The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  Stuff that all fell under the category of logic, the man before Reed a long way past that. Someone who, at this point, was operating on pure emotion.

  A game Reed would rather not descend into, but had no problem doing so if forced.

  “Not only that,” Reed added, “we also have to assume that since we got to them before they could finish whatever they came to do, there’s going to be more arriving soon. People that we need to spend even more effort and resources preparing for.

  “A damned siege taking up every bit of attention one tiny ass river town has, keeping anybody from spending a second on your sister getting damned near ripped in half by a hunting rifle yesterday.”

  Reed knew most of what he’d just said was offsides. A tactic he normally would never employ, speaking so callous of the departed.

  Just as he knew it was likely the only way to get through to someone like Aquino, throwing the man’s preferred manner of handling things back at him.

  Moving on past the table, Reed didn’t bother keeping his focus on Aquino. Instead, he remained on his path, his back to the man as the words landed.

  A verbal blow that hit just as he expected, inciting Aquino to strike at the metal table before him. Open-handed slaps that landed in unison, the sound reverberating within the small confines.

  An obvious act of aggression setting Billie afire, her jowls pulling back over her teeth as she lowered herself into a crouch, a growl rising from deep in her thorax.

  “Don’t!” Aquino snapped, his voice just south of a yell, no doubt modulated by the presence of Billie before him. “Don’t you dare mock my sister!”

  “I’m not mocking your sister, I’m mocking you!” Reed fired back, whirling to face the man. “Because if you were any kind of brother, if she meant anything to you, you’d answer my damn questions so we can go find the bastard that did this!”

  At his side, Billie nudged closer. Pressing the striated muscle of her ribcage against his leg, she stared up at Aquino, aching to be unleashed. Given the command to tear into the man that had produced such a rare outburst from her partner.

  A united front, staring back at Aquino.

  A calculated risk, Reed willing to take it after the events of the last couple days.

  His features twisted up in malevolence, it was clear there was much more Aquino wanted to throw back. Fiery retorts to what was just said. Expletives aimed at Reed and Billie and whoever shot his sister and the universe as a whole.

  Words he just managed to keep bottled up, his shoulders rising as he drew in deep breaths.

  “You really think you’re that good, white boy?” he eventually muttered. “You and that dog?”

  Knowing better than to unfurl just yet, to offer even the slightest crack in the shared stance, Reed met Aquino’s glare.

  “There’s a reason the governor called and gave this case to us specifically.”

  The man’s lips twisted to the side as he considered the answer. More loud breaths escaped him as he thought on it, eventually extending a single finger and tapping it against the tabletop.

  “If I help you, the twins go free. No charges, no questions asked.”

  In just thirteen words, Reed had two bits of information. One the question he had posed just moments before, asking Aquino if the guys were sent on his command.

  The other, something he and Chief Liam Scott discussed the night before, speculating that the guys with matching hair and jackets were brothers.

  “They’re being held for forty-eight hours while my partner and I investigate,” Reed said. “But we’re not interested in them. You help us, they’ll be home by Friday.”

  Again, Reed could tell that his response wasn’t exactly what Aquino was looking for. Returning to his previous pose, he continued tapping at the table before ultimately coming to a complete standstill, his gaze rising to meet Reed’s.

  “You can question a lot of things about me, but being a brother isn’t one of them. You better find this guy and you better kill him, or I will.

  “Nobody messes with my girl.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The drive from the Ross Correctional Institution to the Columbus Police Department Headquarters took right at forty-five minutes. A rate that was a full twelve minutes faster than the GPS on Reed’s phone predicted, a direct result of him pushing hard on the gas the entire time.

  A combination of anticipation and the adrenaline from the meeting with Aquino and some of the Mountain Dew still lingering in his system. An elixir of chemicals both natural and ingested resulting in a physiological state Billie had easily grasped, spending most of the drive alternating between her two favorite positions in the backseat. An ongoing shifting that was something akin to pacing, her profile passing in and out of the rearview mirror in equal intervals.

  A rhythmic visual matching the disparate internal spikes Reed felt starting with that initial call from Chief Brandt and only growing since. An ongoing series of successive peaks that he didn’t think could possibly continue climbing, though knew better than to jinx by actually saying aloud.

  Especially given the stop he was about to make before meeting with Lieutenant Schoen.

  Leaving his sedan parked in the metered stalls along the street, Reed affixed Billie’s short lead. Both of them still surging on the energy of their earlier interview, they practically sprinted up the front steps and through the main entrance, no doubt drawing more than a few stares in their wake.

  Looks ranging from open curiosity to hostile annoyance that Reed completely disregarded, not having the time or the interest in engaging in such trivial matters.

  Not with things so much higher on his list resting just upstairs.

  Opting for the stairs over waiting for an elevator, Reed led Billie to the second floor, the two of them stepping into the holding area outside of Chief Brandt’s office almost two days to the minute after their initial appearance. A summoning that was rife with just as many thoughts and concerns, nearly all of them resting on the far opposite end of the spectrum from what was currently roiling through him.

  “Good morning, detectives,” Dorothy said as they entered. Seated in her usual position, she peered at them over the top of her glasses, the only discernible difference in her appearance between this visit and the last being the color of the cardigan she wore.

  Peach, swapped out for the previous lavender.

  A predilection for light colors serving as a stark contrast to her steel gray hair and stony demeanor.

  “Good morning, Dorothy,” Reed said.

  “We weren’t expecting you back so soon.”

  A comment that could easily be interpreted as an accusation, Reed replied, “Trust me, we weren’t expecting to be here, either. Is the chief in?”

  “She is, but she’s on a call,” Dorothy replied. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “We just need five minutes with her,” Reed said.

  The corners of her mouth hooking down into a frown, Dorothy glanced away for the first time since their arrival. Looking to the telephone resting atop her desk, she checked the glowing lights of red and green flashing atop it, waiting the better part of a minute before extending a hand and taking up the receiver.

  Pressing a single button, she held it to her face, speaking in a tone too low for Reed to make out. Clandestine whispers that he would have found annoying if not for the fact that they culminated a moment later with the door behind her swinging open to reveal Chief Brandt.

  Hands both thrust into the front pockets of her uniform trousers, she wore an expression matching that of her secretary. An open frown that she made no effort to hide as she passed her gaze over Reed and Billie both before saying, simply, “Detectives.”

  “Chief,” Reed replied. “We’re here for a meeting upstairs, but wanted to stop by for just a minute first.”

  Again, Brandt’s gaze went the length of them, ending with a slight nod. “Okay, but it has to be quick. I’m supposed to be on a call with the may
or’s office at noon.”

  Having no intention of the meeting going anywhere near that long, Reed followed the woman as she turned and headed back into her office.

  Like clockwork, Dorothy rose from her seat behind them, pulling the door shut in their wake.

  A good call on her part, Reed absolutely positive nobody wanted what was about to be discussed being heard outside of the office.

  “Who are you meeting with upstairs?” Brandt asked, tossing the question out as she turned her chair to face forward and lowered herself down into it.

  “Lieutenant Sam Schoen from Gun Crimes,” Reed said. “He’s normally out of the 3rd, but asked us to meet him here.”

  “Right,” Brandt said, appearing to know both the man and the meeting that had brought him to the headquarters. “Aquino?”

  “Looking that way,” Reed said, knowing the answer was a massive oversimplification, but not wanting to get into the full rundown of everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.

  Especially not when granted only a few minutes of face time as was.

  “Which is actually the reason why we’re here.”

  Her brows rising, Brandt asked, “Aquino?”

  “Yes,” Reed replied, pausing there for a moment.

  So many times in the hour since leaving the prison, he’d tried to formulate the best way to ask what he was about to. An equal amount, he’d wondered if he even should at all.

  A back-and-forth in his head that had ended with him opting to simply toss it out there and hope for the best, the desire to know not necessarily having any bearing on this case, but dictating how most everything else for them would look going forward.

  “Did he know?”

  Again, Brandt’s eyebrows rose. Somehow climbing even higher than before, she let the unspoken question linger a moment before adding, “Did who know what?”

  “Governor Cowan,” Reed said. “Did he know?”

  Leaving it there, Reed watched as his question landed. Brandt’s features retreated to their default setting as she turned her focus to the side, looking to the windows lining the side of her office.

  “Did he know that the victim in the very first case he assigned you also happened to be closely related to a criminal of such renown that he had an entire task force dedicated to him not that long ago?” Brandt asked, putting to words exactly what Reed had been debating for well over thirty-six hours.

  Since Harrison first delivered the news of his wife’s maiden name, Reed hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that if Governor Cowan did know, they were done. He and Billie would both tenure their resignation and walk away, effective as soon as this case was completed.

  Only through a great deal of cajoling had they reluctantly agreed to take on this new role to begin with. He’d be damned if the whole thing was nothing more than using them to chase headline cases that the governor might be able to siphon a bit of exposure from.

  Thoughts that Reed had sat on while down in Gallipolis, but now that he was within just a few feet of the chief’s office, he could not pass up the opportunity to voice in person.

  “Did he?” Reed asked.

  “If he did,” Brandt said, shifting her gaze back to meet his, “he never mentioned one word of it to me.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Lieutenant Sam Schoen drew a pair of Gatorades out of the minifridge plugged into the wall by the corner of the desk. A small, squat model found in dorm rooms across the country, large enough to hold no more than a handful of items at a time.

  Something the man seemed to be quite cognizant of as he placed the bottles atop the fridge and immediately replaced them with two more from the case on the floor beside it. A constant ongoing cycle meant to always maintain a supply of chilled electrolytes.

  Or to simply mask the fact that he had taken some from the fridge, the office they were seated in decidedly not his, as evidenced by the abundance of photos lining the shelves and filling the picture frames on the wall. Images all depicting a plump man with rosy cheeks and a flattop, his features almost cherubic as he beamed at the camera.

  Holding a fruit punch in one hand and a lemon lime in the other, Schoen extended them both to Reed. Wagging them an inch or two to either side, he waited as Reed selected the fruit punch with a nod of thanks before retreating back behind the desk.

  “Seems like I’m over here all the damn time anymore,” Schoen said, “so Pete lets me use his office whenever I need to step away.”

  Plenty familiar with the department’s growing obsession with task forces and focus groups, Reed wasn’t surprised.

  In a division with the visibility of Gun Crimes, he guessed it was even worse than most.

  “Appreciate you making the time,” Reed said, cracking open the top of the Gatorade. “I know we just kind of got dumped in your lap these last couple days.”

  “Like I said earlier,” Schoen replied, “I’d much rather be up here than sitting around another platter of ham sandwiches, suffering through small talk.”

  Even having not eaten a thing since the breakfast sandwich at the gas station in Gallipolis hours before, Reed couldn’t imagine being forced to endure such a thing, no ham and cheese in the world good enough to make him willingly go through that.

  A comment he left aside for the time being, not knowing how much time the lieutenant had and not wanting to squander any of it bemoaning the growing amount of red tape that came with the job.

  “I was able to link up with Chief Scott down on the river after we got off the phone earlier,” Schoen said. “Had to sit through the entire rundown of things again before he eventually got around to the reason we were talking, though his version and yours didn’t quite match, if you catch my drift.”

  Leaving it there, he didn’t detail out exactly what he meant, though the underlying sentiment was pretty clear.

  To those that had been on the ground the night before, the chief’s role was – at most – as a sort of air traffic controller. Someone that was serving as a contact point for Reed and the pair of officers out running the streets, left behind to maintain a loose watch on the prisoner and be around if anything new arose.

  To hear him tell it, Reed had no doubt that he had been out sprinting through the back alley, tracking the men down on foot and dragging them back to the station himself.

  A heightened version of what Jimmy Rambis was going through, the night probably the most exciting in the multi-century history of the town. An event that would be talked about at the diner and around water coolers, growing to take on mythic proportions.

  Stories in need of a hero, Scott already jockeying to put himself at the front of the list.

  “Anything on the pictures?” Reed asked.

  Placing his opened beverage down on the desk before him, Schoen removed his cellphone from its clip on his belt. Jabbing at it with both thumbs, he said, “I blasted them out to my guys in the field and one of our undercovers came back and said he recognized them as the Oxiles twins.”

  “Oxiles,” Reed repeated. An exotic name he wasn’t familiar with, though it would certainly explain the dark complexion and ambiguous facial structures.

  “My guy said they’ve been laying low for a while and their hair is a lot longer than he remembered, but he has no doubt it’s them.”

  “Their prints weren’t in the system,” Reed said. “You guys have much on them?”

  “Not really,” Schoen said. “Muscle-for-hire types, but thus far, they’ve been pretty smart. Don’t really attach to any particular group, don’t take on anything that could draw down too much heat.”

  Nodding slightly, Reed shifted his focus over to Billie. Moving his hand to the thick tufts along the back of her neck, he kneaded the underlying skin softly, processing what was just shared.

  Outside of the billy clubs the men were carrying at Smokey Jo’s, they had no weapons on them. Nothing lethal or illegal that would be grounds for a felony arrest.

  The car they drove was clean. Even if
the paperwork was a bit suspect, there were no drugs or anything illicit anywhere.

  Had things at the bar not escalated, they likely would have been noticed for their peculiar appearance in a town like Gallipolis, but nothing more.

  “Aquino admitted a little while ago that they were his,” Reed said. “He didn’t know it was going to be them in particular, but he confessed that he’d made a call, wanted to have a couple guys go take a look.”

  “A job best farmed out to people unaffiliated,” Schoen added, “for obvious reasons.”

  Nodding, Reed lifted the Gatorade. Tilting it back, he allowed a quarter of its contents to slide back his throat, feeling the cooling sensation travel down through his chest.

  “He have anything else to say?” Schoen asked.

  After going through the paces of matching the man’s hubris and essentially tricking him into opening up, Reed had managed to get Aquino talking. Begrudging answers to each of the questions he posed a day before, the sum total falling well short of what they were hoping for.

  “Not really,” Reed said. “As he said the first time we met, he was the empire. When he went away, it all came to an end. Any enemies he had were business, not personal.

  “He couldn’t imagine anybody still harboring that kind of grudge, let alone three years after the fact.”

  “And to act on it in such a manner,” Schoen added. “You go after a guy’s family...”

  “He said that too,” Reed replied. “One of those unspoken rules that everybody abides by. A piranhas-never-eat-each-other sort of thing.”

  One corner of Schoen’s mouth turned up, a smirk rocking his head back an inch. “I’m guessing those are your words and not his, but I still like it. Along those lines, after our talk the other night, I put out some feelers yesterday to see if there was anybody new on the scene.

  “Anyone that might be looking to make a name by pissing all over those old rules.”

  A common practice in the criminal underworld, Reed had seen it before. An attempt to topple the existing hierarchy, hoping that a sudden infusion of youth and ruthlessness might be enough to avoid spending decades waiting their turn.