Interlude 2.9.5: Kevin Rivers

2000, June 30: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I did my best work in coffee shops and libraries. Ironic, I know. It certainly wasn't where people expected the lieutenant of the biggest, baddest gang in town to do his business, but that was the point. I didn't need some shitty tough-guy wannabe cholo who couldn't rub two brain cells together looking over my shoulder and only a fucking retard kept paperwork inside meth labs. No, a quiet table at the local coffee shop at the mall served just fine, thank you.

I smoothed my pressed gray shirt and took a sip of my drink, barista's recommendation, before shooting said girl a playful wink and a nod. She blushed the color of her ginger hair and I considered asking her out for a "night on the town." Who knew? If I liked her, I might not even show her to the boys after I was through.

I grinned as I responded to a message from one of my unpowered officers. He was exactly the kind of underling I liked to have: competent, but with plenty of strings I could pull. He wasn't good in a fight, short dude with a gut like Fat Albert, but that wasn't the point. He had a nice, disarming smile and a boisterous, cheery laugh that no one could stay mad at. The fat little bowling ball knew every goddamn cop this side of Phoenix. Guys like these were the useful ones, the sort that could do more than swing a tire iron or pull a trigger.

Ever since me and the rest of the Crips let Stampede and Lockjaw get away from Oathkeeper, things had really been coming together. La Torcha's plan was slow, but this was how it had to be if we didn't want to invite the flying brick into our backyard. Some of our soldiers didn't get that, too much fire in their blood, but that was fine; people went missing all the time.

We, meaning Tequila and I, got an in with the Peckerwoods for that little cameo the other night.

Tequila was a Filipina who was raised Catholic by her strict granny. Fell away, a bit like me. She was another one that was impossible to dislike, a short, curvy party girl who knew how to flaunt it. "Sex on legs," Parade kept calling her. She was a pretty face and a nice pair of tits for the peckers to stare at while I did the actual negotiating.

I took a sip of my drink and let out a silent snort. Racist fuckers thought they were so smart, playing the spic and the nigger against each other, never mind that Tequila wasn't Latina. Didn't matter, we had to let them keep thinking that. Tequila shook her ass and sucked a few dicks while I promised a few soldiers here and there, organized the occasional breakout. Two weeks later, between the two of us, we knew every white trash worth mentioning, every single weapons stash, and every donut-stained pig they had on dial.

We got what we wanted in the end. Crips always got what we wanted. Torcha always got what she wanted: More unpowered violence. More tension. Regular contact with that oily bastard Freeform. Pretty sure Tequila was his squeeze now. Perfect. Shit for her, she's gay for Torcha, but perfect for the plan.

I was disturbed from my thoughts by a commotion outside. I glared through the window at some fat redneck huffing and puffing towards a bunch of kids. His face was a glistening red and the mall "security" jacket wasn't doing the Pillsbury doughboy any favors. Sure clung to that shit like a letterman though.

Wants to quit. Wants to punch his boss. Wants to slap the kids.

'Figures,' I snorted. The "law" kept him down. Society. Decency. Morality. Pretty words for the same thing: Chains. They were laws, rules that people were bound by. And me? I was Lawless, the man who heard all the desires people had. As ironic as it was that the keeper of the "law" wanted to punt a few kids, he wasn't the one who caught my interest.

No, it was the blind boy standing by the fountain. And he was blind. Even from inside the store, I could see the line of angry scar tissue streaking through his eyes. He faked it well enough. If I couldn't hear his wants, I'd have thought he was a normal Asian boy.

'Heh. Can a chink be a chink without eyes?' I'd have to ask Tequila that, maybe when she didn't have a knife on her.

Wants to hit the other boys. Wants to shoot them.

'Hoh? Little boy thinks he's a little man,' I snorted with laughter. People had the strangest desires in the confines of their own hearts. They wouldn't voice them aloud, not even to themselves, but I heard them all. Most weren't so extreme, especially at that age, but that only made him worth looking at more closely.

Wants to break free of authority. Wants to fix his eyes. Wants to drink.

The last two whispers made me pause. I drained my cup and closed my laptop before leaving the café to go closer. 'Fix his eyes, eh?'

Wants to make something to fix his eyes so he never has to deal with annoying children again.

I did my best work in libraries and coffee shops. After all, half the job of being a thinker was being in the best place for opportunities to land in your lap. I left, the cute, ginger barista utterly forgotten in favor of my new lucky break.

X

2000, July 1: Phoenix, AZ, USA

Contrary to popular opinion, we Crips did not have our main base above a restaurant or behind a laundromat. Nor did we buy out a motel. No, we did the other cliché thing: We started a moving company and bought some normal office space.

Clichés were clichés for a reason though.

Being in the supply chain and logistics industries meant we could have a large lot to separate our building from our neighbors. It meant we could have a lot of vans and that people could come and go without drawing attention from any nosy fuckers. It meant having a legitimate business, one that didn't need too much overhead or license inspections beyond the CDL.

I walked into the Red Sands Moving Company headquarters, whistling a jaunty tune. I found the rest of the executives in the second floor lounge. None of us were in costume, not that many of us bothered with much, but that was how La Torcha liked it. No powers or masks in the building. Deniability.

La Torcha, Veronica, lounged like a queen on a sofa against the wall, her business skirt wrinkled from her posture. She was the president of Red Sands and dressed the part during the day. I couldn't remember the last time she ever went out at night.

To her left was Tequila, Camille, a Filipina who thought she was Mexican. She was cuddled into Veronica's side like a limpet. Or maybe a cat marking her territory. If "trashy chic" had a model, she'd be it. She wore a strapless tube top that showed off her tits and midriff and a pair of ripped jeans with one leg completely missing. If she'd heard of a bra, I didn't know it. I saw her hands twitch towards the boss' curves and decided for the thousandth time to not touch the shitshow that was Cam's personal life. Thinker I may be, but there were limits to even my meddling.

To her left was Brent, also known as Parade. I knew he'd already checked out of the meeting. If he could focus on anything but Camille's nips, I'd take it as divine providence and become a monk. He was the youngest of us at seventeen and dressed in whatever he could find from the military surplus store. Pathetic little shit couldn't even hit on her, but he had no problem mastering women who shared her features. The funny thing was that she was about as gay as could be; she had eyes for the boss and no one else. The boss just tried to keep the punk out of the way.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Jamal, Beartrap, sat with Nisha, Bone Maiden, on the far couch. Jamal handled shipping schedules and logistics for the company's more legitimate operations so I worked with him frequently to smuggle this or that. He was a violent fucker who liked to make his toys saw off their own legs, but he knew how to keep his hobbies to his off hours. A professional, I could respect that. The chubby fucker wore the Red Sands polo shirt, with a trucker hat with our company logo tossed onto the coffee table.

Nisha acted as Veronica's secretary and the face of business. Put her in a middle school PTA meeting and you wouldn't be able to tell her apart from any other middle-aged soccer mom. She was pale, lanky, and blonde with a few acne scars here and there. Not ugly, but she sure as hell wasn't a looker either. In other words, a face perfect for being our forgettable secretary.

She was as checked out as Brent, but on her phone instead of ogling anyone. As one of our heaviest hitters, she got a lot of leeway for shit like that. Even I had no idea how she ended up with the Crips, but it wasn't my business either. Of the other executives, I found her and Jamal the easiest to work with.

"Kevin, what's up?" Camille cheered with an angelic smile even as her eyes gave me the once over. She wasn't checking me out; she was looking for my hidden pistol and knives. Wasn't much of a fighter, but it was that duplicity that made the bitch so damn dangerous. I could feel her aura tugging at my focus already, her attention subconsciously making the influence worse. My gaze flickered down for a moment but I steeled myself and met her eyes. She nodded subtly, then shot Brent a longsuffering glare that even I only barely noticed.

Wants to strip for Veronica. Wants to fuck her. Wants to make Brent watch so he knows how out of his fucking league she is. Wants to scoop out his eyes and feed them to him.

I rolled my eyes. I knew. She knew I knew. Sometimes, being a thinker sucked sweaty balls. "Not much, fake-chola," I greeted as I took my seat to the boss' right. I ignored the middle finger she flipped my way and took no small pleasure in seeing that once again, I was the sharpest dressed fucker in the room with a wine-red collared shirt and tan slacks. I set my spotless loafers onto the coffee table so Brent could stare at my feet and wish he could fill these shoes.

It was rare for all six of us to meet like this; most of us were busy with our own affairs.

"Good, everyone's here so let's get this meeting over and done with," Veronica said, never one to mince words. The boss looked around the room and met each of our eyes. "We're ready. There will be several prison breaks held on the Fourth of July. Jamal's been smuggling in the gear over the last two months. Cam's going to stir up the Peckerwoods. The plan is to start a city-wide war, force the attention off us."

"How sure are we that this won't bring Alexandria out east?" Nisha tried. "I thought that was why we were sitting quiet."

"It's a balancing game, but that's life, no? Tell me, Nisha, how many of our boys are held in Phoenix?"

"Not many. They're mostly…" The puzzled look on her face bled away into a wicked grin. "They're mostly locals. Mesa. Peckers."

"Exactly." She spread out her arms. "This is a business, ladies and gentlemen. What happens when you flood the market with low-skilled workers?"

"A bloodbath," I finished for her. "The Peckers have been getting pushed back because Phoenix has two whole Protectorate teams. Even if the peewees don't get involved, that's a lot to deal with on top of the SSM. And Caras? That mad dog is going to light the fuse just to watch this city burn. With a bit of help, Phoenix blows up."

"Yes, that's right. Jamal's organized the breakouts. Nisha's kept eyes off us. You and Cam's got inroads into the Peckerwoods. When shit hits the fan, I want you to hit them hard while making it look like the Mesas did it. Brent will tag along with Cam and take control of Freeform."

"They bleed each other out and we get our hands on a high level changer," Jamal nodded. "I can dig it. We're not keeping the racist fuckers long-term though, right?"

"Of course not, Jamal. We're going to swallow them whole then shoot the fuckers we don't like. We can deal with the SSM after that."

X

I found Veronica in her office after the blessedly short meeting. It was one of the upsides of being in the wrong side of the law. High level meetings like that one ended rather quickly because none of us had the power to tell Veronica no or quibble about the plan. She decided the plan, with some occasional input from me. Everyone else shut up and trailed along.

Veronica Camacho looked at me over a pair of reading glasses. She was going over the papers, a deceptively mundane hobby if I didn't know for a fact she was scoping out the best places to bomb in a few days. With how the crazy bitch thought, we basically had two thinkers in our little crew.

"Yes, Kevin?"

"We might need to change the plan," I said honestly; best to rip the Band-Aid off now. "I got some new intel for you, boss."

"And you didn't tell me earlier because?"

"I found out yesterday entirely by coincidence and spent the day following up on it. It's legit."

When she spoke, I tried to pretend I didn't have cold sweat running down my spine. I saw what she could do and had no intention of being on the business end of things. "Fine, you wouldn't do me like that. Tell me."

"I found Rubedo. The new Ward."

"You're smarter than this, Kevin. We don't touch Wards. It's never worth the effort."

"Even if he's a tinker-fuck-yeah?" I shot back. "You know he makes those potions, right?"

"Who doesn't? Getting sued at eight over healing tech?" she snorted. "And they say I'm the monster. Those potions could be good for our boys, but they're not worth it by themselves."

"Yeah, well, those aren't all he can make. Remember the steelskins?" That was what the Peckerwoods had started calling the PRT goons with brute powers. They certainly hadn't gone unnoticed.

She caught on quickly. "You think he makes powers in a bottle. He's not an alchemy-tinker; he's a powers-tinker."

"Positive." I tapped the side of my head. "I heard him. He's chafing, doesn't think the Wards can use him right but can't leave the lab setup. He's got so many ideas too. So many wants. And you know what? I think we could provide."

I told her what else I'd found.

It honestly didn't take much, though even I had to admit there was some luck involved. I followed up on a few contacts after leaving the mall. One of my moles in the police passed along something a PRT buddy had told him, something about some magic metal that could shut down powers…

Yes, I was lucky indeed, so lucky that it almost felt like a trap. I'd dismissed the idea. Who the fuck would greenlight using a Ward as bait? Sure as hell wasn't Lyons.

I had a list of blind kids in local elementary schools by the end of the day. Wards typically lived near HQ for obvious reasons, and the blind kid was at the mall, so I was able to triangulate his neighborhood using those three data points: Phoenix Heights. It wasn't too well off, single mother and all, but safe enough. Perfect, as it meant no one would expect the Crips to move.

I spent last night and this morning listening in on all the things dear little Andy wouldn't or couldn't make because the law bound him. It was quite the list.

When I finished, she leaned back with a satisfied nod. "Yes, you did well, Kevin. I can see why you didn't bring this up with everyone. A Ward is a bit dicey, but what's life without risks?"

"So, new plan?"

"Yes. Prison breaks still happen. We still incite a massive war. Then? Then a blind boy goes missing. I'm thinking of getting Cam to pay the kid a visit."

I nodded. "Fair. We can't kill the mom or that'll break her hold on him."

"Exactly. Nice and quiet. Does he do anything out of the house?"

"Won't matter much. His mom works two jobs."

"Pity. I can respect a woman with some hustle. We take him in the chaos. Get him under Cam and no one needs to know."

"Alright, boss. But… playing devil's advocate here. Do we need the kid right now? It's not like he's going anywhere, right? We could take him after we take over Phoenix."

She thought about it. She had this habit of tapping her pen when she focused. "No, that wouldn't work. Kidnapping a Ward is big news, Kev. If we establish ourselves, make sure we're the only gang worth knowing in Phoenix, and then go for a Ward? No, that's how we get that flying bitch on our asses. But if a Ward goes missing in his civilian identity… an accident maybe…"

"Security in anonymity. Got it. We're going to need something to throw them off."

"Freeform," she said simply. "We were never going to keep the racist puto for long. He's too slippery."

I felt a grin spread over my face. "Yeah. Yeah, I hear you, boss."

"Lovely. Do me a favor and call in Camille. And Brent too. I have a plan."

I walked away from her office with an easy grin. Plans changed all the time, usually for the worse. I was happy to see fate pull some strings for me for a change.

Author's Note

I don't think it needs to be said, but Kevin Rivers' views are not my own.

Lawless' power is simple: He can hear the desires of anyone he can see, closer the target, the louder and more detailed the whispers, but with one caveat. The target must have no intention of acting on them in the immediate. Weird power, dead useful though.

La Torcha thinks Alexandria has it out for her. She doesn't. The only reason Becky even remembers her is because she's physically incapable of forgetting. Alexandria has no interest in the Phoenix Crips.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.