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Chapter 4 - Let's Start A Riot

4 Let's Start A Riot

Midday greeted Vincent with an unseasonably bone chilling cold.

Despite this, he opted to forgo a car and travel the walkways that gradually began to fill with the typical lunch crowd.

Within minutes, he was twisting and turning to avoid even the slightest of incidental contact. Unfortunately that became impossible after another couple of minutes.

As opposing throngs of people pushed past one another, most were equally apologetic when shoulders were bumped or hips grazed.

A few less polite citizens muttered curses and warnings; insults were hurled with little regard for who they struck.

Vincent ducked onto the patio of a restaurant that he quickly realized he had never visited.

Upon entering the building, he was welcomed with unfamiliar but comforting scents. There was a spicy sweet aroma; like peppers mixed with pineapples. He inhaled deeply and discovered an undercurrent of slow roasting beef.

An Instrumental tune heavy on horns with an understated percussion line emanated from several speakers spread throughout the dining room.

He estimated about thirty people had decided to take advantage of the dine in lunch specials. The majority occupied the dozen tables and cozy booths as far from the kitchen as the space allowed. Six single diners were sprinkled closer but still three or four tables from a tiny table that appeared questionably close to the kitchen door.

Vincent sat at that table then pulled out his phone to review the latest document he had begun composing an hour earlier.

A young man, tall and slim with a complexion the color of freshly roasted coffee, set a menu and glass of water on Vincent's table. Vincent thanked him and asked for a few minutes alone.

When the server departed, Vincent redirected his attention to the document.

Benjamin's name had been highlighted. Next to it were a hyphen and the word "me."

Alejandre's name was next. Vincent had notated two possibilities for the drunken boxer.

HANSEN was first and four question marks followed after that name.

He was hesitant to get Hansen involved. In his notes, Vincent had written 6. That was the number of high ranking officials connected to Hansen who had been dismissed in the wake of the corruption reveal.

The other name was Elisa's father, Luis. Luis was his preferred choice but Vincent had to appear impartial at this stage. Admittedly, It was also a selfish choice.

Alejandre was easy on the eyes and good at taking orders. He would appeal to both De La Lunas at least long enough for Vincent to entertain the idea of lightening his workload.

Ahmed was by far the easiest recommendation. Underlined was OLD MAN. Whether the old man agreed to it would be its own fight in the near future. But like or not, they were going to be paired up within the next two weeks.

The hardest of the bunch to place was Malcolm. The young man's inclusion was a bit of a head scratcher. Nobody had been hurt other than him. This was new ground for the Breaux Foundation. With very few exceptions they dealt with a very specific set of criteria for the program.

No offense to Malcolm but there was nothing exceptional about his case or him for that matter.

He seemed to be headed in a very benign direction. Vincent imagined Malcolm wanting nothing more than a stable 24 hour work week and going home to excited kids and a loving wife every night for home cooked meals.

The young server returned and Vincent placed an order for some grilled baby marrow and sweet peppers to go. Vincent transferred the amount owed and once again returned his attention to Malcolm.

Vincent sipped his water as he considered the improbability of being aware of Malcolm's existence.

Criminal trespassing that did not result in bodily harm to the occupant warranted a brief detention.

At most, Malcom should have been detained 72 hours for observation and interviews. The information gathered would be used to determine how he would best pay his debt to the wronged party. That was the standard procedure.

Yet someone above his pay grade had recommended a kid who on paper had a bright future in tech to forgo that path and choose the very dangerous one Vincent and less than two dozen others travailed.

Once the server returned with his food, Vincent thanked him, shoved his phone into one of his inner jacket pockets, then grabbed his takeaway and left.

*

Three in the afternoon may as well have been midnight to Valencia. Her body had yet to adjust to her new hours and when she was less tired, she would consult a thesaurus to more accurately describe her level of exhaustion.

However, she just could not fall asleep. She had painstakingly made an attempt to subdue any source of light that dared enter her bedroom. Yet, despite her diminishing ability to fight off delirium, she could not fall asleep.

In fact, she thought she was imagining the sound of knocking. After a moment however, she realized someone wanted to see her.

She bit her bottom lip as she was assaulted by her visitor's presence. That feeling willed her out of bed and carried her to the front door.

Before she realized it, she had opened the door. Through eyes that could barely remain open, she glimpsed all seventy-four inches and two hundred pounds of Lawrence Malloy.

It was strange; the way she could feel him. There was a sensation of pin pricks on the back of her neck and shoulders. The sensation would travel the length of her arms and down to her fingertips. The closer he was, the more her stomach churned. As unsettling as the feeling was, she loved it.

Valencia stared past him for a moment as she gathered her senses.

"Hey beautiful." His voice was like a shot of espresso. Suddenly, she was awake and annoyed.

"What do you want?"

"To talk." Lawrence stepped inside and the pin pricks traced that familiar path along her spine as he passed by her.

Lawrence was not a man of subtext. He was a self professed "open book." Lawrence was pulp fiction. He leaped at you from the page and forced you to pay attention. It was one of his more disarming charms. A man with nothing to hide had an enormous appeal. It was then she was suddenly very aware of how she was dressed.

An oversized t-shirt and shorts that barely reached mid thigh were hardly a formidable obstacle to him. Fortunately, he was not the type to mistake her lack of clothing for an invitation.

She had extended the invitation on previous occasions however. He touched her in ways that made her lose her inhibitions. She could not give in to him; not yet anyway.

She finally looked at him.

Mahogany skin, close cropped wavy hair, and chiseled jaw made her bite her lip harder than the previous time.

She resisted the urge to go to him. He remained rooted in place an arm's length away from her.

"I needed to see you." His words derailed her train of thought.

"Oh. You needed to see me. Just show up on my doorstep after, what, a month? Didn't need to see me then?"

"That was a mistake." He approached her. The four inch height difference was negated by his stumped posture.

"What do you want?"

"I'm not sure I'm strong enough." He knelt down and took one of her hands in both of his. She forgot how big his hands were; they swallowed hers.

His dark hands contrasted nicely with the honey color of her skin. That familiar electricity sent a tingle up her bare thighs and she was reminded how woefully underdressed she was.

Absently, her other hand touched the hardened knuckles of his right one. She sighed. Despite her initial thought to jerk away from his grasp, it felt good to touch him and be touched by him.

Of course, to touch him was to invite his flame to burn her. But everyone felt the allure of fire. Whether the figurative flame of passion or literal hues of heat consuming any all available oxygen in the room, fire was irresistible.

He was both. Unless she had read him wrong in their many encounters, this man served no master but his own passions. She wished she could comprehend what burned inside him. There was something primordial. Something that felt powerful. All of it combined in a man she found too captivating to resist.

"I'm sorry," he told her just above a whisper.

"About what?" her tone dropped to match his.

"A lot of things. Right now, this." She had fallen into his trap.

The moment her mind attempted to puzzle out what "this" meant, she felt his lips on hers. When had he stood back up? An instant later his tongue expertly parted her lips.

Each second of exploration was a powerful reminder that he had staked this territory as his own.

As much as she wanted to stop him and prove that not an inch of her belonged to him, the urge to see where the kiss might lead overruled her resolve.

She wanted to punch him when he suddenly pulled away from her.

"I need to leave." He was back on the floor, one leg straight ahead, the other bent at the knee and positioned in a way to leave space between the two legs.

"Just like that?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Why did you come in the first place?"

"I mean that's what I needed to talk to you about. I need to leave and I needed to see you in case I don't get another chance."

"What are you talking about?"

"Things are happening. Right now, things that I can't control are happening and I have to try to control them anyway."

"You're not making sense." She watched him shake his head and smile.

"These things never do. If I could explain it better I would."

"Maybe if you used your mouth for something other than kissing." She joined him on the floor and arranged herself to fit in the space between his legs. "One day you're going to knock on my door and my new boyfriend is going to answer."

"So does that make me your current boyfriend?"

She punched his shoulder but could not prevent a smile from spreading across her face. He returned the smile and she had to admit that it was nice to see him; despite the circumstances.

He leaned forward and kissed her collarbone.

Electricity danced along her skin. He bit her and she gasped. She began to feel lightheaded then suddenly very tired.

The last sensation she felt was being cradled in his arms.

*

In the dwindling moments of sunlight, Olivier approached the store front for a business owned by one of the corrupt pieces of garbage that somehow had eluded the crackdown.

The man with the black bat had warned them the arrests were only the beginning. He had cautioned them that a lot of the rats would flee when their deeds were brought into the light. They would have to assist in drawing out the ones that went into hiding.

Olivier felt it; just like the man with the black bat said he would. He felt powerful; the purpose he had been given erased all those negative feelings of emptiness.

For years, he had felt used up by greedy businessmen working him to the bone for scraps. His simmering anger at being stepped on and ripped off were replaced with a righteous one.

It was okay to be angry, he just had to direct it in the right place.

Olivier tightened his grip around the bat given to him personally by the man with the black bat. He was no longer alone.

A few curious pedestrians gave him looks, but mostly kept moving. As the last light of day faded, Olivier was joined by a teenage girl, teenage boy, and a middle aged man.

Each held similar bats. They all acknowledged one another with a slight nod.

He could only imagine their stories. Perhaps there would be time later. What had pissed them off? Who had called them dirty things and made them do even filthier things just to make a couple of dollars?

Whatever their reasons, they were there now. And as they each swung their bats, they all knew this was why they were here.