The Boys Club
Authors: Angie Martin
This
edition published by Indie World Publishing & Author Services via Amazon
KDP
Text
© Angie Martin 2014
ASIN
#B00PLW1XA8
This
book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or
real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events
are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events
or places or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All
rights reserved. In accordance with U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning,
uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the
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author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this
book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be
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author's rights.
Cover
Art by:
Novak Illustration
To
learn more about author Angie Martin,
please
visit her website at
www.angiemartinbooks.com
This
work of fiction contains adult situations that may not be suitable for children
under eighteen years of age. Recommended for mature audiences only.
For
Johnny, my forever. You are my strength, my courage, and my everything.
“Logan comma Gabriel!”
Gabe peeked around the man who had him pushed against the
wall and watched as a police officer scanned the mass of men in the overcrowded
jail cell.
The man in front of him tightened his hold on his shirt and
slapped his sweaty hand over Gabe’s mouth. “Don’t you say anything.” His
alcohol-infused breath seethed through rotting teeth, and Gabe held his own
breath to avoid the stench. “I’ll kill you before you get two words out.”
Gabe started out the night in an empty, large cell after he
broke into a home to steal a few small items to sell in hopes of quieting his
growling stomach. The owners came home early, retrieved the shotgun from their
front closet, and held him at gunpoint until the cops arrived to take him away.
Not his first time in the back of a police car, he assumed
he would spend another night in a cozy juvenile hall before being sent off to
yet another foster family. Instead the cops hauled him to the county jail. The
empty cell lulled him into thinking the night wouldn’t be so bad, but when
large men of varying criminal backgrounds filled up the cell, all sorts of
colorful threats floated toward the youngest, skinniest inmate.
“Logan comma Gabriel!” the officer called out again. “Where
the hell are you, kid?”
“Do you think these drunks are going to let him go?” another
male voice asked. “Get some backup and go in there to get him.”
The second man’s angry, low tone scared Gabe a little more
than the men in the cell, but smashed between the wall and a beer gut, he
didn’t want to stay in the cell a minute longer.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” the officer said.
“Then do your job. You shouldn’t have put him in the drunk
tank to begin with, let alone a jail cell.”
“He’s robbed four houses in the last month. Where do you
suggest we put him?”
“He’s a 15-year old kid. Get him out of there. Now.”
Gabe decided to hell with the consequences. If he didn’t
speak up, they might never come in, leaving him at the mercy of the brutes
around him. “I’m here!”
The man who held him smashed his fist into Gabe’s lip and
punched his stomach, while the guard called for backup. Gabe fell over and his
forehead met the man’s knee. The skin above his eye split open and Gabe cried
out. Gabe’s head flew back with the impact, but the man let go of him. Though
half-blinded by the blood in his eyes, Gabe dropped to the ground and crawled
around the man.
Officers grabbed the man and threw him to the ground. An
unfamiliar face pulled Gabe to his feet and hurried him out of the cell,
through the stale odors of alcohol and urine. When they left the cell, the man
told Gabe to keep walking.
The main officer yelled at them to stop. The man next to
Gabe whirled around with his index finger extended. “I’m taking him now. You’re
lucky I don’t file a complaint about this matter.” He pointed to the cell. “I
want that man brought up on additional charges along with anyone else that even
breathed in this kid’s direction, and I will follow up on that, Officer.”
Though his head pounded with pain, the adrenaline of getting
out rushed through Gabe’s body. He pointed at the cop and leered. “That’s
right, Officer!”
“You either shut the hell up,” the man said through clenched
teeth, “or you can spend the night in that cell with your buddies and I’ll come
back for you in the morning.”
Gabe’s hands flew up, above his shoulders. “I’m good, I’m
good.”
As they moved out of the cell block and down the hall,
toward the main lobby of the police station, Gabe got his first good look at
the man. Grey strands peppered the sides of his short, brown hair. Wrinkles
pointed toward hard, blue eyes, while more lines encompassed his downturned
mouth. Gabe had not seen him before, but he already knew it would be suicidal
to ever cross him.
“Who are you?” Gabe asked.
“Your guardian angel.” He pinched Gabe’s arm. “You sure are
scrawny, but you’ll do, I suppose.”
Gabe scowled at the word ‘scrawny.’ Taller than most 15-year
olds, he knew how to take care of himself without being bulked up with muscle.
“Do for what?” he asked the man. “Are you like some pervert social worker? I
don’t know what they told you, but I don’t do that for food like some of the
other kids on the streets.”
The man’s hearty laugh answered Gabe’s question.
“So if you’re not a social worker or a pervert, who are
you?”
The man pushed open the doors of the police station and
stopped at the top of the steps. He pulled a handkerchief out of his jeans
pocket and handed it to Gabe. “You’re bleeding all over the place. You really
know how to find trouble, don’t you?”
Gabe took the linen and pressed it to the open wound over
his left eye. “Who are you?”
The man held out his hand. “Jim Schaffer, but everyone calls
me Schaffer.”
Gabe accepted his hand in a firm shake. “Gabe Logan.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Logan.”
“
Gabe
Logan.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Logan. Gabe is a scrawny
burglar who gets caught a little too easily.”
“Look, thanks for getting me outta there and all, but I got
it from here.” He started down the steps, but halted when he caught a glimpse
of a car parked on the side of the street. His eyes widened and he lowered the
handkerchief away from his face. “Whoa.”
Schaffer smirked and walked over to the vehicle. He leaned
against it and folded his arms. “You like it?”
“Are you serious?” He moved closer to the car and restrained
himself from running his fingers over the freshly waxed burgundy exterior. “A
1965 Mustang Fastback, original paint, and what, a V-8?”
“You know your cars.”
“Is it yours?”
“It is,” Schaffer said. “But the real question is, have you
ever stolen one of these?”
“I haven’t stolen any cars.”
“Wanna learn?”
Gabe narrowed his eyes and stared down Schaffer. “Okay, who
are
you?
“Former Special Agent Jim Schaffer with the FBI.”
“Former?” Gabe laughed. “Did they kick you out ‘cause you
stole this car?”
“Not exactly. I decided to branch out on my own. I’m getting
together a group of boys like you who have special… talents, if you will.”
“To steal cars?”
“And save the world. To put things right that the feds and
cops can’t. There are a lot of people who pay a lot of money to make things
right.”
“And you think I can help?” Gabe turned to walk away. “You
have the wrong man, Schaffer.”
“I have the right boy for the job and I plan on turning you
into the right man.” Schaffer placed his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “When’s the
last time you had three meals a day? When you had a bed to sleep in at night?
When you didn’t have to fight for everything you have, only to find out you
still have nothing?”
Staring at the front passenger tire, Gabe’s vision glazed
over. He had never been in that kind of position. Even in one of his many
foster homes he had to sacrifice other things to get those meals, if three
meals a day were even offered. On the streets he never knew when he would eat
next, if he did at all, and he slept in a different alley almost every night.
The idea of not being on the streets and not having to steal and fight to
survive sounded better and better with each passing second.
“So what do you say, Logan? Wanna come save the world with
me?”
Gabe took a long look at the Mustang, then glanced in
Schaffer’s direction and grinned. “I’m in.”
Sixteen
years later…
I’ve
been in far worse spots than this.
Though Gabriel Logan had repeated the same mantra for the
past ten minutes, he failed to remember a single time he’d been worse off than
now. After taking him hostage at gunpoint, a drug dealer who smelled like he
climbed out of a sewer struggled with a frayed rope to tie Logan to a pole
covered in red, peeling paint. Half of Logan’s team had already left and the
other half was probably trying to figure out where he had gone. Being stranded
in the middle of the decrepit barn with no weapon had to be the worst of all of
his messes to date, and Logan had no idea how he was getting out of it alive.
Several feet in front of Logan, a second man paced back and
forth, his heavily tattooed hand gripping a nine millimeter. “Make it tight so
he don’t get out,” he told the first man, “but not so tight that he gets hurt.
They don’t want him hurt.”
Logan frowned. He didn’t know who wanted him in one piece or
what they were going to do with him when they had him, but if they didn’t want
him hurt then his best chance to escape was hurting himself.
The second man walked over to them. He tilted his head, his
greasy, slicked-back hair falling out of place. “Don’t you know how to tie a
knot?” He set his gun down on a haystack near Logan and walked around the back.
Logan almost laughed at the amateur move, but he was still
halfway tied up so he couldn’t celebrate quite yet. The tight constraints
didn’t allow Logan to reach the gun, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting
it.
As the two men argued over how to properly tie a knot in his
peripheral vision, neither one of them paying attention to him, Logan clenched
his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He counted to three and braced himself.
Slacking on his left side, he grabbed onto a piece of rope, and pulled up and
out as hard as he could.
He screamed and cursed as his left shoulder dislocated. He
had pulled it out of the socket so many times over the years on accident that
it now popped out with ease. Even though he prepared himself for the pain, it
didn’t lessen it in the slightest.
The two men stopped what they were doing and ran around to
his front side.
“What the hell did you do to me?” he yelled at them.
The second man looked at the first man. “What did you do?
You hurt him! They’re gonna kill you for sure.”
The first man appeared dumbfounded, his gaze shifting back
and forth between Logan and the second man, apparently having a hard time
determining how he hurt Logan by trying to tie him up. “I didn’t do nothin’ to
him, I swear!”
Though he had adjusted to the pain, Logan moaned,
exaggerating to make it sound as if he were dying.
“Get him out of there!” the second man ordered.
The first man ran around to the back of the pole and untied
Logan. As soon as the rope fell away from his body, Logan launched himself at
the second man. He punched the man’s jaw, followed by an elbow to the side of
his head. Logan raced toward the gun, while the second man staggered backward
and the first man remained frozen with a confused expression.
Logan squeezed the trigger, firing two shots into the second
man’s head before he could attack. He whirled around to the first man and
trained the gun on his head. Smiling, he shrugged. The man raised his hand for
protection. The first round tore through his hand and cheek. When he screamed
and lowered his hand, Logan fired a second bullet into his forehead.
Logan turned to regroup with his team, but a large body
rammed into his, propelling him forward until he collided with the pole. The
gun flew from his hand. He moved his head to the side so his nose didn’t break,
but the rest of his body seemed to instantly shatter, especially his left
shoulder. A fist repeatedly crushed his side. The assault paused just enough so
Logan could duck and scurry to the side. The large man’s fist hit the pole,
stunning him.
Staying low to the ground, Logan rushed the man and they
tumbled over the haystack and to the floor. The man’s weight pulled him down
first, and Logan landed on top. He managed a couple of punches before jumping
to his feet and running away. The man caught his ankle and Logan tripped. Only
his right hand managed to cushion his fall, while his left arm twisted
painfully between his torso and the floor.
Ignoring the flare of pain through his arm and shoulder,
Logan used his right arm to drag himself away from the man. A strong hand
landed on his left ankle and tugged. Logan pushed up with his right hand and
flipped onto his back. He smashed the sole of his boot into the man’s face
three times, until the man let go of his leg. When he pulled his foot away, the
man reached for his flattened nose.
Logan got to his feet, but only took two steps before a
bullet whizzed past his feet. He turned around with controlled, deep breaths.
“You got me,” he said. “I give up.”
The man stood, blood flowing through the fingers covering
his nose. He raised his gun toward Logan and laughed.
Logan took careful steps backward. “Your friends over there
said your boss doesn’t want me hurt.”
“You think I care what he says?” the man asked, his voice
nasal and strangled. “Self-defense.”
The gun lifted, the barrel pointing at his head, and Logan
closed his eyes. The shot sounded, but it did not penetrate his body. He opened
his eyes just as the man fell to the ground.
“About time,” he said, as he turned to the door.
“What the hell did you get yourself into?” Jack Sullivan
asked. He pointed to the other two dead men. “Did we need three bodies on this
one?”
“It’s worth it,” Logan said. “We need the gas can from the
van.”
“What for?”
“You mean besides getting rid of the bodies?” Logan walked
over to the stacks of boxes on the back wall, one of which he had opened prior
to the two men catching him. He picked up a DVD from the open box and tossed it
to Jack.
“Kiddy porn,” Jack said. He swore under his breath. “And
here I thought these guys were run-of-the-mill, lowlife drug dealers.”
“Looks like our source didn’t have the full story.” He shook
his head as he stared at row after row of boxes stacked at least a foot higher
than his six-foot three-inch frame. “Burn it all.”
When they had taken care of the cocaine lab in the other
barn earlier and were ready to leave, Logan had spotted the second barn, hidden
behind some tree cover. Though the first half of his team had already left, he
told the rest of them to stay put, positive he wouldn’t find anything. What he
saw in the box twisted his stomach and he knew they could not leave without
doing something about it. Then the two men found him.
He followed Jack out to the van, holding his shoulder. Now
that the adrenaline had worn off, fierce pain radiated from the injury. He
thanked God they were less than an hour from the Church, where he could get it
put back into its rightful place.
Jack passed by with the gas to burn down the second barn.
Logan climbed in the back of the van and collapsed in the back bench seat.
Lester Davis turned around from the driver’s seat. “Kid porn, huh? Sick
bastards.”
“Jack’s taking care of it,” Logan said, as he lay down
across the bench.
Lester’s shiny, bald head jetted out over the top of the
seat in front of Logan. “You okay, man? Jack said you had to take out a couple
guys back there.”
“They deserved it.” Though he believed his words, he hated
it when he had to kill someone. He wanted to hurry back before anyone else
showed up that they would also have to kill, but knew they couldn’t leave until
the job was done.
“We’ll get you home and fixed up soon enough.” He looked up,
out the back window. “In fact, I think I see smoke now.”
Logan used his right arm to pull himself up in the seat.
Through the dusky evening, small tendrils of smoke curled from the top of the
barn into the sky. He smiled despite the pain. One cocaine lab and a barn
filled with child pornography, both destroyed. All in all, a good day.