Page 5

Chapter Four

Fitz

I watched Sawyer Abbott walk out of our office, and my eyes fixated on his ass like a pervert. He was wearing tight jeans, a black T-shirt, and well-worn boots, all of which looked like a second skin on him. He was beyond sexy, and I’d just agreed to a date with him. Or maybe it wasn’t a date? Fuck if I knew.

Why would I go on a date with a guy who was much younger than me? Oh, it was easy to see why. He was the man of my fantasies in a younger model.

Sawyer rode a motorcycle, which fueled my bad-boy imaginations. His hair was fucking gorgeous—dark brown with blond highlights that he had pulled back into a long braid. I wanted to wrap my hands in it while he… yeah, that wasn’t appropriate at all.

Guys as young as Sawyer didn’t want old fuckers like me, and guys my age didn’t want guys my age. I hated the idea of being alone for the rest of my life, but I had to accept the days of finding the right guy might be long behind me.

“Fitz and Greeley, we’ve got a call.” My attention was pulled from Sawyer’s ass as he hopped onto his bike with TJ getting on behind him. I glanced toward Sparky, where he stood in the swamp staring at me.

Brian Greeley stood across from my desk. The guy was huge in stature, and from what I’d observed, he had an enormous sense of humor to match. I didn’t mind working with a guy like that. Made the days go faster.

“Sure.” I grabbed the small can of pepper spray I’d been given until I got my permits and licenses squared away. It was supposed to happen within a few days. I hoped to hell they were right.

I followed Greeley out to his black Mustang, which was quite a muscle car. “Damn nice.”

Greeley laughed. “Consolation prize. My father was a son of a bitch. When he died, he left me this car. Nothing else. His other family got his money.”

I didn’t ask any other questions. Greeley didn’t know me and wouldn’t open up to me until we’d developed some sort of trust. Same went for me. I’d only been at Sparks for a couple of weeks and still hadn’t worked with everyone. Getting close too fast had bit me in the ass before—Zayn Reddy had taught me that lesson.

We went to the Clark County Detention Center, and I carefully observed Greeley’s style as we entered through the back door where prisoners were dropped. “Brian Greeley and Fitz Morgan from Sparks Bail Bonds. We’re here for David Fisk.”

The clerk smiled at Greeley, not acknowledging me at all. “Long time, no see, Brian.” The door buzzed before it opened, and I followed Greeley inside.

Greeley surrendered his Taser to the female deputy at the door, and when she finally turned her gaze to me, I shrugged. “I’m just observing. I have nothing to surrender.”

The redhead nodded and turned her stare back to Greeley. “You coming to Piggy’s this weekend?”

Greeley smirked. “I’m not sure. I might be working. How’ve you been?”

“Dumped my last cheating asshole. You wanna get a drink sometime?” The woman smirked.

Greeley gave her a million-dollar smile I was sure had mesmerized many a man or woman. “We’re shorthanded at Sparks, but when I get clear, I’ll come by. Can you get Fisk for us? We’re kinda in a hurry.”

The woman didn’t seem happy with his answer. “Take a seat. I’ll notify the deputy on duty.”

The woman disappeared behind another door and I turned to Greeley. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.” The sneer on his face made me chuckle.

“I’ll pass, thanks. How about you? She your type? I’ll gladly put in a good word for you so I can get her off my jock.”

I joined him in laughing. “I like a little broader shoulder if you don’t mind.” That really brought a laugh from him.

I didn’t hide who I was from anyone, so it was best to get it out in the open at the beginning. If it meant I had to come out every day, then so be it. I was done living in the shadows.

The door to our left buzzed and opened, and a short guy shuffled out in leg-irons with his hands cuffed to a chain around his waist. In his hands were his shoestrings and a tan envelope.

“You’re fucking ridiculous with these restraints. Take ’em off him. He ain’t gonna do anything to you.” The bite in Greeley’s voice was unexpected.

The deputy removed the restraints, giving Greeley the finger before he left through the same door. The kid went to the chairs and sat down, knitting his laces through the holes of his sneakers. Once he had his shoes on, he opened the envelope and dumped out his wallet, an Apple watch and cell phone, and a wad of cash that would choke a horse.

The redhead came back and handed Greeley a manila folder. He flipped it open and began signing the papers inside.

I read over his shoulder to see what the charge was, which brought a double take. I turned to the short guy who was fucking around with his phone. “Why the hell did you piss in the fountain in the Caesars Palace lobby?”

The little guy smirked as he stood and approached us. “The men’s room was out of order, and I had to go.”

Brian finished reviewing the documents and dropped the chain-secured pen on the counter, turning to Fisk and pulling him closer. “Sign here and initial there. You’re pledging to return for your hearing which will be November 18. You have no prior arrests, so we posted your bond of one thousand dollars. In turn, you’re going to pay me eleven hundred dollars in cash. Be advised that should you not show up for your hearing, I will personally drive to Boise to pick your ass up. I promise you the drive back to Vegas won’t be fun with you in the trunk of my car.”

The guy donned a cocky smile as he signed the papers and stepped back. “I’ve got it right here. I had a good night at the tables.”

Greeley picked up the folder and handed it to the redheaded clerk. “Two copies, please.” The woman nodded and stepped to the copier by the far wall as Greeley hauled ten bucks out of his pocket and put it on the counter before turning to me.

“The guys we pick up aren’t the best or the brightest. Take David here. He’s a professional poker player and spends a lot of time in Vegas. He just got himself a charge of public intoxication and disorderly conduct, vandalism—which will require restitution to the hotel for the expenses of draining the fountain and having a hazmat crew come in to sanitize it—and now he’s banned for life from all Caesars’ properties. Seems like a stupid thing to do if your livelihood depends on being in casinos and the moneymaking tournament is held at a Caesars’ property.”

The clerk handed Greeley the folder, which he opened and passed a copy of the paperwork to David. He took the young guy’s arm and led him outside. Fisk giggled, which made me wonder if he was still drunk.

“What do we do with him now?” I followed Greeley as he headed toward his car.

“For our kindness, David’s going to give me eleven hundred bucks—a thousand for his bond and a hundred for our fee, and we’ll say goodbye here on the parking lot. I’ll drop you off at the office and head out for the evening. Digs and Keats are on call tonight if we get anything. Sparky and Monty are taking the weekend calls.”

David fished the stack of bills from his pocket, counted out twelve hundreds and winked at Greeley. “I’ll pay the folks at Caesars enough that they’ll lift the ban. I appreciate you coming to bail me out, so have a drink on me with the extra hundred. I don’t get why they just didn’t let me get my cash and hand it to them, but whatever. Thanks, man.”

The kid shook both of our hands and walked toward the street, hailing the first cab to drive by. We both got into Greeley’s Mustang and he took the highway toward South Rainbow.

“You got weekend plans?” Greeley merged onto the highway and hit the gas to get in the left lane.

“Looking at apartments and trucks. I sold my old SUV before I moved out here, so I’m driving a rental and living in a residence hotel for the last two weeks, which is damn expensive. Hopefully, I’ll find somewhere else to move.”

I’d lined up three apartments to tour, all of which were close to the office. I could live anywhere for a year, so I figured I’d go for convenience first.

Greeley offered an opinion. “I’ll give you a tip about the truck. Get a used one. People drive for shit around here, and some don’t bother with insurance. I usually don’t drive this car when I’m working. I ride my bike to the office and use Sparky’s trap truck if we go out. Monty’s good about letting us use his old truck if someone’s already got Sparky’s. I only drove this baby today because I’ve got a birthday party in Henderson. Besides, we weren’t picking the kid up, just helping him out of a bind.”

“Why wouldn’t they let him bail himself out?” It made no sense to me.

“They should have. The kid had the cash, so they were just being assholes to him by telling him he had to have a bondsman. He didn’t need us, but we got the call. We gotta make money somehow.”

I shrugged. It made sense, though it seemed a little shitty not to tell the kid he could have bailed himself out.

“What was the deal with the deputy? Is he always such an asshole?” It was good to know if I should avoid the guy in the future.

Greeley chuckled. “I’m a one-hit wonder, and clearly, Deputy Marin wasn’t happy about it.”

I laughed. “I’m going on a date tomorrow with a guy who probably fits that bill.”

“Oh yeah? Anybody I might know?” Greeley took the exit for South Rainbow and sat at the stop light.

Should I say who it is? Is there a rule I don’t know about that I can’t date a client? Maybe it’s better not to tell him?

“Just a guy I met online.” Not completely a lie, but not the whole truth. Greeley probably wouldn’t give a damn anyway.

“Well, be careful. And make sure you bring protection. I had some asshole tell me that I was a pussy for demanding we use condoms. I zipped up and got the fuck out of his hotel room. Last fucking thing I need is an STI that can’t be treated.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Greeley pulled into the strip mall and parked behind Sparks Bail Bonds. We both got out of his car and went to the back door. Greeley rang the bell before punching a code into the lock, just as Monty had done.

“You got your code yet?” He opened the door for me to go inside first. I guess in case anyone was going to shoot at us, I’d be the canary in the coal mine.

“Not yet. I guess Sparky’s waiting for my license to come in. I listed the office as my mailing address because of the temporary housing situation. Is there someone I should speak with to check if any mail has come for me?”

Greeley walked up front and pulled the money out of the folder he’d carried from the car. “Here’s the eleven for David Frisk’s bond and a tip for the office party fund. Can you leave the receipt on my desk?”

Denise smiled. “Sure Brian. Have a great weekend.”

He returned the sentiment and stopped beside the desk I was using. “Let’s talk to Hardy. We’ll see if he can give you a code so you’re not stuck out in the heat if you get in earlier than Denise.”

I followed Greeley to Hardy’s tech cave. The young man had taped black paper over the windows and used lamps instead of the shitty fluorescent lights to work by. Smart kid.

“Hey, Hardy. Can you give—”

“Oh, hey, guys. Fitz, I was looking for you earlier. You’ve got mail.” The young man, who happened to be Sparky’s son, giggled. He was attending UNLV so he wasn’t in the office all the time. He seemed like a nice kid.

Hardy opened the door to a large cabinet and pulled out a metal bin. “Here you go. Denise didn’t want to just leave it on your desk, so I said I’d give it to you when you came in. I’m here working on a project for school, so I’ll probably be here late for that—like I am most other nights. Just me and Dixie.” He didn’t look directly at me as he slid a paper over something on his desk. As I’d learned over time, Hardy showed signs of feeling guilty about something, but it wasn’t my business.

I took the envelopes out of the basket and shuffled through them, finding one from the Nevada Division of Insurance, the licensing agency for bail recovery agents. I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paperwork, finding a shiny silver star with three titles pressed into the metal.

Bounty Hunter. Fugitive Recovery. Bail Enforcement Agent. It was imbedded in a leather case that attached to a chain to be worn around my neck or it could be clipped to my belt. It seemed I’d carried a badge of some kind for most of my life. Now I was back in the saddle again.