Reckless: A Bad Boyz Anthology Read online

  “Certainly. It means that he has some new information, and that caution must be used in relaying said information to me. So, of course, you realize that cell phones are not the appropriate means of conveying sensitive or confidential information between parties, therefore, once back in the City, we’ll head to my office.”

  “Is he going to meet us there?” I asked.

  “Yes, in one hour. So Luke, how about you take a more direct route back than the one you took getting here? Time is of the essence when we have a Code Yellow.”

  I chuckled and gave Lloyd a playful smack on the ass as we walked back towards my bike. “Couldn’t help it. I was digging the feel of your gorgeously hard dick pressed up against my backside. Sure you don’t want to take the bumpy route back?”

  Lloyd gave me a snarky look. “I’ve got other ideas for how you might bring my cock to attention, and it doesn’t involve ass torture like what I got on the way here, Gunner.”

  We climbed onto the hog and within minutes, Lloyd’s arms were once again wrapped around my waist and we took the main highways back into the City.

  Since it was Saturday, the parking garage that served Lloyd’s law firm was half empty. I pulled into a spot near the elevator and we climbed off, removing our helmets.

  “Craig is here,” Lloyd said, nodding toward a shiny black, late model pickup truck.

  Once we rode the elevator up to his floor, I finally laid eyes on Lloyd’s super sleuth investigator, Craig O’Connor. He was waiting in the carpeted hallway outside the locked reception area. O’Conner was a big guy; probably six-four, three hundred pounds. He looked like he worked out. He was fit. Dressed casually, he nodded as we approached him. Lloyd made a quick introduction and we shook hands.

  “Luke Gunner,” Craig said, giving my hand a tight squeeze, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  I immediately looked into his eyes to see if they were accusatory but I saw none of that. “My life is an open book to you, Craig,” I replied. “Ask away. I want this shit off of me.”

  “It might get personal,” he said, as Lloyd unlocked the office door and immediately punched in the alarm code to disable it.

  “Define personal, dude. Are we talking my sex life, or my business?”

  “Wait here,” Craig instructed, taking some type of black device from his pocket, and entering Lloyd’s office.

  “Okay, Lloyd, what’s with this?”

  Lloyd gave me a knowing smile. “Craig always insists on electronically sweeping my office, conference room, apartment -- wherever we happen to be when sensitive information passes between us on a case. You’d be surprised how easily bugs can be planted.”

  “Christ,” I said, chuckling loudly. “Paranoid much?”

  Craig reappeared having heard my comment. “Damn straight,” he replied, “and sometimes it’s the smartest thing you can be, Mr. Gunner. Especially under these circumstances. Paranoid is what you should be feeling right now, because there’s somebody out there whose sole mission seems to be sending you up the river. And by personal? Well, let’s just say you need to open up the family album. If you are truly innocent of these allegations, then this has all the makings of blood relative.”

  We take our places in Lloyd’s office and as I sit back in one of his black leather chairs around his conference table, the confusion I’m feeling has taken up residence on my face. “I’m not sure that I can help you with that, Craig. I was adopted.”

  “That part I know. What I need to find out is how much your parents know about your birth family. When I pulled up your birth record, there wasn’t much there. No hospital listed. Only a generic one filed with the County Health Department.”

  “My birth record?” I asked. Why the hell was he digging into that shit?

  “Because,” he answered after apparently reading my mind, “I needed to start at Ground Zero since Lloyd here believes you’re innocent.”

  I looked quickly over at Lloyd who was sitting across from me.

  Well, I’ll be damned. He did believe me.

  Halle-fucking-lujah!

  “I don’t know any of the particulars, Craig. I guess that’s where you start.”

  Chapter 15

  CROSSING MY LEGS at the knees, I discreetly adjusted my crotch when the jeans I wore pinched my scrotum a bit too forcefully. That, right there, was why I preferred dress pants to jeans. With my elbows resting on the armrest and my fingers entwined, I leaned my chin on top and listened carefully to what Craig had to say. I had yet to find any private investigator as invested in his work as this man. Like a hound dog, he could sniff out any information if he got even the tiniest wind of its existence. The man was invaluable and, more often than not, he was the main reason some of my clients came out on top in the rulings.

  When he informed Luke of my certainty concerning his innocence, I hid my smile behind my hands as I caught my lover's sparkling blue eyes. In the extremely short time I had spent with the man, I had thought very little of Larson and that was a godsend. I felt like I could finally breathe again. As though some kind of extraordinary weight had lifted, if only a little, off my chest. I was thankful for the reprieve, hopeful that maybe, just maybe, I could one day feel completely free from the heavy load.

  "I need you to tell me everything you know. From day one. I have a hunch but in this business, an idea without an ounce of proof is worth shit," said Craig with an air of complete concentration as though Luke's next words would tell him where to find the Holy Grail. Sorry, buddy. Indiana Jones already got that one. I chuckled at my own internal joke and was met with two pairs of glaring eyes.

  "Ahem, sorry. I was just...um, never mind. Carry on." Smooth one, Lloyd.

  After a few minutes of thought, probably searching his sexy photographic memory, Luke rested his tattooed forearms on the oak table and leaned in slightly towards the middle of the table. With a voice that reminded me of the feel of steel, he uttered every word, every syllable, with unwavering precision. It was as though he were reading the script of his brilliant mind, retelling the story written in a long ago forgotten novel.

  I liked it.

  Knowing he had some kind of super brainiac power was like discovering Superman was living next door...sexy glasses and all.

  "I was dropped off at the orphanage when I was ten months old by a wino chick. She’d given my purported mother a bottle of Muscatel in exchange. My first palpable memory is from my second birthday party. Nothing major, just a small cake with two candles. I was already at my Ma and Pop's. When I was fifteen, I tried to find some information about my birth mother, feeling some kind of need to know my roots or some shit. Hit up the records, but they were sealed.

  No one would or even could tell me anything. The Catholic Charities only said that the records stated a drop off by a woman who claimed I’d been given to her for an exchange. She’d felt compelled to make the trade because she feared for my safety. This all happened the morning of April 22, 1986. I was wrapped in a blue blanket with a note giving my first name, Luke, and my birth date June 30, 1985. The word "Sorry" scribbled at the end.

  I was quickly put into foster care since my health was good, if not a little underweight. Wherever I was born, it wasn’t where I was dropped. Authorities had checked the local and state hospital records and found no match. They put the obligatory ad in the newspapers in Michigan re: Baby Boy Doe, ran it once a week for six weeks, and after nobody came forward, I was officially made a ward of the state and available for adoption. I was officially an abandoned baby who needed to a few pounds added to my bones." Luke glanced my way with a smirk and added, "I've caught up, since."

  Jesus. As if this were the time to be patting himself on the back.

  Craig spoke up at this point. “Your adoptive parents -- is the relationship between you a cordial one?” He needed to know if they knew more than what they’d told him while growing up.

  "It’s way more than cordial. Why would you ask? And what exactly did you find?" I could sense the irrit
ation dripping with every word from Luke's lips. His full, delicious, lips.

  Craig had dug deeply into the details of Luke’s adoption and, in doing so, had uncovered one important clue. The adoption agency had kept the personal effects of the deserted baby, and he’d asked to go through the box. He’d found the tee shirt and pajama bottoms Luke had been wearing, socks and tennis shoes, and the blue blanket. The blanket had been hand-embroidered by someone. Someone who had cared by the looks of it. He hadn’t noticed at first because of the tattered state the blanket had been in, but when Craig had looked closer, he could see the embroidered identical twin bears, each with a dangling balloon in their hands. One red, one blue. And threaded in script, on each balloon, was a name. Luke.

  Duke.

  

  "You can't go in there! He's in a meeting right..." The screech coming from outside the office door had all three of us snapping our heads to the side, facing the entrance when all hell broke loose.

  Erin was screaming dick-breaking threats as the door flew open and two men in dark suits flashed their badges while what seemed like the entire New York City police department was following suit. They looked like the fifty-year-old versions of Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller playing dress up in Starsky and Hutch. One blond and disheveled and the other sporting a white man's fro that desperately needed to return to the 80's. Stat.

  Luke, Craig and I were immediately standing. Chairs flying from the speed of our movements.

  "Mr. Ledbetter, we have reason to believe..." When the suits' eyes landed on Luke, they immediately drew their guns. "Hands in the air where we can see them. Do not move!"

  Wilson wannabe stepped closer with a pair of handcuffs while Stiller's clone kept his eyes on Luke, gun pointed with a vengeance. If it weren't such a serious moment, I would be laughing my ass off and screaming, "And cut!"

  When the suit slapped the handcuffs on Luke, his eyes snapped to mine, bringing me back to the task at hand. "I am his lawyer. You do not interrogate him without my presence." Turning to Luke, I stared intently at his eyes, willing him to hear the urgency in my words. "Do not, under any circumstance, speak to anyone. Do not answer any questions until I get there. Understood?" With just a nod he confirmed his grasp on what I was trying to convey.

  I heard his Miranda rights being spewed off like the Pledge of Allegiance in home room. My gut was doing cartwheels, bordering on the edge of nausea but my head was in lawyer mode.

  I grabbed my belongings just as they pulled their most wanted criminal down the hall, in a gaudy display of supremacy. I wanted to chuck my briefcase at the backs of their heads and tell them 1982 wanted their style back. But I kept my cool.

  Before leaving my office, I turned to Craig. With a stern tone, I pointed my index finger at his chest and spoke through my teeth. "You get me everything you can find. You fucking upturn every goddamn stone and get me something to work with. He is innocent and I will not let him rot in jail. I want updates every hour on the hour or I swear to God, I will hunt you down and gut you. Got me?"

  Craig nodded, “I need your office and your staff at my disposal, is that a problem?

  “All of my resources are at your disposal, Craig. Just get it fucking done.”

  Jesus Christ, I sounded like a thug. Biker boy was starting to rub off on me. And there was no way I was going to let him hang for something I truly believed he was not capable of doing.

  Chapter 16

  I’D BEEN THROUGH this shit before. It was nothing new, but somehow this time, it felt different. Maybe it was because I was being charged with the fucking abduction and murder of someone I had never even met. This time was scary, I’m not gonna lie. This time there was total uncertainty about my ever walking out of this place as a free man.

  A man that wanted nothing more than to exercise his inalienable rights in the pursuit of happiness, wasn’t that the fucking American Dream? And Ledbetter was part of that pursuit. That was the part that sucked donkey balls the most. I would be locked in a six by six cell alone most likely. I knew I wouldn’t have Lloyd’s body next to me tonight.

  I was booked at the Manhattan precinct, but with these jokers, it was hard telling how they might just keep moving me from precinct to precinct in order to play some fucking shell game with my attorney. I knew Lloyd though, and I knew damn well he’d been on their ass the whole way into the station.

  I couldn’t contain my smile when, after being booked, fingerprinted, and photographed, I was moved from central booking to an interrogation room and there sat Lloyd. Perfectly coifed, perfectly composed and, except for the quick flash of relief at seeing me in one piece, perfectly ready to crawl down the throats of New York’s finest.

  I needed to put him at ease. Just having him here gave me a shot of comfort for some reason. “No need for worry, Counselor,” I said as I was instructed to sit. “Not a word crossed my lips, not even when they did the cavity search.”

  I saw Lloyd’s air flare in momentary anger, until he realized I was yanking his chain with the cavity search bit. That was only on drug charges -- relax there Lloyd. Do your shit and get me out of here.

  Two detectives were already seated across from Lloyd, a stack of photos and papers spilled out on the tabletop in front of them. I couldn’t help but notice one of the photos on top must have been of the victim by the looks of his condition. Wet hair, bloated body parts, bluish skin color.

  The detectives introduced themselves to me: Mulrooney and Cabot. They instructed me that this interview would be recorded, and I was to verbally acknowledge my consent. I looked at Lloyd and he nodded his approval.

  “Let’s start with your whereabouts on the night of September 27th?”

  Jesus Christ, I thought, that was almost three weeks ago. How the hell was I supposed to remember where I was on that particular night?

  “Are you serious?” I asked, with a gruff laugh.

  “Mr. Gunner, on a Murder One rap, we’re always serious. Counselor, please advise your client it is in his best interest to cooperate.”

  Lloyd leaned over towards me and whispered, “Go ahead and answer if you can remember, Luke. It was a Monday night.”

  I relaxed and immediately flashed him a smile, “Well damn, that’s easy,” I said. “I was at Diesel eating wings, drinking beer and watching Monday night football. It was the Bengals and Seahawks. Bengals were down by seventeen points at the half. Came out and by the end of the fourth quarter, they tied it up right before the buzzer. Went into overtime, and Bengals kicked a field goal to win it by three. That one will go down as the best damn game of the season, mark my word.”

  Cabot spoke up, “We’ll need your credit or debit card records to verify that, Mr. Gunner.”

  “I don’t use credit or debit cards, Detective. I love the smell of cash you see.”

  “Well then we’ll need someone to corroborate your story. Where’s this Diesel located?”

  “North Strip Landing in Syracuse,” I replied. “And I don’t think you’ll have a problem finding someone there who remembers me,” I added with a wink. “It’s a gay bar.”

  “Just great,” Mulrooney mumbled.

  “Mr. Gunner, how is it you were acquainted with Senator Hastings?”

  “I wasn’t. Never met the guy. Politicians…well, they’re not my demographic.”

  “We’ve got forensic evidence that says otherwise, Mr. Gunner. Now, why don’t you make this a short interview and tell us how you knew the Senator.”

  “Asked and answered,” Lloyd interrupted harshly.

  “Was the Senator involved in something that required your services?”

  “My client has already stated he had never met the Senator,” Lloyd barked. “Asked and answered.”

  “Can you tell us, Mr. Gunner,” Mulrooney snapped, “as to the best of your knowledge, if any of Senator Hastings’ associates have ever done business with you?”

  I leaned forward in my chair, and looked Mulrooney straight in the eye, “I own a DVD rental shop, Detec
tive. Lots of people come in to rent or return DVD’s. I don’t make it a point to ask them who their friends or associates are. How would I fucking know?”

  I wondered how many fucking hours I would be spending across the table from these two idiots that didn’t seem to get the message that I didn’t know, nor had I ever met, the decedent for Chrissake!

  Cabot was ready to fire off another one of his tedious questions when there was a knock on the door, and another detective poked his head inside. “Mr. Ledbetter has a message to phone his associate, Craig O’Conner, right away. He’s been trying to reach him on his cell.

  Lloyd stood up immediately, and pulled his cell from his suit pocket, firing it up. “I’m going to make this call outside. Please suspend questioning my client until I return,” he said, leaving the interrogation room and closing the door behind him.

  Cabot switched off the recorder, and took a swig of his coffee that had to be cold by now.

  “So,” I said, trying to strike up some pleasant conversation in a not-so-pleasant situation, “any early picks on which teams you think will make it to the Super Bowl?”

  Moments later, Lloyd was back in the room and his whole demeanor had changed significantly. “Detectives, I would request that you suspend any further questioning of my client as new evidence has surfaced. My paralegal is in the process of filing a Writ of Habeas Corpus as we speak to garner an emergency hearing since Mr. Gunner is being held without bail. There will be no further questions for now. I’d like a moment alone with my client.”

  Damn that was hot. There was nothing submissive about Lloyd whatsoever when he hung his attorney-at-law sign out for all to see and admire.

  The detectives were not happy as they begrudgingly gathered up their files and told Lloyd he had two minutes before I would be taken to a holding cell.

  As soon as the door closed behind them Lloyd came closer to me. For a minute, I thought his intentions were of the romantic nature and I allowed my tongue to trace my bottom lip seductively.