Page 1 of The Taste

“Welcome to the party, pal,” Police Sergeant Carmelo Rossetti muttered to himself as he stepped out of his police cruiser. Yes, he was quotingDie Hardto himself. He felt the situation was fitting for a movie quote that he held in such high regard. He’d pulled into the parking lot without any problems. He thought he’d be held at the gate by the guard, or flat out turned away, but no, the guard had eyed him up and down, taking in the car, his uniform, his determined face, and beckoned him in with a nod of the head. Carmelo stood tall, brushed a hand down over his uniform, straightening it out. He knew he looked good in it, he wanted to look good for this. Like a man who got his own way. He slid his sunglasses over his eyes. He was here on business.

He had just finished his shift at the police station. He turned back and locked the car that he had just parked up in the front parking lot of the former Creekdale Hotel. Now, it was the new clubhouse for the notorious local outlaw motorcycle club, the Black Coyotes. He looked up at the building ahead of him, a former high end, five star resort hotel. He took a breath in and out. He was here on unofficial business. Perhaps that was a better description for his visit.

He hadn’t met with the President of the MC for a month or so. Last time, of course, things got heated. Neither man liked to back down or lose face. They were both stubborn. It’s fair to say their relationship was one of healthy rivalry. Mainly around how many quotes from action movies they could slip into their conversations, as both men had similar taste films. Carmelo knew he should hate the Prez. He knew it wasn’t the way between the local police, who had “serve and protect’’ wired into their blood vessels and a MC president. He had seen first-hand the ups and downs of having a local MC, and that MC’s new leader, its President, was an ex-con. A rough, blunt man who lived to take what he wanted. Carmelo shouldn’t like him at all. But he did. Carmelo saw that he was also loyal, brave, and loved fiercely. Frankly, Carmelo liked Colt, a lot.

Yes, Colt and Carmelo often butted heads, each wanting the best for the town and their families. Having slightly different views on the route to get there. Carmelo knew the MC was involved with the local gangs, he knew they were involved with drugs, guns, illegal activities. He ground his teeth as he started striding across the parking lot to the front door. He also knew the MC was involved with the FBI. Above his pay grade, so he was kept in the dark mostly. All he knew about that arrangement was the MC had pretty much carte blanche as long as they kept the bigwigs at the FBI informed on various underground criminal activity. Some of the members of the MC must be informants. He’d heard a rumor that some of them were even undercover federal agents.

Carmelo didn’t know, but he did know it felt particularly galling when he thought he’d caught the bad guy over some misdemeanor or chaos that had ensued, only to find he had to let them go again. When they sped through town on their loud bikes, parked wherever they wanted.

Oh yeah, it got him going alright. Colt stood for everything Carmelo fundamentally believed was bad. He found it a moral quandary, however much he liked Colt, he wanted to hate him. He hated his lifestyle, this whole idea of a select club of men who could basically do what they want, illegal stuff, take what they want, act how they wanted. Carmelo was all for law and fucking order. But here they were, and now it looked as though Colt and his gang, no, club of bikers might actually be able to help out. Do some good hopefully.

Hence why he was here, in person. Carmelo was also curious, he had to admit. He wanted to see the infamous local landmark himself, The Creekdale Hotel. The Black Coyotes motorcycle club HQ, their clubhouse. A former five star hotel on the edge of town. Swimming pool, gym, even a nine hole golf course. It had been high end, the place to be for glittering parties, fancy cocktails, anyone who was anyone in town had to have been to some event at the hotel. But a fire last year had made it uninsurable. The hotel’s paperwork wasn’t correct. Then they found half the staff were illegal immigrants and hadn’t been paid properly. It had stood abandoned for a while, being a thorn in the side of the town… there was a rumor that the fire was even caused by the MC originally, the former members of the MC. The bad members. Before Colt had chased them out of town, or before most of them had unfortunately died in that explosion at their old clubhouse that Colt had managed to stagger out of, sole survivor, and his wife, April. Carmelo had no idea what the new and improved MC had been doing at the hotel under Colt’s leadership. Carmelo had asked Colt about the fire, Colt was suspiciously tight-lipped about it, and that usually meant he’d been involved in some way. The fire was just days after Colt got out of prison… not that Carmelo knew half of what was going down. No, Colt and the MC had a pretty cushy deal with the FBI which basically granted them all immunity. As long as they toed the line. And Colt didn’t like doing that. Colt had bought the hotel with an actual truck load of cash that he just rolled into town with. Fuck insuring it, the MC didn’t need to do that. To be fair, the hotel had been in desperate need of a cash buyer, it was languishing with trespassers and becoming unsafe, a blight on the edge of town.

Carmelo’s steps rapped on the concrete in his boots as he approached the entrance to the former hotel, now MC clubhouse. It had been painted a dark charcoal gray. It was striking, a sprawling facade of large windows, in a seven or eight story building, walled off all around. It had been a respectable white color previously. Or off white... ivory or magnolia or some shit like that. He stepped up to the big door with the brass handle. The building looked good, actually, from the outside. He paused and turned, taking in the line of sleek, gleaming bikes, the security camera fixed to the wall, the little booth with a security guard inside it. Carmelo had to hand it to him, Colt knew what he was doing, from the outside at least. A professional set up.

Carmelo swallowed, he had been unsure about coming, he normally met Colt on neutral territory. They got along but often tried to pretend they didn’t, Colt was blunt anyway, but turning up unannounced at their own place… Carmelo hoped Colt didn’t see it as overstepping. But Carmelo had been let in the gate, the MC knew he was here, and the fact they’d let him get this far told him Colt was willing to listen. Carmelo took a breath and pulled on the heavy door.

It opened silently, accompanied by a blast of blissfully cool air-conditioning.

He stepped in. He stood in the foyer, blinking. It was dark in there. The lighting was low; small spotlights twinkled from above but it was soft and calm. He tugged off his sunglasses and began tucking them into the breast pocket on his shirt. And it was then he noticed some wide, green eyes staring back at him. Carmelo froze.

They moved closer. Then he heard a little mewl. A cat. Fuck, it was that little kitten he’d let Colt take off his hands, the one with the crushed back legs. Carmelo had received a call about it being stuck on the highway causing a huge traffic jam and one of his officers had rescued it. They should have taken it to the pound where it would have been put down, poor little dude, due to its injuries. Colt had overheard and had said fuck that and taken the kitten out of his hands. Now here it was, eyeing Carmelo with that condescending, defiant stare that cats manage to grace people with. It meowed again and moved closer, and Carmelo noticed it was strapped into a little cart with wheels where its back legs should have been. The cat pulled forward with his front legs to get himself around. Carmelo huffed. That was so Colt. His spirit, his inability to give up on things, his force of will, summed up right there in that little cat. Colt had somehow gotten a little wheelchair for it.

“Hey little one, glad to see you’re still here,” Carmelo said softly, and crouched down to give the cat a ruffle on its head. The cat tilted its head to let Carmelo have better access, closed its eyes and purred. Carmelo smiled.

“He likes you,” came a soft voice through the darkness.

Carmelo almost wobbled off the balls of his feet, caught off guard. April, Colt’s wife, his “ol’ lady”, as she was known in the MC world, came out of the inner door off to his left.

Carmelo steadied himself and looked up. April was beautiful, no mistaking it. Long, blonde glossy hair, clear skin, a body to die for. Carmelo tried to stand up too quickly and jarred his knee. “Ah, Mrs. Kincade, ma’am,” he stuttered, embarrassed to have been caught squatting down, talking to a cat.

“Call me April, I always tell you this, Carmelo,” she said breezily, her hands coming down to scoop the little cat up, wheelchair and all.

Carmelo noticed April had a little round stomach, an early baby bump. She was glowing. She obviously caught him staring as she put one hand over the perfectly round little globe of her stomach and smiled.

“I’m halfway there. It’s a boy!” She smiled and Carmelo felt lucky to be coated in the warmth of that glow. “You’re having a baby brother, Shadow,” she said in a sing-song voice to the little cat. The cat turned his head and gazed up at April with wise eyes, like he already knew, like he had always known.

She stroked the cat fondly, then looked back at Carmelo and nodded to the door on his left, where she had just come from. “Colt’s in there, interested to hear what warrants a visit in person.” She raised her eyebrows but smiled at him, the complex mix of fraternity and animosity he felt for her husband did not reach how he felt about her. He liked her, for who she was on the outside and the inside. She was a good person, kind, smart, good for Colt, and fucking hot, too.

“Sure. Take care now, ma’am. April,” he corrected himself with a half smile. April smiled and waved and drifted off to a door on the right with the cat. Carmelo watched them go. He’d be a lucky bastard if he ended up with a woman as beautiful -

“If you’re done eye-fucking my wife, get your ass in here and tell me why the fuck you’ve come, pig.”

Carmelo tipped his head back and sighed. Of course Colt was standing there in the doorway. Of course Colt had seen his gaze lingering on April’s neat little blossoming behind as she’d sashayed into the other room. Of fucking course.

Carmelo turned around and gritted his teeth into a half grin, half snarl. The Black Coyotes President stood with his hands on his hips, eyes flashing fiercely, blocking his route ahead with his tall body.

Carmelo licked his lips. “First, congratulations, Colt, and second, I wasn’t eye-fucking-”

“You were, don’t fucking lie to me. I don’t blame you for it, I know my woman is hot as fuck. And thanks, she’s due in the fall.” Colt’s deep brusque tones cut through Carmelo’s protest.

Colt stared hungrily at April’s retreating back. “You need to get lucky Carmelo, you can’t just stare at women like they are your next meal. You still haven’t got a girlfriend? You need to get some, my friend.”

Carmelo bit his tongue.

“My Lioness, Queen of the Savannah... so fucking hot, knocked up...” Colt faded out and seemed to be talking to himself, seemed to have forgotten he stood in the foyer with Carmelo. Colt even reached a hand down and grabbed his junk. Carmelo thought it best to say nothing and avert his gaze. Their sex life must be off the Richter scale, Carmelo thought wistfully as he stared at the ground.

A good few seconds passed then Colt suddenly turned back to Carmelo, aware again of where he was. Colt took the other hand off his hip and placed it on Carmelo’s shoulder. Carmelo was shorter than Colt, he knew he was stockier. Well, unlike Colt, Carmelo had a job and hadn’t spent time in the slammer with nothing better to do than lift weights. Unlike Colt, who’d served five years. Colt steered Carmelo through the foyer and into the common room of the clubhouse.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com