Cowboy Daddy

by Hannah McBride

  “That’s part of the problem now…trying to find someone who actually disliked him.”

  “…even to me! And he knew I was his main rival. He always called it a friendly rivalry. It wasn’t friendly to me. You know me, Sal. I’m interested in money and power, and now I’ve wiped him out, we’ll take down his stupid company and take all their business. Michael won’t be able to run it on his own.”

  “He was already looking pretty stressed, and it’s only been just over a week.” Sal informed him.

  Frank smiled at that news, and knocked back the rest of the whiskey. “Good. That pleases me. Now come here, my little slut…get on your goddamn knees and suck my cock like the whore you are.”

  Twice in one evening wasn’t a problem for Sal. She smirked and got up from where she was sat, draining her drink, putting the glass down on the table, then sauntering over to Frank, shaking her hips as she walked.

  He undid his pants and slipped out his thick cock, as she dropped to her knees in front of him obediently.

  ***

  Tyler groaned loudly as Jamia’s alarm went off. In the week or so that had followed since their first date, they had been spending more and more time together whenever they could fit it in between Jamia’s busy work schedule, but waking up for her early morning alarm never got any easier for him. That morning, the morning of the day when everything happened, he ducked his head under the pillow and held it there, clamping it down over his ears. “Make it stop,” he grumbled.

  Jamia looked at him and chuckled, shaking her head. She reached over and picked up her phone, swiping her finger over the screen to turn the alarm off. “Wake up, sugar,” she smiled and pulled back the covers, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

  Relative silence returned to the bedroom, with only the distant sounds of the city and birds outside.

  Tyler looked up at her with a pouty expression. “Do you really have to go?’

  “You know the drill by now, Tyler,” she sighed.

  Yeah, that was true. He did. They’d taken to meeting up in between her shift at the bookshop and her shift at the bar. He would pick her up in his car, take her back to her place so she could change, then give her a ride to the bar. Most of the time he’d sit and eat with her, and they’d chat and flirt and maybe even kiss a bit. Then he’d leave her to start her shift, and come back later on in the evening when she’d finished, and give her a ride home. Sometimes he stayed over at her place, and they had sex, but sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they just cuddled, and kissed, and enjoyed the company of the other person. It was a new concept to Tyler, or at least, a concept that had been alien to him for many years. It was almost like having a girlfriend. Except, of course he and Jamia weren’t dating. That’s what he kept on telling himself, even after a week of doing this every single day.

  ***

  After his experience with Sal, his unique and incredible experience, Michael was suspicious. He may have been a weak man, to give in to her advances in such a way, but he wasn’t a stupid man. He could tell when he was getting played, and when he was getting threatened and blackmailed. Sal had basically told him that she would ruin him, if he so much as breathed a word about what had gone on between them, and he knew that it could be easily done. Nobody would believe his side of the story. But, after what had gone on, he knew that Sal was unprofessional and couldn’t be trusted. Why had she done that? What kind of game was she playing? Why was she trying to control him and stop him from asking too many questions? He wasn’t as submissive and easily malleable as she assumed he was. He might not be asking any more questions of her, but he would ask them of himself. He made up his mind in the hours that followed their sexual encounter, that he would do his best to continue the investigation into Trent Preston’s murder, on his own.

  The very next morning after it happened, when he probably should have been working on the business accounts or staying in bed because it was Saturday, he sat in front of the computer trying to think up theories. Where had Detective Sal Foster left off? He’d given her the names of everyone Trent had fired, but neither of them believed that any of those could be responsible. He’d also given her the names of Trent’s rivals, but the only main one he could think of was Frank Morton. He was the only real, genuine rival to the PII business. Everyone else was a small fry compared to them and not worth worrying about. Better start with him then, he said to himself. And although he genuinely believed that Frank was a nice enough guy and had had nothing to do with it, he knew that, if he was going to act as the leading independent investigator into the Trent Preston murder, he would have to explore every possible avenue and lead.

  And so, he typed Frank Morton into his internet search engine. In all honesty, Michael didn’t really know that much about him, so an internet search proved very lucrative and interesting.

  Actually, very interesting indeed.

  He was about half an hour into reading various articles and items about the Morgans and their business when he discovered something about their family tree.

  Frank Morgan had a daughter.

  Her name was Jamia.

  ***

  Tyler had pretty much been ignoring his phone all day. First of all he’d been asleep, after having got up early with Jamia, then crashed out after he’d dropped her off. And then he’d got up in the afternoon to give her a ride to work. He’d barely looked at his phone throughout the whole of the day, so it was only in the early evening, once he’d dropped Jamia at the bar, and had nothing left to do, that he finally pick it up. He lazily trawled through the various messages and notifications he’d picked up throughout the day. Michael’s one wasn’t at the top, since it had been sent much earlier in the late morning (when he’d been asleep) so it wasn’t immediately seen in the previews on his locked home screen, and he’d gone through a bunch of other messages and social media notifications before getting to that one message. The message that sent a chill through him.

  Did you ever bother to ask Jamia’s last name? Frank Morgan has a daughter named Jamia. As in Frank Morgan, your father’s biggest business rival, and a suspect in his murder.

  Tyler’s heart raced. Michael was right. He’d never even bothered to ask Jamia’s last name. It hadn’t crossed his mind in the slightest this entire time, and they’d been seeing each other for about a week and a half now, nearly two weeks. Who cared about surnames and families and all that bullshit though? But now, it suddenly seemed slightly important. Frank Morgan was a suspect in his father’s murder? He knew that Frank was a business rival, but he didn’t know much more than that. It was safe to say he didn’t really pay much attention; but he supposed that any business rival could feasibly be considered a suspect in a murder case seeing as they were rivals. And perhaps there was more reason than most to suspect Frank. He trusted Michael, and he knew he wouldn’t throw that kind of thing around without cause.

  There was really only one way of getting to the bottom of this.

  First of all, he typed in “Jamia Morgan” into his search engine. The search was too vague, so he typed in “Jamia Morgan, Frank Morgan”, and now he hit the jackpot, with the same articles that Michael had obviously seen that had led him to send the text message. There were no pictures though, and that was what he was really after.

  His next step was to call the bar he knew she worked in. He waited until someone picked up, and was thankful that it was a male voice on the end and not hers.

  “Could I speak to Jamia Morgan, please?” he asked quietly.

  There was a slight pause, during which he held his breath.

  Then the voice on the other end said, “Yeah sure. One sec.”

  Tyler’s heart sank. A moment later, Jamia was on the phone. His Jamia. Jamia Morgan. Frank Morgan’s daughter. “Hello?...Hello?...Hello, is anyone there?”

  He hung up.

  Chapter Nine

  It was after seven in the evening that Michael received the text back. He’d expected Tyler to have checked his phone sooner than that, but
he supposed he must have been busy. Probably busy with that girl, Jamia. That was what worried him, especially after he saw the reply that Tyler had sent him.

  You were right. Jamia is the daughter of Frank Morgan. I double checked, and it’s true.

  And now, the plot really thickened for Michael. Why would Frank Morgan’s daughter be sniffing around Tyler Preston? Surely, this had to be some kind of plot. There had to be some sort of ultimatum here. In his eyes, it made the Morgans even more complicit in the death of Trent Preston. Something weird and suspicious was going on, and he didn’t know what, but he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Caught up in his own conspiracy theories and feeling that he was unable to trust the police who’d been assigned to the case, Michael East decided to take the law into his own hands.

  Dusk was beginning to set on the city, and it was an ideal time for his little adventure. He left the office which had virtually become his permanent home over the past two weeks, and made the drive across town to the Morgan residence. He had the address on file, it wasn’t difficult to locate amongst all the obsessively organized paperwork at the office. He didn’t have much of a plan, other than knock on the door, and speak to Frank. He was fairly sure he could sort all this out if he could just speak with him. He’d always seemed reasonable enough in the past.

  Half an hour later and he was parking outside on the street where the house was located, noticing the big electronic gates leading up the driveway were actually open already.

  As he got nearer, he gasped, his eyes widening.

  Detective Sal Foster’s car was parked right outside, on the driveway of the Morgan residence.

  Shocked, curious and wanting to know more, he crept along the gravel path towards the house, activating one of the security lights and freezing for a moment. He wasn’t sure why, but his heart was racing. He kept telling himself that Frank was a nice guy. That they could sort all this out by talking. That Sal was probably here just to ask him a few questions about the case. But he couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling. There was something weird going on. Sal was definitely some kind of bent cop, which meant he couldn’t trust her. Could he trust her reason for being here?

  He slowly approached the window of the living room; the only place he saw any lights on, and cautiously stood on tiptoes, pressing his face to the glass.

  His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight before him.

  ***

  Tyler didn’t know what to think. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have thought anything. He wouldn’t have cared that he was sleeping with – and possibly falling for – Frank Morgan’s daughter. He didn’t care about business rivals or any of that bullshit. It didn’t matter to him. But these weren’t any ordinary circumstances. They were right in the midst of a murder case and according to Michael, Frank Morgan was one of the suspects in his father’s death. And a few days after, his daughter worms her way into his life. He told himself it was a coincidence. It had to be. After all, it was him who had sought her out, not the other way around. She hadn’t exactly been chasing him. Although she must have known who he was, and the connection between him and her father, right from the beginning. Why hadn’t she told him? Why had she hidden her surname and her true identity from him? He didn’t want to believe that something untoward and dodgy was going on, but his imagination and paranoia was running away with him.

  He needed to speak with her. That was the only way to clear things up. But at the same time, he was nervous to know the truth. Still, they’d already arranged that he would be giving her a lift that evening, so at around ten, he headed over to the bar.

  “Hey, sugar,” Jamia smiled cheerfully as she saw him, and Tyler’s heart almost melted all over again.

  He grinned and leaned over the bar as she gave him a peck on the cheek. Then he remembered what he had learnt and his smile vanished.

  Jamia picked up on it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  Tyler glanced at the clientele in the bar, not wanting to get her into trouble for failing to serve people. “We’ll talk about it later,” he mumbled. “Could I get a beer?”

  “How many have you had already?” She looked at him warily.

  “None.”

  “Alright.” She served him, not saying anything else, able to tell there was something wrong, and for a while, there was an uneasy silence between them, which was very unlike them. So far, they’d always happily chatted away, or had comfortable silences that neither of them minded.

  “What is it?” she asked again after half an hour, when she had a bit of a break in between serving people. “Just tell me, Tyler. I hate pussyfooting around. Just give it to me straight. What’s the problem?”

  Tyler bit his lip, looked down at his beer bottle and peeled some of the label off, then looked back up at her. “What’s your last name?”

  The question didn’t seem to shock her, and immediately, she knew what this was about. “Ah…”

  “You’re Frank Morgan’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  She chewed her lip and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, when you found out who I was…Did you know he was a suspect in my dad’s murder?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t,” she replied quickly, shaking her head apologetically. “I didn’t find that out until I spoke to Michael. And I didn’t tell you because….I didn’t want you to think I was like him. I’m nothing like him. I rejected that kind of lifestyle when I was eighteen and I – “

  Tyler held up his hand in confusion. “Woah, one second. What do you mean? What do you mean you’re nothing like him? I mean, what…what is he like?” he asked quietly, kind of concerned now.

  “You mean…you don’t…know?” Jamia blinked at him, speaking equally as quietly.

  “Know what?”

  “Well…he’s…he’s a gangster.”

  Tyler didn’t have much chance to take that in. His phone beeped loudly and he swiped his finger across it, staring down at the message that popped up on the screen.

  “Also, Tyler um…I know this is a really bad moment but I was gonna tell you tonight anyway, I’m kinda late for my period, which is really unlike me and – “

  “We used a condom,” Tyler muttered flatly. He wasn’t really paying much attention. He was staring at his phone, trying to process the message he had just read.

  “Yeah, I know but sometimes things can – “

  “I hate to interrupt but…” Tyler flipped his phone around and held up the message so Jamia could read it.

  She gasped, her eyes widening. “Oh my God…Tyler…Tyler, we have to call the police.”

  “Screw the police, they won’t be quick enough. I have to go.”

  “I’m coming with you.” And with that, she dashed round the other side of the counter.

  “But you’ve got another hour left of your shift,” Tyler protested.

  “Come on,” she grabbed him by the arm and tugged him towards the door. “We haven’t got much time. My dad doesn’t mess around. He’s ruthless.”

  And with that, the two of them ran out, the text message that had prompted it all still open in Tyler’s pocket.

  We caught your friend Michael snooping around where he wasn’t wanted. If you want to see him alive again, get your ass to the Morgan residence immediately. We have a business arrangement to discuss. Regards, your ‘friendly rival’, Frank Morgan. P.S. Tick tock, tick tock.

  ***

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sal asked, pacing up and down the living room.

  “All my ideas are good ideas,” Frank snapped. “I’m sick of playing the nice guy. That little shit is gonna come here, and sign his whole goddamn business over to me. Otherwise I’m gonna put a bullet in this old man’s head.”

  And with that, he shoved the gun up to Michael’s temple.

  The ‘old man’ had been caught by one of Frank’s security staff, with his nose to the glass, snooping on Sal giving Frank a blowjob. He’d been swiftly knocked over the
head, and brought in to the boss, who had ordered him to be tied to a chair, and had composed the text to send over to Tyler, using Michael’s phone.

  Sal had assured Frank that Tyler was so fond of the old man, that he was sure to come and rescue him, and Frank was convinced he could be pressured into a deal in order to save Michael’s life.

  Now all they had to do was wait.

  ***

  “Why didn’t you tell me your father was a goddamn gangster?” Tyler huffed as they frantically drove in the direction of the Morgan residence, Jamia muttering out instructions to Tyler every so often.

  “Well it never really cropped up in conversation!” she snapped back, the pair of them having their first real argument since they started…whatever it was they had together.

  “This entire week and a half or however long it’s been, since Michael told you he was a suspect, you’ve just been…keeping this to yourself?” he ranted. “You didn’t think to like…mention it?”

  “I was worried, okay!”

  “And rightly so, it appears!”

  “I didn’t want you to think that I was like him! Turn left here!”

  Tyler sighed as he leaned into the left. “I know you’re not like him, babes,” he softened his voice. “I barely even know the guy but I don’t need to. You’re not like him and I would never think that.” He reached over and clasped his hand over hers, the anger dissipating.

  She linked their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze. “Like I said, I left when I was eighteen,” she explained quietly. “That’s why I have a decent car, but nothing else. The car he bought me for my eighteenth birthday was all I left with, and sometimes I still feel guilty about owning that. I didn’t want anything that was bought by his dirty money. That’s why I’ve worked so hard since to get jobs and fend for myself. And…and seeing what he was like, what his life was like, and the type of people he surrounded himself with…it was instrumental in making me want to be a cop.”