No Stopping

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No Stopping Page 13

by Nolon King


  His gaze locked with Mal’s, and she knew he meant it. Dodd’s eyes had the same disgusting gleam.

  Tommy spun around.

  Mal wanted to draw her weapon on him now.

  Kill him.

  Kill him now before he makes good on his promise.

  But she couldn’t shoot him in the back. It was one thing to kill Dodd even as he tried to turn himself in. Even if someone tried to convict her, no jury would put her away when they saw all she’d been through.

  This wasn’t the same.

  This was a man telling her to stay away from his family. Yes, he threatened to kill his wife, his daughter, and probably Mal too, but that wasn’t something she could prove, and nothing a jury would give a damn about. She’d be destroying her life and turning Tommy into a martyr if she shot him.

  Maggie would see him as a victim, and tell her daughter about how Daddy was killed by this crazy cop lady she met in NA.

  Mal could only watch him walk away and get in his car. Listen to him peeling out. Sneer as she stared at him flipping her off.

  She got back in her car and put her gun in the glovebox.

  Spent a minute hitting the steering wheel as she screamed.

  Then she thought of a way to bring him down. A way to make him fuck his own life.

  She just needed to give him a push.

  Chapter 21 - Jasper Parish

  “What is it?” Jordyn asked.

  Jasper stared at the box, large enough to hold a football helmet, but it only held a single photograph of him in his car. Grainy, likely taken with a telephoto lens.

  He wasn’t sure if the picture had been taken earlier today or at some other time. Whatever the case, they had been watching him when he hadn’t even known it — when Jordyn hadn’t even sensed it.

  Had they followed him?

  Did they know who he was?

  Or where he was staying?

  Jasper paced the roadside, considering his next best move.

  “What is it, Dad?” Her voice was nervous, bordering on scared.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit,” Jordyn said, marching toward him. “What is it?”

  He didn’t want to show her. Didn’t want her worrying. But he was worried, so he had to show her. It was only fair.

  Jasper showed her the picture.

  “What the hell? Are they following us?” Jordyn asked. “How did I not pick up on it? Shit! Why’d they put the pic in the box?”

  “I’m guessing they wanted to send a message.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “They want us to back off. They’re telling me they know who I am. Even if they don’t know yet, it’s only a matter of time.”

  “And then what?” her voice hitched between the last two words.

  “Then we need to run.”

  “We should run now, Dad.”

  “And leave Spider to them?”

  Jordyn turned. Now she was pacing. A long growl preceded her scream.

  “Shhhh, don’t want to attract anyone.” He looked at his car, all four tires flattened by a spike strip. Needed to wipe it down for prints and any other evidence that could possibly link it to him, then get the hell out of there and head for home.

  He folded the photo, shoved it into his pocket. Kicked the box into the woods. Rushed back to the car then called Kim. “Hey, you got anyone who can come get a car with four flats? They can strip it or whatever.”

  “Yeah, I might be able to find someone.”

  “Good.” He gave her the details then hung up.

  Jordyn looked at her father. “What now?”

  “Now we call for a ride and get to the garage.”

  The garage was Jasper’s safehouse just outside Creek County — an old shop he’d bought under an alias that stored his cars, all purchases made under assumed names. There was an apartment above it where Jordyn was getting into one of the two beds while he checked the security feeds on the closed-circuit televisions.

  Jasper figured they were safe here, that nobody had followed them, but he couldn’t sleep before running through his security protocols, anyway.

  A text came from Mallory. Need to talk. Can you call?

  “Hey, it’s me,” Jasper said when she answered.

  “My partner wants to ask you about a couple of people you might know something about. He suspects you’re not dead. He might be closer to sure of it.”

  Jasper sighed. “You told him?”

  “No, but my partner knows when I’m lying.”

  “So, what are you suggesting? I’m in the middle of trying to help Spider, and there’s some Russian dude trying to kill me. Are you suggesting I turn myself in?”

  “So, that tip didn’t help?”

  “I got a tracker on his car but they found it. And …” He was going to tell her they had his picture and it wouldn’t be long before his face was out there. But he could still contain this. It wasn’t in Victor’s interest to flush him out, not while Jasper still had something he wanted.

  “And what?” Mallory asked.

  “And some Russian dude nearly killed me.”

  “So, you’re no closer to finding her? Why not just tip off the feds?”

  “Who knows how many feds or politicians are on that drive? How many people want this thing buried? I can’t trust anybody else on this.”

  “I know a guy at the FBI, good, honest—”

  “Only myself. Thanks for the help. I’ll figure something else out.”

  “And then will you talk to Mike?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  But she didn’t hang up. And in her silence, Jasper sensed she wanted to say something else. “What is it?”

  More silence, then in a trembling voice, perhaps even fueled by tears, Mallory said, “I get why you do it now.”

  “What?”

  “The whole vigilante thing. I didn’t understand it before. But I do now.”

  “This about Dodd? You feeling bad about what went down?” Jasper was careful not to say anything that might condemn her. The call was encrypted, but still, the caution was necessary. “Don’t feel bad. Fucker deserved it. There were no other options.”

  “Sure there were. And I … well, I made the choice. Now I have to live with it.”

  Mallory was quiet again. Her voice reminded him of the people on the other end of a helpline, someone on the edge of suicide. She wasn’t anywhere close to okay.

  “Are you all right?”

  Mallory laughed, sniffing back tears. “I’m fan-fucking-tastic, pal.”

  “It’s not your fault what happened. I can’t imagine the hell he put you both through. What he did to your daughter — I only wish I’d found him sooner.”

  “You and me both.” Mallory choked on a sigh. “You ever feel guilty?”

  Jasper wondered if she was recording the call, something she could use as a confession. He considered mentioning what she’d done in Mexico so they’d both be incriminated, but the pain in Mallory’s voice was enough to cloud all her thoughts. He didn’t want to throw her under the bus, even if she was trying to bring him in.

  “Why would I feel guilty? I’m protecting people who can’t protect themselves, stopping the bad guys the law can’t or won’t stop.”

  Jordyn sat up in bed, staring at her father and shaking her head. “Be careful what you say, Dad.”

  Mallory didn’t seem to be debating him like before. She was wrestling with her own regrets. And if she wasn’t careful in the aftermath of what happened with Dodd, she’d end up in the darkest and most self-destructive of places.

  “I’ve not hurt anyone who hasn’t one thousand percent deserved it or who wouldn’t have gone on to hurt others without my intervention,” Jasper continued. “You think Paul Dodd would’ve stopped if he’d been arrested in Mexico? We both know his money and connections would’ve gotten him out. Especially down there, where they allowed a place like Paraíso to exist in the first place, and right under their noses. He would hav
e escaped, then raped and murdered even more children. Him dying was a net positive for this world. Nobody mourns him, and nobody should feel bad about what happened. Nobody.”

  “What would you do if you thought someone was going to do something bad, but they didn’t yet?” Mallory asked after a long silence. “Could you justify that?”

  “Like I said before, I know.”

  “But what if you didn’t.”

  “Then I wouldn’t act. I’m not the crazy monster you think I am.”

  “Right. You’re a psychic.”

  “You still don’t believe me?”

  “Mike thinks you had something to do with Dodd.”

  “What do you think? You think I’d have something to do with that sick fuck?”

  “I don’t know what to think, anymore. You’re asking me to believe something impossible to prove.”

  Jasper had a way to prove it, a way she wouldn’t have any choice but to believe, but showing her might not be the best idea and could very well piss her off.

  But she was in doubt, and he needed her to believe him.

  “Do you remember buying that lottery ticket?” Jasper asked.

  “What?”

  “Your winning ticket. You don’t remember buying it, do you?”

  “Um … why?”

  “I think you know why.”

  “No, I really don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “I knew the numbers ahead of time. I bought the ticket and left it in your house.”

  “What?”

  “I wanted to help you after what happened with Ashley. It was the only thing I could think to do to help from afar, after I saw how much everything was falling apart.”

  “You broke into my house and gave me a winning lottery ticket?” She laughed, clearly uncomfortable. “Bullshit.”

  “Hold on a minute …” Jasper went to his phone and pulled up the photo he’d taken of the winning ticket in his hand then sent it to her. “Check your phone.”

  “What the fuck? Why would you do that?”

  “I was trying to help you.”

  “Help me or assuage your guilt?”

  “What?”

  “You trying to buy peace of mind for all the deaths you’re responsible for?”

  “Peace of mind? I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but I don’t feel remorse for any of them. Period. And I’d do each and every one of them again if it meant keeping people like you, Jessi, and Ashley alive.”

  “Don’t you say her name. Don’t use her to justify what you’ve done.”

  Mallory hung up on him.

  He called back, wondering why she was so mad and wanting to apologize. He knew she might get upset if he told her about the ticket, angry he’d broken in or maybe she’d consider it blood money, but this rage was born somewhere else, perhaps from her guilt over killing Paul Dodd.

  Mallory didn’t answer.

  He texted back: I’m sorry. I only want to help.

  No response.

  Chapter 22 - Mallory Black

  It was too damned early to be up, let alone looking to score.

  But after a night without any shuteye, she sure as hell didn’t feel like waiting.

  Mal drove her rental into the Butler projects, ponytail tucked into her Marlins cap and oversized shades covering her face.

  A few Butler PD cars were patrolling the streets. None of the corner boys were out slinging. This time of morning would normally have one cruiser on duty, definitely not the three she’d spotted already. She should have probably checked the news before driving over. Shit was clearly going down.

  Everyone got antsy when the cops patrolled. Made it a lot harder for Mal to make the kind of deal she wanted to make.

  She’d have to be careful. She could easily get pulled over. A white woman on this side of town driving around without any apparent direction meant only one thing. The Butler cops knew her, and she could easily lie her way out of an awkward situation, but she preferred invisibility whenever possible.

  Mal drove by Butler Veteran’s Park, a large chunk of land located smack in the middle of the city, the kind of place people once brought their kids before the playgrounds were worn away to urban disease, before the basketball pavement cracked and the hoops lost their nets and chains. It was the kind of place clearly living on borrowed time, waiting for a repaving and conversion into an overflow parking lot for the Butler Courthouse a few blocks away.

  The county’s four courts were always packed, no matter the time of day, until after the park closed and the lights went off. Mal scanned the crowd searching for one dealer in particular — Logic, real name Pervis Evans. One of the bigger dealers. The police couldn’t touch him because he was too damned careful. He was loved in the projects because he took care of his neighborhood, funding the families who needed him most, even if he was helping to decay it from the inside out.

  No Logic, but Mal kept driving until she saw someone else who might be able to help her.

  She parked then walked the cracked asphalt trail, overgrown with grass and weeds in too many places, until she came upon the table where an old black man was playing chess with a Hispanic teen.

  “Hey, Doc,” Mal said as she approached.

  Real name, James Fowler. Native to Butler, Doc ran a barbershop until he retired six years ago. If there someone was worth knowing, he knew them. And nobody fucked with Doc. Not rival gangs, not thieves or muggers, and not the most desperate of crackheads looking to score. Doing so was sacrilege and would earn the offender any number of hard-ass gangsters out for their ass.

  Doc looked up at Mal, rolled his eyes, then cast his gaze back down to the chessboard. The teen was a chubby kid, around twelve, in a black hoodie, green shorts, sandals, and giant glasses that doubled the size of his eyes. A faded red and blue skateboard lay on the ground right next to him.

  “Can I get next?” Mal asked.

  “Five bucks a game.” Doc tapped the table where two five-dollar bills sat under a rock next to a bunch of white pieces, all belonging to the kid.

  Mal reached into her pocket and dropped a twenty, the smallest bill she had, onto the table. “How about four games?”

  The kid looked up at Mal, oblivious. “Wow, you must really like chess.”

  “Nah,” Doc laughed. “She’s just got a crush on me.”

  The kid eyed Mal like he thought Doc might be serious. “For real?”

  “What? You think I don’t have game anymore?”

  “I dunno.” The kid laughed. “She seems a bit young for you.”

  Mal smiled. “What can I say? I like men who were in the Civil War.”

  Doc rolled his eyes again then took the kid’s last decent piece, a bishop. “Checkmate.”

  The kid looked stunned, “How’d … aw, man.”

  “Come back tomorrow. We’ll play for free.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You beat me, I’ll give you today’s fiver back.”

  “Really?” The kid was beaming. “All right, Doc, See ya.”

  He took off on his skateboard, his wheels crunching on the bumpy trail.

  Mal sat. “Shit, Doc, now you’re taking money from kids?”

  “What do you want, Detective?”

  “I’m sort of on the outs with the bosses right now. I’m not here as a detective.”

  “Have anything to do with that Mexico shit, or those bruises under your glasses, maybe that shit Cameron Ford’s been bitching about on his idiotic website?”

  “Just needed a break.”

  “Mm-hmm … at least have the decency to look me in the eyes when you’re lyin’ to my face.”

  Mal took off her glasses then dropped them on the table next to her twenty.

  Doc wrinkled his face in disgust. “Jesus, woman, put them back on. Who did that to you? Want me to sic some dudes on his ass?”

  She returned the shades to her face with a smile. “Wasn’t a him, was a tree.”

  “Uh-huh. So, what you doi
n’ here?” Doc started returning his pieces to the board. “And damn, get your side ready. Bad enough I’m talking to a cop, don’t need anyone seeing you not playin’.”

  Mal didn’t need to look over at the basketball courts to know at least a few of the men had taken note of his playing partner. They couldn’t recognize her with her hoodie and shades and hat, but they sure as hell knew Doc was playing with someone suspicious.

  “Ladies first,” he said after she’d set up her pieces.

  Mal moved a pawn forward one spot . “I’m looking for Logic.”

  Doc moved one of his pawns two spots forward, no trepidation.

  She hadn’t played chess in forever, not since she refused to let her daughter win without earning it.

  She thought of Ashley smiling the first time she’d beaten her mother, at only eight years old. She’d been so proud, but not half as proud as Mal had been of her baby girl.

  “Why you lookin’ for him?”

  “I need a favor. And he owes me.” Mal moved another pawn, already doubting her moves.

  “Oh?” Doc moved a knight into play. “What kind of favor?”

  “The kind it’s best not to ask about.” She countered by offering a pawn as sacrifice.

  “He in trouble?”

  “No, I swear. It’s got nothing to do with the job.”

  “You know I ain’t a snitch.”

  “And you know I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Fair enough.” They traded pieces and a few more moves.

  Mal didn’t need to remind him she’d helped close a number of murders in the com,munity, including a racially motivated atrocity. A double slaying a few years back where an angry redneck had murdered a mixed-race teenage couple making out in their car.

  “Yeah, you always shot straight with me. Tell ya’ what, you give me a number he can call you at, and I’ll pass it on.”

  After Mal made a move, she reached into her hoodie, pulled out a notepad, then scribbled the number to her second phone.

  “He’ll remember me.” She stood. “And thank you.”

  Doc tapped the table three times with him. “Where do you think you’re going? You’ve got three more games to finish.”

  “Well,” Mal said, looking down at their unfinished game. “Actually, four.”

 

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