by Jayne Blue
“I’m okay. I got it handled. I just needed a pick-me-up.”
She tried to focus on me. Her pupils were wide as saucers and the whites of her eyes were now a muted pink. She took a staggering step forward.
“Bella, you don’t have anything handled. You need to get your act together. I can’t have you in my bar right now.”
“Come on. Dev, please. Don’t make a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be. We’re family here.”
“I am done, Kinney,” I said; rage made a hammer blow inside my chest. “I can’t have this shit going on here.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “She had a bad week. Her ex filed some court papers.”
I bit my tongue. Kinney stepped around us and started leading Bella up the stairs.
“No!” I said. “You want to take care of this? You get her out of here and to the hospital. She needs a doctor. She needs help.”
“You gotta give her another chance,” Kinney said.
I looked back. Jase had squatted back down next to the dumpster. He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and picked up an empty syringe between his fingers.
“Jesus,” I said, tearing a hand through my hair. Floyd stood holding the back door open as Kinney brought a listing Bella through.Floyd snorted through his nostrils. I couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off at Bella or Kinney.
Jase stood at the bottom of the stairs holding the syringe in the handkerchief. I couldn’t read him. He was pissed, that was clear. We all were. This was a hell of an introduction to the job. God knows what ran through his mind. This wasn’t the kind of place I ran. He could do anything. He could call the cops. He could quit on the spot. He looked up at me, then back at the syringe. He worked something out for himself, took a deep breath, and then flicked the syringe into the dumpster, handkerchief and all.
“You gonna be responsible for her?” he said to Kinney as he took the stairs two at a time and brushed past me heading back into the kitchen.
Bella leaned against Kinney with her head on his shoulder. She flashed Jase a peace sign and started to giggle. I wanted to fucking strangle her, but my heart thudded with relief that it looked like the crisis was passed.
“Yeah,” Kinney said, his eyes on me.
“Take her home,” Jase said. “See if you can get her to throw up. A lot. Then get as much water down her as you can.”
Kinney nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Thanks, man. Thanks, Devin.”
I put a hand up. “Don’t start. Do everything Jase said. I’ll cover the bar. And as soon as Bella’s lucid again, tell her she’s fired.”
Kinney opened his mouth to protest but thought the better of it as I brushed past him and headed back to the bar. I turned at the last second and looked at Jase. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, chest heaving with the same contained rage I felt.
“Well,” I said. “Welcome to The Dive Bar. You’re hired.”
Chapter Three
Jase
Shady Pines Rehabilitation Center It was an odd place for a clandestine meeting, but as I pulled into the parking lot, I kind of got it. Though I didn’t see a pine tree anywhere, there was plenty of shade. Large red maple trees provided a natural canopy over the sidewalk. Round stone tables lined the yard on either side. They were all empty now save for one. I parked as far away from the entrance as I could and walked toward the table closest to the entryway of the red brick building with darkened windows.
He sat with his back facing me, in a gray suit that stretched tight through the shoulders. His bald head gleamed under the noon sun and he sipped from a Styrofoam travel mug. Not one of the fancy ones you get at Starbucks. One of the shitty paper ones you get at the gas station. He didn’t turn when I approached but he knew I was there. Probably made me the second I turned in from the street.
I did a quick scan of our surroundings. I know he would have done the same thing before I got here, but it never hurt to have a second pair of eyes. At least fifty yards from the front of the building, I doubted anyone sitting inside would think much of the two of us sitting at that table. No foot traffic. It was just us. Two guys, hanging out on a crisp summer morning drinking shitty coffee.
He didn’t look up from his mug when I sat on the opposite bench. Stan Lewandowski, Chief of Police, Northpointe PD ran his thumb along the rolled edge of his coffee cup and squinted at me. He looked older than his nearly sixty years. Deep lines ran across his forehead and creased his doughy face. He had a dark mole high on his left cheekbone. His brown tie looked like it probably matched the shitty coffee more than it did his dark gray suit. I’d bet a million dollars the white dress shirt beneath it had short sleeves.
He leaned across the table and held out his hand to shake mine. We’d done this before, the first time I met him a few weeks ago at some seedy bar ten miles out of town. He’d chosen the meeting place then just as he did today and just like then, I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d agreed to come. Why I’d agreed to do any of it this far. I took his hand and shook it hard. Stan took another sip of coffee and screwed up his face as it went down.
“Well,” he said. “What’d you think?”
So that’s where we’d start. No bullshit. He’d been that way the last time too and he knew I appreciated it. He’d offered me a job, sort of. He knew I might just be desperate enough to take it. Because he also knew right now, he was the only one asking.
“You might have told me about the girl.”
Lewandowski narrowed his eyes and sat up straighter. His surprise seemed genuine. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. “What girl?”
“Devin Marsh. She’s a woman.”
“No shit?” He whistled low. “I swear to God I didn’t know that. Pretty?”
The question took me aback. But of course, he was watching my face for cues the same as I was watching his. Damn. I was rusty. I smiled. Stan dropped his head and nodded.
“Well, what do you think?”
I spread my hands across the rough stone table. I knew what he wanted. Had known the second my phone rang those few weeks ago. I’d been dancing around an answer for him ever since. Last night was just one more attempt on my part to stall.
Did I want this? Was I really sitting here thinking about getting dragged back into this shit? I barely knew the guy and owed him nothing. And yet, he seemed to know me pretty damn well. Understood the thrill that ran through my veins at the prospect of taking a case like this. It was raw. Dirty. Dangerous. It had all the elements I liked and something more if everything he promised me was true. It would be mine.
“She gave me a job,” I said. “Dishwasher.”
Stan let out a snort. “I’d like to see that.”
“Don’t knock it. It’s not that far off from being the only gig I can get at the moment.”
“Yeah. Well, see, that’s lucky for me, isn’t it? But dishwasher? That doesn’t really help us out much, Jase. What the hell good are you to me shoved in the back of a greasy kitchen?”
“Hey, for one thing, I haven’t said I’m taking this job or helping you out at all. For another, you ever worked as a dishwasher before? I have. It’s like being the invisible man. People say shit.”
“Oh, you’ll take the fucking job. I know you, Jase.”
“The hell you do. You don’t know anything about me, Chief Lew.” I put the emphasis on the word ‘Lew.’ I knew he didn’t like it. It was a nickname that stuck when the mayor appointed him a few years ago. The asshole introduced him that way to the press. I knew because I looked up the footage online. I saw the way his shoulders dropped when that smarmy son of a bitch slapped Stan Lewandowski on the back. I’d watched it a dozen times or more. Plus every other clip I could find of the guy. I needed to know. Have some inkling if he was who he said he was. Or whether he was just another fucking political puppet who’d look the other way and let his town go down the drain while he built his golden parachute.
“I know you. You think you’re the only one who did his homework? I know what happened in
Lincolnshire.”
My pulse quickened as rage simmered to the surface. I didn’t want to talk about Lincolnshire. I didn’t want to think about my last day on the job when my own chief of police called me into his office looking smug. He’d been gunning for me for months. My name … my real name, did me no favors. My face did me even less. I looked exactly like my brother, Colt. The Reddick boys were as identical as it got. Colt was president of the Great Wolves Motorcycle Club and I got to live with his reputation. Warranted or not.
“You don’t know shit,” I said.
“You know what they say about you, don’t you? They say you’re dirty. My contacts in Lincolnshire say the rumor is you tampered with evidence that would have put your brother’s MC out of business. That true?”
“If you believed it, why the hell would you ask me to come out here? Do you already have your mind made up about me?”
Stan pursed his lips and ran his thumb over the rough stone pattern on the table top. “I have other contacts that say it was all a bunch of trumped-up bullshit. Your brother’s club is clean and you just didn’t know how to play well with others.”
I didn’t answer. He hadn’t really asked me a question, yet. I stared straight ahead.
Stan reached across the table and put his hand on my forearm. I went rigid and clenched my fist but he didn’t let go. “Listen to me. I have every reason not to trust you either. But you agreed to meet me the first time. You listened to what I had to say. And you came. You’re in this now. I know you are. And I need you.”
“Why?” I pulled my arm away. “I keep on asking you that and you’ve yet to give me a straight answer. Why me? Why exactly are you looking to contract this out? I have no ties to Northpointe. You think I give two shits what happens to this town? Don’t throw Lincolnshire in my face. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You mean to tell me you don’t have a single guy on vice that you trust with this case? Not one good cop?”
Stan fingered the rim of his cup. “I honestly don’t fucking know, Jase. That’s the goddamn truth. Just like I don’t fucking know for sure if you’re one. I’ve gotten nothing but asses and elbows every time I’ve tried to deal with the real problem in this town. Kids are dying. Do you get that? Dying. You know I sat awake last night wishing I just had some serial killer to deal with. How fucked up is that?”
He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small baggie filled with white powder and tossed it across the table to me. “Hot Shot. That’s what they’re calling it. Fentanyl-laced crap.”
I fingered the bag and rolled it in my palm. He’d told me this before too. Heroin. Pure. Lethal. Like China White but even more deadly. I’d heard rumors of the stuff down south, but hadn’t realized it had made it this far north.
“It’s coming through Canada,” he said. “We had an operation at the port. Found out they were shipping it across the Detroit River. Northpointe is the hub. Ground fucking zero. My town. We were this close to taking that mother fucker out. Cyrus Marsh. Ask around, you’ll see his name on everything. He owns this town, Jase. He’s got the mayor, the DA, the port authority, all of ’em on lock. The feds were closing in. We were helping out at the local level as part of a task force. They promised me the case was ironclad and then poof, it all fell apart. I don’t know what happened. Somebody got to somebody.”
“And kids started dying again.” Stan nodded. I tossed the baggie back to him and lay my hands flat on the table. Bella, the waitress from last night, flashed in my mind. Those glassy eyes as she stared up at me. There’d been a second or two where she was flat out gone. If I hadn’t gone out to that alley when I did, God knows what might have happened.
“You need me as much as I need you,” Stan said. “Let’s not pretend that’s not true, Jase. You don’t want to talk about Lincolnshire, but I think we need to.”
My back stiffened and I balled my hands into fists. Again, I was about to get up and walk. Something about Stan’s eyes made me stop. A mixture of desperation and stony resolve.
“You’re a cop, Jase. You can’t get it out of your system any more than I can. Working with me is the only way you’re going to get to keep being one. You didn’t take a leave of absence from the Lincolnshire PD. They drummed you out on your ass. Took your gun and badge. Might as well have castrated you, right?”
“Fuck you, Lew.” He was right though. Castration. That’s exactly what it fucking felt like. I never thought I would miss my badge and gun until they took it away from me for something I didn’t do.
“Right. Fuck me. Except you know there’s nobody left to give you a chance. Whether your brother’s club is legit doesn’t matter. People believe what they want about him and about you.”
I dug my fingers into my palm until I drew blood. Dammit, he was right and he knew it. I was fucked the minute they sewed that patch on my brother’s cut. Lincolnshire had its own problems. A corrupt mayor and dirty cops all the way up the line. I pissed the wrong one off and Stan was right. I gave my soul to this job and now I had nothing left.
Stan slammed his fist against the table. “Look, I’m not here to bust your balls about family business. I’m here because I’ve run out of options. But so have you. And I can give you something you’ve never had before. A fresh start. Free rein. I mean it. This case is yours. One hundred percent. Whatever you need. I’ve got some money tucked away they don’t know about. This operation will be off book, but fully funded.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a fat brown envelope, then he tossed it to me, hitting me square in the chest.
“That’s your first month’s salary. Fifteen grand. You’re not gonna get rich working for me, but we’re gonna win. We’re gonna take that son of a bitch out and get that shit off my streets. And when it’s over, I don’t figure your life is going to be that much different than it is now. They aren’t going to pin any medals on either one of us. If I’m lucky, I’ll get phased retirement. And if I’m real lucky, I’ll still get my pension. You probably won’t get much more than a few more envelopes like that. But that’s not why either of us became cops, is it?”
I gripped the envelope but didn’t put it in my pocket. God, it was tempting. He did know just what to say to pique my interest. My investigation. No interference. Bringing down a scumbag who was killing kids.
“Tell me what happened last night,” he said.
I bit my lip then let out a breath. I hadn’t said yes yet, but my blood thrummed as I replayed last night’s events in my mind. It was right there. I had an in. I was already starting to get to know the players. God, the idea of it fired me up just like the fucking drugs he wanted me to get off the street.
Stan let out a low laugh. “You’ve already started. Tell me.”
“I don’t know. There was a girl. A waitress. She damn near OD’d right in front of me. The shit’s in that bar, you’re right about that. With enough time, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out who’s moving it.”
Stan nodded. “So the fucker’s using his own bar to distribute, maybe. It means he’s getting bolder.”
“I don’t know. I never saw him. The woman, Devin Marsh, she runs the place. What is she, his daughter?”
“Must be a niece or something. I’ll find out. I swear I had no idea about her. See, you’re already getting us ahead of the game. And you’re in. You took the job.”
I wouldn’t say yes. Something held me back. I still didn’t know if I could trust him. Every instinct in my body told me I could. I sure as shit wanted to. But I just wasn’t there yet. Was it worth it to put my whole life on hold for this town? This guy?
“What’s your gut tell you?” Stan said. For a second I thought he was reading my mind. “The girl,” he said. “Devin Marsh. You think she’s running product for Cyrus?”
I shrugged. Something made me feel protective of Devin, at least for now. In my mind’s eye, I saw her round ass in those tight leggings. That sexy chip on her shoulder that just begged to be knocked off. God. That ri
ght there should have been a reason to get up and walk out of there. Head down to Florida maybe and get a job on a charter fishing boat. But I wanted to see her again. Loved the little thrill I got from the thought of getting to be a cop again. Maybe not the way I’d planned, but it could be good, solid work.
Stan’s eyes narrowed. Movement to my left caught my eye as double doors at the front of the building slid open. A nurse walked toward us pushing a wheelchair in front of her. Its occupant was a young girl wearing jeans and a tee shirt, her hands folded in her lap as she slumped a bit to the side. As she got closer, I thought she might have been pretty once. Beautiful even. She still was in a way, but her head lolled to the side and her mouth hung open. Her vacant eyes tore at me a little. Her blonde hair, once lush maybe, hung in limp strands around her face.
“Come on,” Stan said. “There’s one last thing you need to know. I want you to meet someone.”
I cocked my head to the side and slowly rose.
“Good morning, Chief!” The nurse practically sang it as she got closer. The girl in the chair struggled to lift her head. Her thin arms curled up, and crooked beneath her chin. She tried to smile, but the left side of her face hung slack. She made a joyful sound. A squeal. But she couldn’t form words.
The nurse gave me an odd smile, then pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “I’ll give you guys some time. Be back in ten.”
“Thanks, Laura,” Stan said. He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and brought the girl to our table.
“Rachel, this is my friend, Jase.”
Rachel struggled to focus. I leaned forward and closed a hand around hers. I couldn’t shake it, her rigid muscles held her arm pinned against her chest. So I leaned down and kissed the top of her hand. Rachel laughed, then her head lolled to the side as she tried to focus on Stan.
“Glad to meet you, Rachel,” I said.
“She was a swimmer,” Stan said. “She held the state record for the 100 fly. Headed for the Olympic trials, my girl.”
My heart froze. My guts churned as bile rose in my throat. Slowly, I sank back onto one of the benches. Stan gently combed Rachel’s hair with his fingers and caressed her cheek.