Carolina Mac [Mac - Vigilance

CHAPTER ONE

Friday, March 6 th .

THE BAND rocked. Southern rock with a lead singer head and shoulders above any whod dared to audition in front of the arrogant asshole who thought he ruled the TV talent shows.

Farrell waved the waitress over and ordered another pitcher of Lone Star. He asked for an extra glass and requested more chips and salsa.

She smiled at him and she wasnt too bad looking in the dim light. Every goddam time he looked at another girl he thought of Mary and wondered if he should have broken up with her. Maybe he should call her.

Somebody joining you, Farrell?

Farrell shrugged then winced at the pain the motion caused. When would his fuckin shoulder stop killing him? He spit out the words through clenched teeth. Supposed to be, Beth. Big ugly guy with a tat on his neck. If you see him before I do, ship him over.

Ill be sure to do that. Sounds like a winner.

No, he aint a winner. Hes a two-time loser and thats why I need to see the fucker.

Midnight. The band was on break and had one more set to go. A CD mix blasted out of the speakers polluting the air with noise. A cheap replacement after a band that goddam good. Where the hell was Kamps? Hed picked the bar where he wanted to meet. It wasnt like the asshole couldnt find it.

The T n T wasnt bad for a hangout. Better than a lot of the downtown bars. This one had food you could eat without regrets and a handful of antacids, and live music most nights. Two points in its favor. Big roadhouse style bar in downtown Austin, home to non-stop tourist traffic and a huge live music district.

Dcor wasnt a strongpoint, a few southwest touches and a solid plank dance floor. Hed danced there once with Mary to a slow song. He wasnt much of a two-stepper, although he longed to be. The waitresses were dressed in red satin skirts and blue vests with a big white star on their right boob. No blouse or shirt underneath. Who needed more than a vest?

Farrell tipped his glass up and saw Kamps swaggering towards him. Fuck, the ugly dude had a huge dose of attitude.

Farrell gave him a finger wave.

Kamps saw him and nodded.

Youre late.

Got held up. Unavoidable.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah. Got a problem with it? He plunked his big body down. This my glass?

It is.

Kamps did a one-eighty then filled his glass from the pitcher. Not a good place for me to be seen, he mumbled.

You picked it.

Did I? He dumped the first glass of Lone Star down his throat without a pause and refilled.

Got anything interesting for me? Farrell leaned closer so Kamps could hear him over the music. Leaning forward in that position pulled on the unhealed shoulder muscle and made him want to grunt with the effort. But he didnt.

Ewing Thompson gets out on Monday.

Howd he manage that? asked Farrell. Three strikes.

Kamps grinned and showed off his gold tooth. The word is his legal team proved one of them strikes was only a foul ball.

Legal team? How the hell is he affording that?

Dude has assets.

Farrell chuckled. Source?

Cant say.

I bet you cant.

Kamps held out his hand.

That it? Cant be, said Farrell. I expect more for my money. He put his hand over the brown envelope on the table close to his elbow. Way more. I could have found that out reading the alerts at DPS.

There is more, said Kamps. I aint delivered the punch line yet.

Lay it down and if I think its worth it, Ill give you my hard earned cash. Farrell took his hand off the envelope.

Supers money. It aint yours.

Farrell shrugged and winced again.

Grapevine says Thompson has big plans.

How big?

Huge. The mans gotta a fuckin hate on for Austin. Kamps grabbed up the envelope and left.

BLAINE sat in the renovated kitchen of his old Victorian nursing his second cup of coffee. Lexi was in the yard, he could hear her barking at the birds, and Farrell still wasnt up. His foster brother spent more and more time at night working on his network. Maybe it would pay off but who could you trust in that shadowy army of snitches? Theyd sell their mama for a hit.

Blaine ran the Blackmore Agency out of his house and it was working well since hed doubled the size of the property and installed security fencing. His own little fortress in the middle of east Austin.

Today would be the high shits for him. Introverts hated doing interviewsLil pointed that outbut they needed another man on the team. Fletcher didnt have a partner and nobody working for the Agency worked alone. Thank the Fates Blaines partner, Jesse Quantrall, was coming to help with the screening.

Carmelita, his friend and housemate, called to him in Spanish from the prep area of the massive kitchen, You want breakfast, sweetheart, or do you want to wait for Farrell?

I can eat, mi Corazon . Jesse is coming, and I have to get ready for the interviews.

Do you want muffins or tarts for the people?

No muffins or tarts. Coffee only.

Si , only coffee.

Whos not getting any muffins or tarts? Farrell barreled through the kitchen door in his boxers, bare-chested and tattooed from neck to waist, his straw blond mop sticking out from under his cowboy hat.

Blaine snorted. Why do you have your hat on when you aint even dressed?

Farrell flopped into a chair. My hairs fucked.

Got it. Blaine tapped the yellow pad that was a permanent fixture in front of him. Interviews in an hour.

I aint helping.

No need. Jesse is doing it. Blaine emptied his cup and stood up to get a refill. Anything interesting from your meet last night?

Nothing worth a hundred bucks. Farrell strode across the kitchen to see what Carm was cooking for Blaine. He stood behind her, towering over her petite frame. That psycho Ewing Thompson is being released from Huntsville on Monday.

Blaine stopped in mid-pour. They cant let him out. Three fuckin strikes.