Hired Killer (Cryptid Assassin Book 1) Page 5

  "Fucking hell," Alex muttered and shook her head. "It would have to happen when my bouncer's out for the night."

  "Murphy's fucking law," Taylor agreed and watched the group head toward one of the nearby tables. "Do you guys have rules against overserving in this establishment?"

  "Of course," she said, still scowling. "They'll start getting rowdy if I don't get them out of here now, though."

  His gaze followed the bartender's hands as they inched slowly toward something under the bar and out of sight. The way her wrist arched told him there was more than likely a shotgun there, and one probably sawed off.

  He didn't need to see it to know it was well short of the legal minimum.

  "There’s no need for bloodshed here tonight," he told her softly and kept his gaze lowered. "There’s too much paperwork for everyone involved in something like that. I'll toss them out for you."

  Alex eyed him. "Are you sure?" She looked uncertain.

  "Don't worry about it," he said. "You might want to call the cops first, though."

  She nodded and retrieved her phone from her pocket as he turned to face the six men who still hadn't realized that they wouldn’t actually get their drinks. They probably wouldn't notice it for a while.

  He would still throw them out. There was no way to enjoy his drink when other patrons made assholes of themselves.

  "Hey, do you have our shots?" the man who had placed the order asked. He looked at Taylor and adjusted the sapphire cufflinks he wore.

  "Do I look like I'm carrying shots?" he asked. "No. I'm here to escort you and your friends off the premises. Go home and sleep it off. You guys will have a killer hangover as it is."

  "Come on, you can't throw us out. We just got here," the man said, pushed to his feet, and stood. Taylor winced when he smelt the gin the guy had clearly swilled all night from a foot away.

  "I can and I will, but I don't have to if you and your friends leave nicely," he said, his stare unyieldingly.

  "You can throw six of us out?" the drunkard asked and laughed derisively. "You look like a red-headed Jason Momoa—you know from the Aquaman movie? But…uh, shorter.” He leaned forward, his eyes squinting. “With freckles."

  He had no idea what was funny about that, but the man’s cronies clearly did.

  "Hilarious," he said and his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Tell it to me again on your way out."

  "Look, buddy." the drunk said placed his hand on Taylor's shoulder. "You won’t throw six of us out. We'll beat the shit out of you and stay. So go ahead and get us our shots and remind the bartender about the tip I have for her."

  "Yeah, she's steaming."

  "I want to see her pick a beer cap up with her cheeks."

  He shook his head. "Your call, bubba."

  The man barely had time to blink before the volunteer bouncer snapped his forehead forward into his nose with a loud and satisfying crack. The drunkard stumbled back and blood seeped between the fingers that clutched his nose as he screamed in pain.

  A second man tried to surprise Taylor from the right. He pivoted in place, arced his elbow out, and drove it against his attacker’s cheekbone hard enough to break the skin.

  That would inevitably be annoying to clean up, he realized. He made a mental note to maybe hold off on the kinds of wounds that would make them bleed.

  A third tried to stand from his seat, but a quick shove on his head thrust him down again. The three others charged simultaneously. One of them had picked up a pool cue from the nearby table.

  The closest assailant was off-balance and needed only a snapped punch to the jaw to fell him. He sprawled against the table, stunned. The second tried to deliver a blow that sailed hopelessly wide of where Taylor stood without him even needing to dodge. Clearly, he had underestimated how inebriated they were—as had they, apparently.

  He hammered his fist into the man's gut and scowled darkly when the idiot with the cue thumped his improvised weapon across his back.

  Taylor looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "You know you'll have to pay for that, right?"

  The would-be attacker tried to back away but tripped over one of his fallen comrades and landed hard with a groan.

  "Pathetic," Taylor grumbled, shook his head, and turned to face the one who was still unscathed and more or less conscious. "Get up."

  The man simply gaped at the ginger Momoa in terror from the seat he had been pushed into and shook his head vigorously.

  "Get up or I'll pick you up and carry you out. I'll have to carry these five dumbasses out too and would appreciate the help, so get the fuck up or I’ll toss you out first, then these fuckers out on top of you. ".

  The young man stood hastily, reached down to help one of his bleeding friends to his feet, and dragged him toward the exit. He lasted until the door but when he tried to open it, he lost his balance and collapsed under the weight of his comrade.

  "Fucking useless." Taylor grasped two of the men who were still conscious. He had a little help from them churning their feet as he hauled them to the door. When he reached it, a police car drew into the parking lot.

  An officer stepped out, confused by what he saw. He looked from Taylor to the guys he could see. “What happened here?"

  "These are drunkards you can book on drunk and disorderly charges if you like," Taylor replied. "Although from the looks of their seven-thousand-dollar watches, I'd say their bails will be paid by morning."

  "That sounds about right," the cop said. "Who are you again?"

  "Hey, Hank," Alex said and stepped over the unconscious characters on the doorstep. "Sorry about this. Meet Taylor, our temporary bouncer."

  "Huh," Hank said. "It’s nice to see you're okay, Alex. What happened to Marcus?"

  "He had a family emergency," she explained. "His kid had an allergic reaction and he needed to drive her to the hospital. Taylor here offered to fill in while he was away."

  "Oh, okay then. Tell him if he needs anything to call, all right?" The officer gestured to his partner to help him drag the frat boys out of the bar and toward the cruiser. "You all take care now, ya hear?"

  "Thanks for your help, officer," Taylor said, his arms folded over his chest in true bouncer style.

  "Hey, call me Hank. Any friend of Alex's is a friend of mine."

  "I appreciate that, Hank. Have a nice evening."

  "You too.” He sighed. “I’ll be up all night with the paperwork on this one."

  "Good luck with that." Taylor turned and returned to the bar when a second cruiser pulled up to take the other two.

  Alex grinned from ear to ear. She’d already cleaned what had been spilled by the frat kids. "Thanks for your help, Taylor."

  "I only want to be able to drink in peace," he replied.

  "Well, if you're in the mood, I think I can talk the kitchen into whipping up a thank-you meal," she said. "They owe me various favors I can cash in."

  He eyed her. "I'm always in the mood for free food."

  "Awesome. Sit and enjoy your drinks and I'll be right back."

  Chapter Five

  It wasn't a particularly long night.

  He hadn't originally intended to stay too long, but he stuck around the bar for a few hours and told himself it was to make sure Alex would be okay while the bouncer was out. Eventually, they had word that the man would be at the hospital all night and they would close Jackson's early since there wasn't that much happening anyway.

  Most of the time was spent getting to know Alex. She was a sharp character, much more than merely a pretty face, and she had skills behind the bar too. For a while, she had tried to push him into taking a few drinks for free, but he'd been a little more insistent on paying his tab as well as a generous tip.

  In the end, she hadn't resisted too strenuously. She had a scholarship but being in college was still expensive and she couldn't afford to be too generous.

  Besides, she'd arranged a meal for him on the house, and damned if it hadn't been one hell of a meal. Taylor was a fan
of the classics, and a plate of medium-rare steak, baked potato, veggies, and a side of fries left him more than satisfied.

  Not only that, she had been good company. It had been a fun night despite the fact that it ended with his return to his hotel room alone to sleep it off. He would definitely return to Jackson's in the near future.

  They had a breakfast menu that seemed worth exploring.

  But that was probably not an option today. He had business to attend to and he was supposed to meet with the realtor who would show him a list of possible locations where he would be able to begin to establish his little business.

  He still had no idea what he would call it, but various ideas floated in his mind. Most involved some kind of mech-based pun—the kind that would get a kick and an eye-roll out of the guys who worked on and in the mech suits themselves.

  Taylor was up at seven in the morning, wasted no more time than necessary in the shower, and adjusted his hair and trimmed his beard into something that looked at least somewhat respectable. He still resembled a ginger lumberjack but that wouldn’t change anyway, so there was no point in any effort to portray himself as something he was not.

  Before long, he was dressed in a blue button-down shirt and slacks that matched the dark brown of his boots and already waited outside with sunglasses in place to escape the glare of the early morning sun.

  He was precisely on time—eight in the morning—after a hurried indulgence in the continental breakfast provided at the hotel.

  The realtor was not on time. He knew he couldn't expect civilians to subscribe to the same time standards as military folk, but there was still something of a tick in his right cheek when she finally arrived ten minutes late, driving one of the newer Lincoln MKZ models.

  She slid out of the car and circled it to greet him. The woman was tall and looked like she had once had aspirations of being a model. The idea stuck because it possibly explained her blonde hair done in a perfect ponytail, her expensive glasses, and the tan pantsuit that was supposed to both display her professionalism as well as show off a little something else. The outfit was completed by five-inch heels.

  Taylor checked his watch pointedly as she joined him on the sidewalk.

  "I know, I know. I'm sorry I'm late," she said and adopted the flustered look she was obliged to. "Morning traffic around here is hell. I'm Heather—Heather Mills. It’s nice to meet you."

  "Taylor McFadden, and don't worry about it," he replied, took her hand, and shook it firmly.

  "Wow, that's quite a grip you have there, Mr. McFadden," she said and laughed. "Well, we can get started right away unless you want to get breakfast or coffee first?"

  "I'm good, thanks." He strode toward the passenger door.

  "Yes, you are," she said under her breath.

  He called over his shoulder, "What was that?"

  She smiled. "Nothing. Let's get going. I have a few prime places I think you'll really like."

  He stepped into the car and settled into the comfortable leather seat. "Well, I'm yours for the day so we might as well get started."

  She sighed softly as she slid behind the wheel, pulled the vehicle out onto the road, and began to talk him through the list she’d made.

  The first few places she showed him were clearly those on her docket with the highest price range that she needed to get out of her way as quickly as possible.

  They were offices, for the most part, and while he didn't doubt that they were built for business, there were probably all kinds of problems that wouldn’t be listed until after papers were signed. Not only that, they simply weren’t suitable for what he had in mind.

  Either way, Taylor wasn't interested. He preferred the places that would be cheaper to get his hands on outright so he would have a say in how they were remodeled later. It meant he would look at a long list of locations he wasn't interested in before they reached the metaphorical meat of the deal, but he didn't mind. Heather was good enough company.

  She had the look of a former cheerleader about her as she moved quickly and tried to keep his attention on her the entire time, even when discussing the property itself. She had jokes that were marginally funny and a solid, confident way about her that he enjoyed.

  It might have been a practiced look for her, one that made her successful enough in the industry and allowed her to work on helping businesses get set up instead of showing off houses and the like.

  They took a quick break for lunch before they headed into some of the less popular locations. He told her he was mostly doing research for the moment, which allowed him to simply say he wanted to move on after taking quickly scribbled notes on the various premises.

  He had a firm idea of what he wanted, however, and if he saw it, he would take it, research be damned.

  "How is it that you settled on the idea for this business of yours?" Heather asked as they drew into their third location of the afternoon. "Obviously, inspiration strikes any one of us but it seems like you put both time and energy into what you have in mind."

  "I can't say it wasn't always a dream of mine to own my own company and be my own boss," he responded almost before he had time to think about it. "The idea, though, is that I've worked with these mech suits before and I know my way around them. It's a growing market that has considerable room for expansion, one I have a very particular in on."

  "How do you mean?" she asked and put the parking brake on.

  "Well, the kind of in that many people look for is a conversation starter with the clientele," he replied, opened his door, and stepped out of the car. "Once you have that, there's an opening to already break into the market. Given that I know many of the people making and repairing the suits where they're actually used the most, there's my in. All I need is a supply for their demand, and I need a location for that."

  "You seem like you have it all worked out," she said and donned her sunglasses.

  "There’s no point in pushing into something like this if you don't have your steps planned carefully," he replied.

  "Well, this property isn't quite like the rest." She returned to business. "Which makes it unique, I guess. Here on the East Side, you'll have much more space for a lower rate, but there's a fair amount of gang activity in the neighborhood so you might want to think about that. The insurance will go through the roof if you have issues.”

  “I need the space and I can look out for myself,” he said with a chuckle. “Space large enough for the workshop, maybe room to set up living quarters for myself and maybe someone else.”

  “Interesting,” she replied.

  It was a strip mall, basically, with what appeared to have been an erstwhile grocery store next to a defunct car shop.

  There was more than sufficient space inside, and while it did look a little run down, the foundation was solid and the building made mostly of prefab, so many people wouldn't like the aesthetic.

  Having been around buildings like it for the past few years, though, he had absolutely no problem with the appearance. In fact, it had definite advantages.

  Prefab buildings looked like shit but they were durable, which explained why a building that appeared to have been abandoned for years was still standing and in good condition.

  "I like this one," Taylor said after his inspection. "There's a good feel about it. It’s a little run down, obviously, and could use a little polishing, but I think this is the one for me."

  "Really?" Heather looked a little bewildered. "I should tell you that whatever you bring in here will probably be stolen at least twice a year. No matter what you save, anything around here will cost you at least twice as much."

  "I understand that and again, I can take care of myself. It has potential. I'll buy it."

  She smiled, blinked, and paused when she realized what he'd said. "Do you mean rent it?"

  "No." He turned and fixed her with a firm gaze. "Buy it."

  "Oh." She made another hasty study of the property as if that would help her make the mental adjustment. "I'll…u
h, look into that. I think I need to make a call to my office first to see if the owners are willing to sell rather than rent."

  "Anything you need to do," he turned back and focused on the interior. The potential was high and as long as he set up a solid defensive perimeter, he would feel comfortable having his little shop there.

  The other benefit was more than enough space for expansion.

  The realtor stepped outside into the sun, pulled her phone out of her purse, and hurriedly dialed what he assumed was her office number. He had no doubt that the owners would want to get this place off their hands for a single cash payment instead of having to deal with folks who didn't know how to protect themselves from the criminal element and who would leave as soon as the lease expired, if not before.

  He moved closer to the window to listen as she began to speak to someone on the other end of the line.

  "He says he wants to buy it," she said. "Yes. He looked me dead in the eye and wanted a price to purchase the whole property. No, I'm not kidding and yes, he… Well, he looks respectable, anyway. He has that look about him.”

  Huh? What look?

  "Yeah, I guess he's hot but he has the body to show for it too if you know what I mean," she continued. He grinned and assumed she didn't know he could hear the conversation. "He's a redhead and has a nice beard too… No, I don't know if the carpet matches the drapes. Yet."

  Taylor tilted his head, a little surprised. These people must have one hell of a solid working relationship if they were willing to talk that way.

  Or maybe they were simply good friends. Still, he didn't mind it so much as he was curious about what she meant by “yet.”

  "Look, text me the details on what the owners want… Oh, okay, I think he'll like that," she said. "Anyway, text me the details, and I'll see if I can close on the deal today. He seems like that kind of guy, yes… Yes, on a date. A girl has to eat after all. He's staying in a hotel, so maybe I can be a kind of good Samaritan and offer him a place to rest his head for the night… Yes, both heads. I'm not that good a Samaritan."