I stride purposefully across the room, watching as curious eyes dart my way. The people here don’t eye me with suspicion, merely interest. Maybe this new job has boosted my confidence in a way they can detect just by looking at me. The thought only brightens my already sunny outlook.
“Happy to be here, Agent Mitchell,” I smile, giving my new boss a firm handshake.
“Glad to hear it,” Mitchell replies, showing me into the room. “First things first, let me introduce you to the agent you’ll be working this case with.”
I look up, eager to meet my new partner. But that eagerness sours into disdain as I see who is waiting inside to make my acquaintance.
“You?!” I exclaim, staring at the bullish asshole who barreled over me in the lobby.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Mitchell,” the big man groans through gritted teeth. He’s got to be close to six feet tall, and built like a wrecking ball. His shaved head makes it hard to say for sure, but I’d guess he’s about forty years old. He certainly has the jaded, miserable grimace of someone who’s been working the same job for a while.
“Do you two...know each other?” Mitchell asks, closing the door behind him.
“We just met in the lobby. Well, collided, more like...” I say, crossing my arms.
“You’re sticking the new girl on my case?” the gruff man demands. “What kind of bullshit is this?”
“How you two have already managed to get off on the wrong foot is a mystery to me,” Mitchell says coolly, clearly not giving a damn about our mutual discomfort, “but let’s start fresh, shall we? Quinn Collins, this is Agent Jeff Bruno. Bruno, Agent Quinn Collins.”
I boldly hold out my hand to Bruno, leveling my blue eyes at his red face. He scoffs, gripping my hand tightly for half a second, before roughly dropping it. I don’t know what I’ve done to get on this guy’s bad side already, other than attempt to enter the building in an orderly fashion, but his opinion of my presence here is pretty apparent.
“Fantastic,” Mitchell says, pressing ahead despite our furrowed brows, “let’s get Agent Collins caught up on the particulars of the case.”
Mitchell and Bruno look up at the wide wall, and I let my gaze follow. Plastered there is an array of information, carefully collected and arranged. Photos, news articles, names and locations make up the tangled web I see before me. The question is, what does it all mean?
“Welcome to Operation Inferno,” Mitchell says, sweeping his arm over the intelligence spread out before us.
“Operation Inferno,” I repeat, tasting the words for myself, “catchy.”
“We’re gathering intelligence on two of the most powerful and influential MC’s in the Las Vegas area,” Mitchell goes on.
“MC’s are motorcycle clubs. Outlaws,” Bruno says, sneering condescendingly.
“Thanks. I took Organized Crime 101 at the FBI Academy just like you did,” I snap back.
“The clubs in question are The Devil’s Wraiths Nevada Chapter and Dante’s Nine, a smaller local operation that’s recently become a support club for the Wraiths,” Mitchell says. “We’ve been receiving more tips than ever lately, regarding these clubs’ illegal activities. We’ve never been able to pin anything major on either, but that might change soon.
Dante’s Nine has been very cooperative with us in the past, when it’s been in their best interest. A year or so back, they helped us bring down the head honcho of the Lorenzo Family and put an end to a series of deadly cage matches. They got their slate scrubbed clean for that bit of assistance, full immunity for all club members, but they’re fair game again now that they’re allied with the Wraiths.”
“Dante’s Nine has always relied on a variety of income sources to stay afloat. From what we can tell, they’ve shuttered most of their questionable operations of late in favor of a modest auto shop, built adjacent to their club house. One of the members bailed them out around the time we offered immunity, so they seemingly haven’t had to resort to their old ways.”
“So if they’ve gone legit, what’s the problem?” I ask.
“The problem is, it’s clearly a front,” Bruno says, rolling his eyes. “We just don’t know for what yet.”
“The Devil’s Wraiths are less apologetic when it comes to the source of their money, and less family friendly, too,” Mitchell cuts in. “They’ve got a wildly successful strip club built on their compound. The Devil’s Playpen, it’s called. They bring in porn stars with niche followings and draw in the fan boy big spenders from Vegas. Good strategy, I’ve got to hand it to them.”
“So they’re scum bags,” I shrug, “No big surprise there. What’s happened recently that has the FBI back on their case?”
“Both of their clubs’ businesses have flexed a bit, lately, to accommodate some changes,” Mitchell says, leading me closer to the wall of intel. “There have been some changes to the MC ranks. New members and current members trading positions of influence.”
There are two sets of photos displayed on the wall, arranged in pyramids of rank. One set is labeled “Dante’s Nine”, the other “Devil’s Wraiths.” At the head of the first is a devilishly handsome silver fox bearing the tag “John Baxter, President.” Topping the other pyramid is a round-faced, mean-looking sonofabitch with wispy white blonde hair, tagged “Malcolm ‘Mac’ Donnelly, President.”
But far more eye-catching than the two men in charge are their second-in-commands. Flanking each MC president is an insanely attractive young VP. “Declan Tiberi,” the intense, clean-shaven VP of Dante’s Nine, and “Leo Bane,” the bearded, golden-eyed VP of the Devil’s Wraiths, could easily pass for rock stars. And in their world, I bet they do.
“It’s the clubs’ VPs that seem to be stirring up the most trouble,” Mitchell goes on, seeing my gaze fix firmly on the striking outlaws. “Tiberi just got promoted a few months ago. Standard changing of the guard. They’re each being groomed to take over their clubs as president one day, and are making their mark on the way things are done. But the real agents of change have been their old ladies.”
“Their what?” I ask, ripping my eyes away.
“Club wives, more or less,” Bruno says. “Tiberi and Bane have each picked up feisty little honeys this past year. Civilians turned MC bitches.”