Exclusive Excerpts from Justification - Coming February 2019
“Don’t be a drag, just be a queen. Whether you’re broke or evergreen…”
“No fucking way! I am not putting up with listening to this shit all day! Hack, turn that shit off!”
“Oh, he’s on a roll now, and DJ for the day whether we like it or not.”
“Hey, at least it’s not Justin Bieber.” Rider offered.
The intel operator heard that idea, and with a few clicks on the keyboard, fired up the next karaoke hit to sing to, “And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh. Like baby, baby, baby, oh…”
Chicano grabbed Rider by the shirt and slammed him up against the wall and growled in his face, “We’re now in the tenth circle of hell douchebag all because of you. Next time you get an idea pendejo? Decide sharing it is no bueno.”
“So if I suggest some Kanye, that would be bad for me, right?”
“You’d make a good headless body to drag behind my bike.”
“Wow, you Mexican Drug Lords enjoy exploiting your own stereotypes don’t you?”
Rider Lockmore is not a nice guy by any stretch of the imagination. Once the preferred hands on enforcer hired by MC’s all over the country and the former right hand of the future leader of the Northern California Chapter of the Arian Brotherhood, he quickly climbed to the top of the FBI’s most wanted list. A renowned gun runner, murderer and a man with a reputation so heinous, there isn’t a club out there that dares to bring him into their fold, for even being associated with the man is a guaranteed death sentence.
Trish Garrigan isn’t a bowl of cherries either. Her own rap sheet once had her at the top of the most wanted list, a spot she prided in, and her reputation for being one of the best female assassins in the world commanded the respect of even the most despicable of criminals. Now a Supervisory Deputy, she leads six former criminals like herself in doing what the rest of the U.S. Justice Department so far has failed to do…capture the uncatchable. After all, who better to bring down a criminal than a former one?
People like Rider and Trish are never expected to be granted redemption, however, for the covert and clandestine division W.A.E.F. of the U.S. Marshal’s Office, it’s maybe what they’ll get, if they don’t kill each other first.
The Fed’s wish to apprehend an elusive Russian who is the world’s most wanted arms dealer, and who also happens to be crazy with the idea he’s about to take over the entire world. The only thing standing in his way from making this happen is the stockpile of chemical weapons he needs to carry out his master plan, and the guy who can tell him where they’re hidden now happens to wear a badge.
Yeah, things are about to get interesting. This is…
“All you have to do is come over here and actually do what you’re thinking baby and I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”
She quickly snapped out of her delicious day dream and informed him, “While that would be nice, it’s never going to happen.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I don’t fuck men whom I’d get off harder if I simply put a bullet in between their eyes.”
“I’ve thought about that favor you owe me, and I’ve decided how I want to collect.”
“Yeah, how’s that?”
“Before we cart Kirzmonikov off to prison, you let me shoot him in the nuts.”
“Brother, that is some demented fetish you have. Maybe you should seek some professional help.”
“Fetish? Boss, the world is overpopulated. This is my way of stopping the next generation of numb nuts from ever being born. I’m doing society a favor.”
“As sick and twisted as that is, it actually makes sense.”
Closing his peepers to resume his nap, he clued the new guy in that he wasn’t the welcoming committee, “I’m bored of you. Take off and find someone else to answer your sniveling questions.”
“Or what? You’ll go all Kill Bill on my ass with your blade there?”
“More like Last Samurai. I love Uma don’t get me wrong, but I can’t pull off a yellow leather motorcycle suit like she can.”
“For the fiftieth fucking time cabrone, I am not getting you any weed.”
“You’re kidding right? You were once a vicious and maniacal drug lord. Are you really going to sit there and tell me you can’t score me an ounce?”
“Maybe if your parents’ generation had listened to their own government, guys like me never would have existed. Si, good advice, but they no listen.”
“What was it exactly?”
“Just say no.”
“The biggest mistake in my illegal lucrative former career was never seeking these guys out to help them hide their money. Fuck, my commission would have been insane.”
“But I thought you discovered they’re hiding it in plain sight, therefore, not needing someone like you?”
“Exactly! These guys are actually paying taxes! What a bunch of idiots!”
“Maybe bad guys don’t have to break the law all the time. Helps keep their real identities safe.”
“Let me give you a piece of advice my young protégé, if an illegal opportunity knocks and is holding a wad of cash, take it. Give none of it to the government, and hire a guy like me to help you hide it. Dirty money deserves to stay that way. These guys actually filing with the IRS to make their dirty money appear clean is what’s going to nail them in the end.”
After noticing his fellow intel operator fidgeting in is seat, Hack glanced down at Downey’s crotch and went wide eyed, “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re getting hard just talking about this?”
“Ben Franklin is the only man in history I’d ever consider switching teams for. The smell of money is the finest of aphrodisiacs and the only thing I’d ever call daddy. Just talking about hiding assets is foreplay for me.”
*Note - These are draft sections only and may not appear in the final version of the book.*
As Duke’s eyes widened just a fraction, as it wasn’t every day in this dude’s life a gun was pointed at his crotch, she decided to clue him in as to why some would say, she was overreacting.
“Call me whatever you want old man, but never that word. It bothers me, in case you couldn’t tell.”
Showing true wisdom, her boss answered her quickly, “Roger that, darlin’.”
She moved the muzzle of her weapon over just a fraction and gasped in disbelief, “Duke, is this actually making you hard?”
“Maybe, and no it’s not a gun in my pocket, I’m just happy to see you.”
“Duke, how many times do I have to tell you to eat more roughage. If you did, you wouldn’t need so much bran which may in turn save us from your unique charm every fucking morning.”
“Little lady, bran is what keeps my cock working. It allows me to continue to enjoy, even at my age, the good things in life.”
“Shit, I’m afraid to ask, what are those exactly?”
“A great whiskey, a pack of Winston’s and periodically, a beautiful woman to sit on my face.”
“Considering how much you smoke; I’m surprised you haven’t died of suffocation.”
“Come on over here darlin’ and I’ll be happy to demonstrate I can breathe just fine while feasting on you.”
“You know damn good and well I killed three men that way Duke, not a good idea. You’re not in the best of health.”
After noticing the looks from all the men in the room who were looking at her in complete shock, she explained, “What else was I going to do? My gun was out of reach and they had to die somehow.”
“What if after this I decide I don’t want to hunt bad guys full time?”
“Then the implant placed at the top of your spinal cord is detonated, thereby terminating your new reincarnated life as Caleb Remington.”
“Who presses that button?”
“The highest ranking lawyer in the land and rumor has it, he has turrets. Caffeine actually keeps the man calm.”
“So you mean to tell me as long as I act like a venti mocha caramel macchiato whatever the fuck, I get to keep on breathing?”
“And don’t forget to tip your barista.”
“Alright you fucktards, sit down and shut the fuck up. My bran hasn’t worked its way through my colon yet, so I haven’t had my morning shit. So in the meantime, why don’t one of you rejects share with me your brilliant idea on how we’re supposed to catch enemy motherfucker number one all the while maintaining our perfect record. The quicker you do, the sooner I’ll be in the crapper with the morning paper versus taking a dump in y’alls boots.”
“You heard me, I formed a club.”
“We’re seriously an MC now? Isn’t that rather predictable boss?”
“Oh yeah, and seriously pisses off the fuckers in the FBI, and there isn’t a damn thing they can do about it.” He beamed in reply.
“I don’t know. To be honest Duke, given a choice between flying to our destinations in first class luxury or having bugs splatter against my face on the highway? I’m voting to rack up more air miles.”
“Don’t be such a pussy about this Downey. A good bike between your thighs is like a beautiful woman you never want to stop riding. Besides, men my age who hit the open road, don’t need Viagra.”
W.A.E.F.’s accountant looked at the bike next to him, and despite reassurance from his boss about how the old chrome covered girl with leather accents will keep him virile, he then thought of something which was giving him wood, “We’re going to save a shit ton of money on jet fuel with these aren’t we?”
This was past the point of unbearable. However, that is why God invented…
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She growled as her rotating G-spot rabbit vibrator lay dead in her hands after she pressed the on switch to double check it before stripping the rest of her clothes off.
Hunting for some fresh double A’s in her nightstand drawer, she thought she hit the jackpot, but came up disappointed again as she retrieved an empty pack of energizers.
With the only pink possession in her life in her left hand deader than a doornail and an empty package which once contained the juice to power up the necessity, Steady made a mental note of two things. Numero uno, write shit down. Translation, remember to tell Downey to put double A’s on the fucking monthly provisional shopping list. Dos, remember this moment and make a commitment to make copious notes when you think about important shit.
She’d been needing to tell Downey for weeks she was out of batteries.
Tossing the super-o tool on the bed and with hands on her hips, decided what she really needed to make this ache go away was some real dick, and one not attached to Rider Lockmore.
She was also out of post its and pens for that matter to write shit down with. Needless to say, Steady was a hot mess when it came to office supplies.