of course.” I finally say.

  “Wonderful,” he replies, clapping his hands together.

  He walks out of the kitchen with an extra beat to his step and all I can do is shake my head in disbelief. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected everything to go smoothly.

  5 Standstill

  Valentino Masterson

  June 21st

  I roll the sleeves up on my dress shirt and lean back in my chair, glancing towards the window. The sky is lit with stars, as it’s one of those rare nights where everything is clear. Washing my hands over my face, I wish things were clear with this case. We have reached a standstill over the past week. Nothing is happening, nothing is moving. I made contact with the agent in New Orleans. His name is Garrett Adams. He seemed a bit flippant with me but in the end, he expressed a desire to work together on this case. We arranged for him to come up here next week, which I am not looking forward too. I pinch the bridge of my nose before bringing the binoculars back to my eyes to scan the front of the restaurant and the alley to the left of it.

  Il Nostro Modo is Enrico’s restaurant, although it is very popular and has been featured in many magazines as well as been on several best restaurants lists, people don’t realize that it’s only a front. He launders money through it as well as sells guns from a room in the building next to it. Of course, none of us have ever gotten close enough to verify that but we all know it’s there.

  I have been staking out Il Nostro Modo every night since Sunday. So far nothing is out of the ordinary, in fact, Enrico hasn’t been here from what I can tell although no one can ascertain where he is. Some are saying he is laying low but I don’t believe it. My suspicion is he’s been in New Orleans, organizing and meeting with people.

  “Oh shit!” I duck back slightly when I see Gino step out the front door and make a cursory look in my direction.

  Gino isn’t a big man, although he is larger than Enrico. He has jet, black hair and square shoulders that pretty much make his neck disappear completely. He and Enrico are the same age, and I always wondered why Enrico ended up being in charge versus Gino, both seemed to be in line for it. Gino’s daughter, Aryana, is generally by his side but I haven’t seen her either. Aryana’s mother, Bernadine, died giving birth to her. From what I hear, she was initially raised in Italy and brought here as an adolescent. She is my age but I swear she could pass for a teenager. I suppose that’s why she has gotten away with so much as she does not look like your typical bomber, so most people ignore her. A big mistake because even though on the surface she may look sweet and innocent, inside she is pure evil. I would imagine when she finally gets to hell she will run Lucifer out.

  “Who are you waiting for, Gino?”

  I continue to watch as he greets several patrons and then says something to the doorman before stepping aside. He waits in front of the building for a moment, glancing up and down the street, and then checking his watch. I know I am not visible to him in this building but it makes me nervous none the less. I get out my camera and start snapping more pictures, soon a black Mercedes pulls up and a large man steps out. I have seen him around this past week but don’t know his name yet. I believe he is one of Enrico’s new guards. He straightens out his jacket and glances around before going to the trunk and pulling out a large duffle bag, tossing it over his shoulder while Gino opens the back door of the vehicle.

  “Enrico,” I hiss out angrily. “There you are, you slippery snake. Where have you been? New Orleans… New York…? You should be in a damn hole in the ground?”

  I am snapping away when Aryana slithers out of the car. She exchanges a look with her father who in turn says something to the man with the duffle bag. He quickly drops the bag back into the trunk, looking around, before getting back in the driver’s seat. He takes off while Gino and Aryana usher Enrico inside.

  “Hmm, change of plans. Why is that Enrico?”

  I stay for another several hours before heading back to my place. My mind is on fire. Enrico’s back but I still don’t know what he’s up to. Maybe there will be something in the pictures that will give me a hint. Snatching a Heineken out of the fridge, I head into the small office in my apartment that I converted into a dark room and immediately begin the process of developing the pictures I took tonight. Glancing at the clock, I see it is already nearly three in the morning.

  “Screw it, who needs sleep!”

  June 22nd

  “You look terrible! Did you even go home?” Clayton asks, sliding into one of the chairs at the round table in the room designated for my team.

  “Screw you!” I say not looking up from the papers I have laid out in front of me.

  “No thanks, man, Kailee keeps we quite satisfied in that area.”

  I don’t have to look at him to know he is smiling. “Once again, that falls into the ‘too much information’ category,” I answer with a smirk.

  “I thought you and Kailee told each other everything?” he asks nudging my arm.

  I look up at him and just shake my head. “We do but not about her sex life.”

  “Who’s sex life?” Jeff asks walking into the room with Zach and Michelle.

  They all stroll inside, taking in my disheveled appearance, which is normally not the case for me, but I didn’t have time to change. Plus, I’m operating on pure adrenaline right now so I’m not thinking about formalities.

  “You missed the morning debriefing,” Zach informs me casually but I can hear the disapproval in his voice and feel his eyes on me. “Anderson asked about you.”

  “Yeah, well, not everyone is a straight by the book saint, O’Neal. I’m sure he had a good reason for missing it,” Jeff interjects with a roll of his eyes.

  “Agent Masterson has a responsibility, as our team leader to be at morning debriefings unless he designates someone to speak for the team,” Zach insists.

  Jeff turns quickly and gets right in his face, the veins pulsing on his neck letting everyone know he is about to go off. “And I suppose you want to speak for the team?”

  “I never said that!” Zach retorts quickly.

  I honestly thought that Jeff and I would go rounds considering he is pretty much like me. But it turned out to be Zach and Jeff who have been on each other since this team was formed two weeks ago. As suspected, Zach is completely by the book. He is smart but believes the rules are to be followed to the letter while Jeff sees them more as guidelines. Not a day goes by that those two aren’t at each other’s throat about something.

  “Shut the hell up, both of you. You’re giving me a headache,” I say rubbing my temples.

  “You’re both idiots. I swear,” Michelle utt
ers in exasperation.

  Jeff takes a step back and raises his hands with a wicked smirk on his face while Zach frowns and takes a seat. Michelle shakes her head and the look on her face tells me that she would like nothing better than to pound both of their heads together. She probably could. She is tough. Jeff made the mistake of challenging her and she took him to the ground in two moves. She tends to keep quiet, interjecting her thoughts when appropriate but when she speaks you better listen. She is a good agent and her feedback on Carmine has been irreplaceable.

  “Enrico is back,” I begin.

  There is shuffling in seats as everyone looks at each other and then to me. This is the first break we have gotten. I rub my forehead for a moment and take a sip of my coffee.

  “I was watching Enrico’s place last night and caught him arriving.”

  “You went on a stake out without letting any of us know?” Zach asks concerned and once again, there is that tone of disapproval inflected in his voice.

  I frown at him. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission, O’Neal,” I say with bite.

  “Of course not but it’s dangerous and Anderson was very specific when he told you that he didn’t want you going on any solo missions. We are a team. We are supposed to be working together,” he replies indignantly.

  “If you have a problem with the way I do things you can get the hell out of here,” I state angrily as I rise from my chair.

  “I don’t think that’s what he’s saying, Masterson,” Clayton interjects, trying to stop me from doing something I would surely regret. “But shit, man, what if Enrico or any of them saw you. They wouldn’t hesitate to blow a hole in your head.”

  “Exactly my point. We are trying to do the impossible here and we’ll never accomplish it if you are being careless,” Zach says calmly.

  “O’Neal, shut the hell up. It’s his damn team,” Jeff says with another roll of his eyes and then motions towards my stack of pictures. “So what did you find out?” He asks changing the subject.

  I hesitantly take my eyes off Zach and sit back down. I know he’s right and he’d probably have a cow if he knew I had been staking out Enrico since Sunday. I shift my attention back to the pictures and start passing them around the table.