hurts. But I’ve felt worse. Four hours sleep isn’t going to do it today,” she said, her eyes still closed but her small smile growing slightly as she remembered the previous night. It wasn’t often she could spend the entire night, but waking up with Stiles never failed to put her in a good mood for the rest of the day.
“Go back to sleep,” he said as he started to get up.
“No,” she moaned, pulling him back into the bed with her. “Stay with me. I’m cold.”
Stiles lied down beside her again, lying on his side and scooting in close, propping his head up on a bent arm so he could watch her until she went back to sleep.
“How’d it go the other day?” she asked after a long pause, her eyes still closed but aware he was staring at her.
Stiles smiled. Another job well done and another five grand in the bank for the Aces. “We caught them. As we suspected, it was a couple of punk kids, seventeen and eighteen years old.”
“What did you do to them?”
“Treble and I beat the shit out of them and explained how they might want to get into another line of work, or at least take it somewhere else. One of the kids lived in the neighborhood; the other was some thug friend of his. That’s how they knew where and when to hit; the kid knew who lived in the neighborhood knew who was home and when. Stupid ass kids, the one doing it for the thrill of it. The friend pulled a knife on Treble, the dumb ass. He’s lucky Treble didn’t shove that knife up his ass.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it. The kid had everything: money, a good family, and he was pissing it all away, just to impress some friend of his who didn’t give a shit.”
Bridget nodded. She knew all about the Black Aces. They were vigilantes for hire, but wearing white hats. When you couldn’t get help or justice any other way, the Black Aces might be able to help.
Someone had been breaking into houses and cars in the upscale Quail Hollow area, and while the police had expressed sympathies, they did little to solve the problem. So after a while, someone in the neighborhood had answered the Black Aces’ Craigslist ad. The wording read like any other handyman advertisement, but the word on the street was the Black Aces fixed very specific types of problems.
“Did you tell his parents?”
“No. He can explain having the shit beat out of him all by himself. Hopefully this was a wakeup call for him if nothing else.”
“What about the little girl?” Bridget asked taking a deep breath and stretching again. “Anything there?”
“No. Not yet. We’ll get him, though.”
“When you do, I hope you kill the bastard.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get his.”
A month ago a bereaved man and woman had contacted the Aces. While the mother and daughter were on the way home from a weekend Girl Scout trip, someone threw a concrete block from an overpass. The block penetrated the windshield of their SUV and killed their thirteen-year-old daughter riding in the front seat. This wasn’t the first time someone threw a block off an overpass, but this was the first time someone was killed, and it made the local news. The police were asking for help to find the culprit, but in private they had confided that there was little hope of finding the man, much less being able to convict him. The mother and father were determined to see justice served, and the Aces had agreed to help. This was going to be a long and drawn out search because, unlike the thefts, this asshole moved around. But the Aces would get him, eventually, because they always did.
“Good. I hope you catch him before the police.” She paused as she thought about what would happen to him if they did. Anyone that would do something so malicious deserved everything they got as far as she was concerned. “So that was Treble?” she asked, pulling her thoughts away from the darkness.
“That was
“Go back to sleep,” he said as he started to get up.
“No,” she moaned, pulling him back into the bed with her. “Stay with me. I’m cold.”
Stiles lied down beside her again, lying on his side and scooting in close, propping his head up on a bent arm so he could watch her until she went back to sleep.
“How’d it go the other day?” she asked after a long pause, her eyes still closed but aware he was staring at her.
Stiles smiled. Another job well done and another five grand in the bank for the Aces. “We caught them. As we suspected, it was a couple of punk kids, seventeen and eighteen years old.”
“What did you do to them?”
“Treble and I beat the shit out of them and explained how they might want to get into another line of work, or at least take it somewhere else. One of the kids lived in the neighborhood; the other was some thug friend of his. That’s how they knew where and when to hit; the kid knew who lived in the neighborhood knew who was home and when. Stupid ass kids, the one doing it for the thrill of it. The friend pulled a knife on Treble, the dumb ass. He’s lucky Treble didn’t shove that knife up his ass.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it. The kid had everything: money, a good family, and he was pissing it all away, just to impress some friend of his who didn’t give a shit.”
Bridget nodded. She knew all about the Black Aces. They were vigilantes for hire, but wearing white hats. When you couldn’t get help or justice any other way, the Black Aces might be able to help.
Someone had been breaking into houses and cars in the upscale Quail Hollow area, and while the police had expressed sympathies, they did little to solve the problem. So after a while, someone in the neighborhood had answered the Black Aces’ Craigslist ad. The wording read like any other handyman advertisement, but the word on the street was the Black Aces fixed very specific types of problems.
“Did you tell his parents?”
“No. He can explain having the shit beat out of him all by himself. Hopefully this was a wakeup call for him if nothing else.”
“What about the little girl?” Bridget asked taking a deep breath and stretching again. “Anything there?”
“No. Not yet. We’ll get him, though.”
“When you do, I hope you kill the bastard.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get his.”
A month ago a bereaved man and woman had contacted the Aces. While the mother and daughter were on the way home from a weekend Girl Scout trip, someone threw a concrete block from an overpass. The block penetrated the windshield of their SUV and killed their thirteen-year-old daughter riding in the front seat. This wasn’t the first time someone threw a block off an overpass, but this was the first time someone was killed, and it made the local news. The police were asking for help to find the culprit, but in private they had confided that there was little hope of finding the man, much less being able to convict him. The mother and father were determined to see justice served, and the Aces had agreed to help. This was going to be a long and drawn out search because, unlike the thefts, this asshole moved around. But the Aces would get him, eventually, because they always did.
“Good. I hope you catch him before the police.” She paused as she thought about what would happen to him if they did. Anyone that would do something so malicious deserved everything they got as far as she was concerned. “So that was Treble?” she asked, pulling her thoughts away from the darkness.
“That was
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