There was a loud and heavy knock coming from the thick door of the motel room. The men holed up inside wake with a nervous jolt, a few armed with hand guns as they tend to sleep with them more then next to the warm body of a woman. Frederick Parker swore as he bullied his way from the bed he was sleeping on and made his way to the front door. Peering through the peep hole, the San Francisco mobster swore as he saw several men in dark suits and black shades at the door entrance.
“Feds,” Freddie looking ashen; “so soon?”
“Open up Mr. Parker,” a voice could be heard on the other end; “your stay in this motel is no longer welcome by order of its operator, Knight Industries.”
Frederick Parker looked incensed. Knowing his men made a huge blunder the night before; the man was floored at how quick a rich big-wig could act.
“It’s one thing with having to deal with the Talbots,” Freddie seeing Chelnik equipping a silencer to his Glock; “but now I got to deal with a pissed off billionaire that lives in this hick town.”
Hearing the men bang on his door again and repeating what they said earlier, Freddie glares as he tries to think while Chelnik moves to the side of the entry way; the ex Spetsnaz prepared to shoot if anyone outside dared to bust the door open and drag his boss out.
“It’s only six in the morning,” Freddie being as bellicose and blustery as he could manage; “check out time isn’t until ten. And besides,” Freddie barking; “just because my credit card was declined doesn’t mean I can’t pay with cash.”
“Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone at any time,” one of the men on the other end shouting; “even with cash you will not be able to stay here.”
“We’ll see about that,” Freddie swearing; “no one refuses me!”
“You’ve never dealt Benton Knight,” the man responding; “you have until ten to leave. Or we will be back with the police.”
*********
The men who approach the motel room door leave and head back to their blacked out Humvee. All but one; the remaining man heads to the check in office to pose as the motel manager. A were-panther like his employer Benton Knight, the man who quickly removed his suit and put on more mundane attire one expects to see from an over worked and under payed motel employee. He watches as his compatriots drive off; knowing they will not be far as he can summon them with a push of a button installed on the underside of the desk. A panic button that generally sends an alert to the local police, acting as a silent alarm when faced with a possible armed robbery. Checking the motel registry, the nameless were-panther notes that besides Frederick Parker a lone man checked in some time last night. Seeing that the registry had a tiny “w” written next to the man’s name; a name that the were-panther chuckled as it was obviously an alias. He grins as he picks up the phone to call the other motel guest.
“Yamato Tachibana,” the were-panther shaking his head as he gets the man on the line; “Sam Spade is a horrible alias to use. When are you going to learn that using the names of characters from those old movie cereals of the twenty and thirties is just cliché.”
“And how the hell did you know it was me,” Yamato answering completely stunned; “what gave it away?”
“It doesn’t matter,” the were-panther answering; “for the moment we both have a common enemy. Frederick Parker; his men pissed off Benton Knight by breaking into his estate and now my boss wants him to suffer for it.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Yamato retorting; “is that what Knight Industry security is proposing with the Skulk?”
“If that is what you want to think then fine,” the were-panther speaking on the phone; “Frederick Parker is being kicked out of the motel. He has until ten in the morning to check out. I’ll be calling the police if he doesn’t.”
“And my being in a room,” Yamato asking; “doesn’t enrage your boss?”
“Benton could care less about you,” the were-panther responding; “or Parker’s problem with the Talbot’s. This is just a courtesy call. From one adversary to another; do what you will with the information.”
“Then let me return the courtesy,” Yamato answering; “one of Freddie’s men is a former Spetsnaz. Sandy blonde hair and wearing thick dark sunglasses; speaking with an eastern European accent. I suggest you refrain from engaging the man. He may be a normal, but with is Russian military training; he might drop you and a few of your comrades before subduing him. He is the man I’m tailing.”
“Duly noted,” the were-panther responding; “Parker and his men will be yours and the elder council’s problem once they leave the motel.”
The were-panther hangs up and looks out onto the parking lot to see the man that Yamato just describe leaving the property. Noticing the subtle bulges coming from the man’s jacket; the were-panther could tell the man was heavily armed. Shaking his head as moments later, Yamato is already leaving the motel room he was holed up in, following the man in question.
********
“Fuck me,” Freddie seethes as he was forced to dig out of his temporary headquarters thanks to a stupid mistake by a few of his men last night; “Chelnik, how quickly would it take for you to rough up Benton Knight?”
“Don’t you mean killed,” Chelnik removing the silencer from his Glock; “it would be a far easier task just to ice him as you men like to refer.”
“I am willing to eat the loss of several million in cash and drugs,” Freddie glaring; “as a cost for my men thinking they could steal from him. What were they after by the way?”
“From what I could get from your men,” Chelnik looking out the window; “they were after a red Lamborghini and a blue Tesla.”
“What is with this town and expensive cars,” Freddie shaking his head; “a 66 mustang that landed my son in jail. An original Shelby Cobra being driven by Leon Talbot’s daughter; several town cars and Rolls Royce’s with tinted windows being driven about and now several million between two high performance vehicles?”
“It’s a Lamborghini Veneno,” Frederick’s assistant chiming in; “according to this article about Benton Knight, the man describes how he outbid a Saudi Prince for the rare vehicle in an auction held in Italy. Apparently Benton’s Veneno is the only one in America, since only three were ever made by the Italian manufacturer.”
“Well that makes it hard to fence,” Freddie thinking; “Chelnik change of plans. Don’t rough Benton up, fuck his car up instead. That thing should not be hard to spot as it would stick out like a sore thumb and it probably goes through gas like an alcoholic goes through beer.”
“What about the Talbot’s,” Chelnik putting on a light jacket; “what do you want me to do with them?”
“Nothing at the moment,” Freddie grousing; “the rest of you get dressed and start scouring the town for a new place for us to hole up. I’m going to pay my son a visit after breakfast and hopefully give him a heads up on what to expect this Tuesday.”
Chelnik doesn’t respond as he quietly slips out of the motel room. Walking to the road and heading to the nearest gas station that is closest to the Knight Estate; Chelnik once again senses someone tailing him.
“If I’m going to be able to do anything,” Chelnik speaking in his native Ukrainian; “I need to shake my tail first.”