Page 8 of Riggs
"When?" Cain asks.
"Today. Jake's man, Reid, emailed some interesting information on the guy we're after. Before I left home, I did some diggin' of my own, and if we play our cards right, and make good timing, we might catch the bastard with his pants down."
Wick folds his arms over his chest. "Is this a clean favor, or do we need to get our hands dirty on this one?"
"More like blackmail, but that is not to say he will not go unharmed," I fight off a grin. "The dirty fucker deserves to tote an ass woopin'. And I plan to give it to him. But I'm leaving you here along with Cain." Wick slumps in his chair. I know he lives for these things. "I need you two here to handle the businesses. I also need the two of you to see what you can do about these street dealers. They keep comin' around the bar pushin' drugs when they've been warned more than once not to come back. Kiwi, Fender, you two are riding out with me at noon," I inform them. Looking around the table, I ask, "anyone have anything else to add?" Looks exchange across the table and no one adds to the meeting. "Alright, we all have things to do, so let's get them done." Knocking my knuckles on the table, I end church.
A few hours later, Fender, Kiwi and I are on the road heading west. Thankful for good weather, we make it to our destination. By the time we pull into the parking lot of the hotel we are staying in, our asses are dragging. Not having time to make a reservation anywhere, I dismount my bike. "Wait here," I tell my men and stride across the parking lot. Once inside, I walk to the check-in counter — the receptionist stares. "Need a couple of rooms." I pull my wallet from my pocket, take my bank card out, and toss it on the counter. She blinks a few times and blushes slightly.
"Sorry." Fumbling with the keyboard in front of her, she does her best to focus on the computer screen. Amused by her reaction to me, I grin.
"Um, we only have one queen double available." Her eyes lift to mine, and she bites her lower lip.
"That will have to do darlin'."
She smiles. "And how many guests are staying?"
"Three." I wait for her to enter my information, then she hands me the key card.
"You're in room 45. You'll find it on the back side near the pool."
Putting my wallet away, I take the card from her, nod, and walk out. "Room is around back." I swing my leg over my bike. Firing them up again, we roll around back, past the pool she mentioned where a couple of ladies are lying next to the pool in lounge chairs.
"God damn. Do you see her titties?" Kiwi ogles the women as we walk up to the motel room door. The women take notice to Kiwi checking them out, and big tits exposes herself. "Holy shit, man. It's true what they say — everything's bigger in Texas." Kiwi nods in her direction, giving her a wink.
"We're not here to get our dicks wet, brother." Walking into the outdated, but clean room, I sit down in a chair beside the bed nearest the door, lean back, and stretch my legs out in front of me.
"Do we have an extra room, or is this it?" Fender takes a final drag from the cigarette in his hand before flicking it to the ground, snubbing it out with the toe of his boot, before stepping into the room.
"This is it," I confirm as Fender closes the door.
"I'm not sleepin' in the same bed with dipshit here." Fender plops down on the bed near the bathroom. "The last time we had to bunk together in the same damn bed, I woke up with his arms wrapped around me."
"What? I'm a cuddler." Kiwi starts laughing, and I chuckled along with him because I know the story.
"Your morning wood was pressed against my ass, dickhead." Fender tries to keep a straight face about it but loses it. It was some funny ass shit. Kiwi fucked with him all day about it.
"So, what's the game plan, Prez?" Kiwi gets serious.
I check my watch. "From what I've been told, he gives his staff the day off every Tuesday, and I want to take advantage of no one being present during our little visit."
"Go in, midday?" Kiwi looks confused. Usually, I wouldn't risk it, but timing is everything. "He lives in a more rural area, located on several acres of land, so I don't think the time of day will be an issue."
After getting a quick bite to eat at the small diner next to the motel, we ride out to the other side of town. We case the property a few times, shocked to find this guy has no security posted anywhere; we formulated our entry plan. The only vehicle in sight, a black Bentley. You would think a high-profile attorney, looking to run for office, would have better security. Something to protect his blackmailing ass from retaliation. Instead he has a high-end piece of shit home security system between my men and himself. To the average person looking to break into his home the system would be intimidating, but for Kiwi, it's nothing. He was able to bypass the access code in under two minutes.
Once inside, we split up, making sure the house is empty except for our guest of honor. Making my way up the staircase, I hear muffled voices coming from the room down the hall. Fender and Kiwi find their way upstairs.
"The house is clear." Kiwi raises one hand, holding up a piece of fried chicken, "Found the kitchen," he grins and bites into the leg. I roll my eyes.
"His office is downstairs. Could be something useful in there," Kiwi tells me. We hear a high pitched giggle come from behind the bedroom door, followed by a deep throated moan. "We're about to set this motherfucker off."
"Get your phone ready," I inform Kiwi, who promptly retrieves it from his pocket.
Just outside the door, I turn the handle and walk right in like I own the place. In front of us, a king-sized bed and bodies moving beneath the bed sheets. I slam the door behind us. McGregor's head emerges, clearly stunned before anger replaces the shock written all over his face seeing three grown men standing in his love den.
"What the hell is going on! Get out of my house before I call the police!" he bellows. At the sound of his panicked voice, a young woman scurries from his bed, quickly covering her naked body with a robe draped across the arm of the chair next to the bed. When I say young, I mean she barely looks legal.
McGregor moves, and I shake my head, warning him his actions are a bad idea. "You sure you want to call the police?" I taunt him, then turn toward the girl. "How old are you, sweetheart?"
