VICTOR
Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled into the dark parking lot of Duke’s, a southside cop bar. Victor pulled behind a black van and killed the engine. No less than five minutes later, a Honda pulled in the lot. Jack Storm climbed out of the back seat and looked around. He was dressed in black sweats.
“I’m here,” Victor announced when the Honda took off.
Jack nodded in his direction and pulled a black skull cap down on his head. He walked over and pulled a backpack off his shoulders. He dropped it to the ground and kneeled. After unzipping the bag, he went inside and pulled out a handgun. “Just in case,” he said, offering it to Victor.
Victor tried to hand it back. “I have my own,” he informed.
Jack shook his head. “No. You don’t want a gun that can be traced back to you.”
Jack Storm was surrounded by people of questionable professions. So, Victor assumed he knew what he was talking about. He took the pistol and tucked it into his waistband. He looked up at Jack. With soft laughter, he asked, “Where did you find that Honda.”
Jack grinned. “I Ubered.
He looked over at Taylor’s motorcycle and back to Victor with a frown. “I was hoping to get a ride back from you.”
Victor shook his head and chuckled. “It’s gonna be an intimate ride back.”
Jack stood with a sigh. “Unbelievable.”
What was unbelievable was Jack Storm in an Uber.
“Who taught you how to Uber?” Victor asked through laughter.
“It was an experience,” Jack muttered.
“I’m sure.” Victor shrugged and pointed toward a blue Chevy Suburban. “That’s his car.”
Jack nodded. “Now, we wait.”
It took twenty minutes for anyone to come out. It was a woman, singing the lyrics to “Cuff It” by Beyonce. Victor knew that their venture would be an exercise in patience, but he was eager to deliver his own version of justice.
After the woman left the parking lot, it was another fifteen minutes before the door opened again. And to Victor’s delight, it was the very group of men they’d come to see. He nudged Jack with his elbow. “There they are.”
Jack turned and looked him in the eye with ferocious intent “Are you sure?”
Victor nodded. He’d studied a dossier on the men with more fervor than he had the bar exam. “I’m sure.”
Jack pulled the gun from his waistband and stepped from behind the van. When he approached, Officer Holmes was fiddling with his car keys. Jack moved in and pushed the muzzle of his gun to the back of his head. The off-duty cop was caught off guard. But not as much as his partner when Victor smacked him across the face with his pistol.
“What the fuck?!” the disgraced officer squawked before falling to the ground.
Victor dropped to a knee and used the butt of his gun to beat the man until blood squirted from his face. When he got too loud, Victor struck him in the mouth.
Jack shoved Officer Holmes’ face against his car window. “How do you like a gun to your head?” The question came with rage through gritted teeth.
The other man, Jeremy Edison, raised his arms in an attempt to shield his face from the fierce beating Victorwas inflicting. “What...Who... Oh my God! Y-you... you're the governor.”
The man’s panicked stammer only inflamed Victor’s rage. He’d tempered his rage ever since Taylor had told him about the unconstitutional traffic stop conducted by Officer Holmes and his partner.
He’d had a conversation with Jack, and they’d agreed to bide their time until they could catch the two of them together. Only then would they dispense the type of justice that would satisfy them both.
Of course, Victor had already made sure that both were fired, forfeiting their pensions. But the officer’s abhorrent racism and grievous retaliatory behavior warranted much more. And Jack and Victor spent the next ten minutes giving them exactly what they deserved.
CHAPTER 8
TAYLOR
