Doyle

Doyle - A Hannah Todd Story

Doyle - A Hannah Todd Story

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. This work is copyrighted by the author. All characters involved in sexual activity are eighteen years of age or older at the time of portrayal.

This is the continuing adventures of Hannah Todd. I would strongly recommend you read at least some of "The Bridge," "Badass," "The Auction," and "Simon," which provide the backstory for most of the characters in this story. And if you've been reading me, thank you for your continued support. Your comments are priceless, so please leave your wisdom so I might improve my writing.

Doyle - Part Two

For a moment, I was seriously considering Simon's offer. With my own spin on it. I did, however, wonder what the contents of that phone call might be. And could he really deliver up Doyle on a silver platter? Most of all, is it worth the trade? Simon for Doyle. What do they say about a bird in the hand?

Nah. I want both. Something tells me to save Simon as bait for bigger fish than Doyle. But to also go after Doyle and put him in that last cell. But a fish like Doyle can bring me more trouble than he's worth. Maybe it's best I put him in law enforcement's hands. The thought of another operation like that last auction sure was tempting. And very potentially very successful, with little downside.

But first I had to figure out where Doyle was and to learn more about his organization, such as it is. Of all the operations we had pursued, his appeared to be the toughest to penetrate. There were firewalls put up everywhere, by a man who never spent time in the same place for very long. If I can't find him, I can't catch him. And my little wasp drone at Green Flag Shipping is running out of juice. Not that it was giving us much in the way of intel, anyway.

Rhee Spanner had one of her agents attempting to tail and trail Doyle, and maybe find a way to tag him or his vehicle, but it turned out to be a non-starter. As soon as a potential vehicle was tagged, Doyle would find himself in yet another vehicle that had not been tagged.

After Rhee's people had thrown several wasp drones at Doyle, with no success, we decided to just replace the wasp at Green Flag Shipping with the hope that he would show up at work. And one other thing. She sent a handful of her agents to Green Flag to inquire about employment. Mostly as security guards or administrative personnel. This also proved to be a dead end as they were fully staffed and not looking to hire. But resumes were left, just in case. Fake ones.

The next tactic we used was sending some of Rhee's agents to bordellos that Doyle was said to have frequented. These were the houses of prostitution that had become legal in the 2030s, and where it is said Doyle is known to go for a tuneup. These agents of Rhee's became regulars and were in as much as out of these places. Boy, that cost a pretty penny. The best houses are not cheap. And there's a whole bunch of them.

In the meantime, I spoke to F.B.I. Special Agent Carlotta Russo, who had become the hero responsible for saving hundreds of girls and women from the clutches of Simon's people and Teetotaler's auction. Her access to federal prisoners such as Doyle's men was without peer.

It appeared that all of Doyle's surviving gangsters from the auction were represented by public defenders except for one; a man named Billy English. A criminal attorney from Boston, a Declan McMath, was admittedpro hac vicein North Carolina in order to represent him. He must have been the leader of the group of Doyle's men sent to Simon's auction.

McMath was well known as a RICO attorney who represented many local mobsters in New England. He was barred in Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Maine. After checking the dockets in those legal venues, it was discovered that McMath had represented Doyle in the past.

Due to the severity of the charges against English, McMath was unable to arrange any kind of bail. English was accused of allegedly killing or wounding more than one federal agent or local law enforcement officer. So, access to English would be restricted to what Russo could find out about him. McMath was another story.

McMath had represented Doyle in a RICO case ten years prior, before Doyle 'came clean' in the public eye. He was never convicted of racketeering, but McMath continued to represent him on other matters. He was mostly the go-to guy when one of Doyle's 'boys' got into the kind of trouble that a little muscle couldn't solve.

I thought about offering representation to some of the other hoodlums Doyle had sent to North Carolina for the auction, but Duane talked me out of it, fearing tipping my hand to anyone who could prove a relationship between me and what had been happening to the auctions of human traffickers. He was right, but there was always McMath.

McMath was found to be a workaholic. He spent days and evenings in the office when not in court, and he drove his people like he was a Pharoah. From paralegals to associate counsel, Declan McMath cracked the whip on a daily basis. He never saw it that way. His philosophy was that his people never had to work more than half a day; given that a full day is twenty-four hours. Most of his young associates worked far more than half a day, and more than five days a week.

All the productivity in the firm made it hard to slip in and plant bugs, but we're talking about Rhee Spanner here, and although it took till mid-December, the job got done, and taps were planted on the reception phone as well as McMath's office phone. If only we could tap his supercell, but that just was not happening.

Rhee had a dedicated operator monitoring the calls from McMath's office. However, nothing of importance came through and not one call from Doyle was intercepted.

In the meantime, we monitored Green Flag Shipping for news of the December shipment to European ports. We expected that the thirty girls being held somewhere in Providence, RI, would be shipped out on that boat, and the manifest we found said it would be shipping out December 19thand set to arrive in France on the 27th. That's if all goes right.

The Green Flag Erin was a container ship carrying everything from household items to automobiles, mostly EV trucks. Nowhere in our investigation did it reveal whether the vessel would include a shipment of females destined for the brothels and streets of France and beyond. At this juncture it was pure speculation on my part. But I didn't want to just let it go.

But I would have to. We got no leads on a location in Providence and nothing from the offices of Green Flag Shipping, where we had placed a newer, more permanent tap on the phone. Thank you, Rhee Spanner, for that. But without further intelligence about the contents of shipping containers on the Green Flag Erin, we had to let her sail.

The port city of Marseilles was the destination for the Green Flag Erin, and the Spanner organization flew two agents there to monitor the ship as it unloaded its cargo of containers, trying to determine if one of the containers was carrying girls.

Fortunately, the French decided to inspect all the containers on the Erin and found nothing to do with any living being having been shipped from the U.S. That would be thirty lives spared. At least for this trip. No coincidence here, as I had spoken to Agent Russo in this regard and she had tipped off the French about the possibility of the smuggling of human beings taking place. Unfortunately, she lost credibility with the French, who had been apprised of her reputation which was now in the toilet as far as they were concerned. A full inspection of a container ship is no small task.

Now I was beside myself because of my failure to save girls and because of the worthless information I had given to Russo. She was still my bitch, but was now somewhat skeptical of my abilities to help her maintain her position as hero in residence of the F.B.I.'s Washington district. She was not the only one who was skeptical of the information she had brought them regarding trafficking. For her sake and mine, I could not afford to miss again. The win goes to Clunky Doyle this time. The next one would be mine to win or lose. If I lose the next one, I could lose my best asset in combating the traffickers. The F.B.I.

It was time for me to leave Russo alone for now and focus on pinning down Doyle. Knowing his proclivity for visiting the better brothels, I doubled down with Rhee's people to get better coverage of the best of the best houses in Boston and Newport. It was important to me. So important that it almost distracted me from my most important plan this year. My wedding to Duane. And Vante's to Harley.

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The nuptials were planned to take place on Christmas Eve Day, with a small dinner at the Stottsville Inn that night. We bought out the restaurant for our private party where, after a small ceremony at my place, we would dine and party our asses off that night. It would be Duane and my Christmas gift to each other and ours to Davante and Harley, who was just entering her third trimester.

Judge Clara Cooper, the judge who married Holly and I, my now divorced first spouse, would perform the double ceremony, her first. The judge arrived early at my house with her plus one. The same gal she had brought to my first wedding. There was no doubt more than a casual connection between these two women, which we found out later that night at dinner. When they slow-danced after dinner, the connection was unmistakable.

In all, about sixty people showed for the ceremony, and everyone of them made it to the dinner. Along with a dozen bodyguards. Mine and Holly's parents were there, as were the Tuttlehills, including Harriet and Kimmie. Alvin was still overseas, so Gloria was escorted by Rapper Malone and four additional bodyguards. A handful of Harley's friends and family were also there. Dom and Rosa were there representing the team, along with Caroline and Ronnie and of course Lizzie, who was this time my maid of honor. Never before had an individual served as best man and maid of honor at the weddings of the same person. The judge got a real kick out of that.

Holly acted as the wedding planner for this double wedding and did a bang-up job. As happy as Duane and I were about the event, I think Holly and Chuck were the happiest couple at the wedding. The rest of the wedding party consisted of Herman as the best man and my big ones as the ring bearer and flower girl, with Bertha and Mac and a couple of Harley's friends bringing up the rear.

Of course, we had a dozen of my best team members joining us as guests/security. They had earned the right to be there. And they all looked wonderful. Flora and her gals were there to make Harley and me look beautiful, and they did a masterful job of it.

Truth be told, it was all a big blur for me. The wedding ceremony lasted an hour, and we let Duane's brother and his bride go first, as this was a first for both of them. Their vows were heartfelt and brought tears to the eyes of all in attendance. I tried hard not to cry, but failed miserably. So did Duane.

When it came time for Duane and me to take our vows, it just seemed so trite. Nothing would change other than our legal status. I would now be Mrs. Duane Royce, which had been my de facto position for at least the past year. Being the man he is, he had no trouble with me keeping my last name. But I would be his forever. At least that's what I told God and everyone else that day. Praying every minute that it would be true.

The party at the Stottsville was a blast. It was almost standing room only, but we did manage to eke out a small dance floor which was belly to belly and butt to butt all night long. The food was great, and the company was better. And I think the only one happier than me was Harley. We were now officially sisters-in-law which tightened our bond. I knew deep down that when the twins came that bond would grow even stronger.

When the party was over, Harley and Davante stayed over at our place, but we went to Duane's place for the night. Or should I say, my and Duane's place in Coatesville. As tired as the party and ceremony left us, we managed to summon the energy to make every kind of love imaginable. Our first time as a married couple, but not our last.

Juicy and Anthony volunteered to watch over us and found a bond of their own while dancing at the wedding. She admired Anthony's strength and was happy to find a man who towered over her catching her interest. Duane and I laughed about them having their own fronts rather than our backs.

In the morning when we departed for my place, it was Danny and one of the assault squad who was watching us. Where Juicy and Anthony went is anybody's business. I would try my best not to make it mine. Yeah, right?

We were early getting home in anticipation of a two-pronged charitable effort. Before the kids' Christmas gifts were opened, our annual gift giving at CHOP, the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, was in order. As we had in the past, we had a busload of boys and girls from South Philly transported to the hospital to take part in the giving of gifts to the young patients at CHOP, a tradition we started a couple of years ago with great success. This was followed by a visit from Santa to our new hospital for trafficked girls and women. Gloria Tuttlehill and I made sure everyone got presents, and a special meal was planned and presented to all patients.

As in prior years, Herman donned his red suit and acted as Santa for both hospitals. He had learned to embrace the role, and Peggy even stood in as Mrs. Claus. Herman's imposing figure and Peggy's height brought them instant recognition and respect. Not to mention smiles on the faces of all they served.

The Queen Bee was pleased with how the Christmas holiday panned out, but the specter of Doyle never left my mind. I even wondered what he did for the holiday, if anything at all. Then I wondered why I wondered. It upset me that the obsession with the villains in my life never let go of me. Even with all those smiling faces I confronted, I couldn't push the thought of Doyle running free from the back of my mind. And whenever anyone asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I couldn't help but think that I wanted Doyle's head on a silver platter. And the freedom of at least thirty girls I knew of that he was ready to dispatch overseas.

With the knowledge that the girls were being kept somewhere in Rhode Island; Providence, to be exact, I had Rhee's organization focus on the three best houses in Newport with the hope that Clunky would want to visit his concubines. This was more of a stroke of luck than of genius, as right between Christmas and New Years a connection was made.

That Wednesday one of Rhee's agents spotted Clunky Doyle at a house named Newport Nell's, an historic inn near the Cliff Walk that had been converted to one of the town's premier legal brothels. It was also the smallest of Newport's bordellos. And Rhee's agent was acting as one of the girls. She was getting paid from both ends and had the good fortune, or bad, of attracting Doyle. He didn't beat her up too badly, but he made an impression. And she made an impression of her own.

After being virtually raped by Doyle, the woman, a very attractive gal who acted as an itinerant prostitute, and went by the false name of Frenchy LaBeau, hit him with a syrette of a powerful anesthetic and injected a microtracking chip into his butt cheek. Now we had him. Wherever Clunky Doyle went, we would go with him. And when he went to Providence, we would be right there too.

As soon as Doyle left Nell's, Frenchy contacted the Spanner organization, and Rhee followed up by contacting me.

"Well, Hannah, it's done. I have a bead on Doyle, and we are looping you in. Whoever is in your Closet will have been patched in by the time we get off the phone. I'd recommend we keep a body on him as well to actually see where he is heading and what he is up to. I have a New Englander on him for now, but I'm thinking of bringing Shadow in to tail him. The current tail has a wasp drone with him and will place it if he stops somewhere in Providence, with the hope that is where they are keeping the girls."

"You are the very best, Rhee. But I'm sure somewhere there are more girls than the thirty he had planned to ship out to Europe. I think we'll have to move slowly this time. I think getting that wasp into the place where they are keeping the girls is our best next move."

"Agreed. Maybe once we are in at the Providence location, the dominoes will start to fall and we may be able to take down a much bigger organization than we can see now. Given the status of your guests, I expect Doyle has developed a much larger presence on the East Coast. My expectation is that he has all the power and is in the process of exercising it."

"I think it's time to consult with Simon. He hasn't had a good meal for a number of days and maybe, just maybe, I can convince him to spill the beans on who Doyle is running herd over. Somebody must have taken over Teetotaler and Bolinski's territories by now. Someone installed by Doyle in Simon's absence."

"But who? We still don't have a decent tap on Doyle yet, just the location tracker."

"Then I'll have to double down on Simon and see what he says. And you will have to get a wasp to follow Clunky around. Between the two we ought to get the intel we need to pin that son of a bitch down."

It was between Christmas and New Years and the kids were on winter break from school. So, between playdates with the neighborhood kids, we spent time at the townhouse in the city and acted like tourists. The zoo, the art museum, the Franklin Institute, which had just undergone a renovation, and of course there was football, and a game on New Year's Eve Day which we attended. All of us. It was against Dallas, and we couldn't miss it. We ended up winning, but it was close. Very close.

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It was a cold day on Wednesday, January 3rd, 2057. The coldest day of the season so far, and looking to get colder, with temps predicted to be in the teens. This did not fare well for my prisoners, locked in a cold basement. When I arrived at the ranch house and confronted my 'guests', they cried and they whined and begged for warmer clothes. Instead, I turned up the heat to 65 degrees, just enough to keep their teeth from chattering. Warmer clothes might bring them additional comfort, and we couldn't have that now, could we?

Wednesday was the day I cut Simon out from the herd and, along with Dom and Avi, went full-on Mossad with him.

"Well," I said. "It's time to decide, Simon, whether it's gonna be the carrot or the stick today. You get to decide whether you return to your cell with a full belly or a couple of hits from the cattle probe burned into your brain. Avi?"

"Simon," Avi said. "We have tagged Mr. Doyle and know where he is at all times. What can you tell us about Doyle's movements and where you think he might be making his rounds? There's a place in Providence we are interested in. What can you tell us about Providence?"

"Clunky is secretive, looking out for no one but himself. They are his superpowers. At the last auction, I was expecting twice as much support from him and twice as many girls. I was greatly disappointed but not surprised by his actions. Not that it would have made a difference given the size of the government's response. He always puts himself above the greater good. As far as Providence is concerned, I know nothing of this place. That's way below my pay grade. You might talk to Teetotaler about that. He and Doyle were peers and may have shared about it."