by Jana DeLeon
“You told me that when this was over, you’d listen to options, right?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“I’m calling my marker. You have to listen to my proposal.”
Damn. “And if I don’t like your idea?”
“Then I’ll attempt to keep you in my custody until the doctor releases you, but I can’t control your actions when I’m not looking.”
Hustle stared at her for several seconds, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
Shaye rounded a corner and he looked up in surprise. “This is Saul’s hotel.”
“Yep,” she said, and parked in front of the lobby. “Come on. We’ve got business to discuss.”
Hustle climbed out of the car and followed Shaye inside. Saul was in his usual spot behind the counter and looked up and smiled when they walked in. “There’s the heroes of New Orleans,” he said.
Shaye laughed and Hustle managed a bit of a smile for Saul. He wasn’t comfortable with being called a hero, but the man had saved his life.
“I could say the same for you,” Hustle said.
Saul waved a hand in dismissal. “All in a night’s work.”
“Let’s hope last night wasn’t typical,” Shaye said.
Hustle shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, anxious to find out what Shaye had in mind and why they were here at Saul’s hotel. Shaye looked over at Saul, who nodded, then she looked back at Hustle and smiled.
“We have a proposition for you. You see, Saul is an approved foster parent, and I have no doubt I can get you placed in his care, at least temporarily.”
He stared at them for a bit, his emotions too out of whack to respond. Saul was a good man and Hustle had no doubt he would treat him well, but so many things could happen to change that. The state could change its mind, and even with Corrine’s connections, Hustle knew Shaye couldn’t guarantee things would remain the way she arranged them.
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I can’t let Mr. Bordelon take responsibility for me. I can take care of myself.”
“Hell, I’m not taking you to raise,” Saul said. “You’re damned near grown, anyway. But I can give you a room in my apartment out back and three squares a day. In return, you can help me out around this place.”
“How can I help you?” Hustle asked.
“My military service left me with a bad knee, and it’s getting worse every day. I got a lot of painting that needs to be done here for starters—inside and out. Shaye says you’re an artist. I was thinking about doing some of them fancy paintings on some of the walls.”
“Murals,” Shaye said.
Hustle stared at them, his mind a jumble of emotions. It was almost too good to be true—a place to live, guaranteed meals, and work he would enjoy. “What if the state changes their mind? What if they say I have to leave here?”
“That’s possible,” Shaye said, “so what Saul would like to do is file for legal guardianship.”
Hustle shook his head. “I don’t know…”
“With the intention of helping you become emancipated,” Saul said.
“What’s that mean?” Hustle asked.
“It means,” Shaye said, “that the government would consider you an adult. You could hold a job, rent an apartment, get your own cable bill, or buy a car.”
“That way,” Saul said, “the state couldn’t make you leave, and if once you became emancipated, you wanted your own space, you could move into one of the units and I’d pay you wages plus free rent for the work you do.”
“What about school?” Hustle asked. “Would I have to go?”
“Once you’re emancipated, it’s up to you. Until then, Saul can arrange for you to be homeschooled if that’s what you’d prefer.”
Hustle felt a glimmer of hope. The first one he’d had since his mom died. If he had a place to live and a job that paid him money, maybe he could go to art school, as Shaye had mentioned. It was such an awesome thought that he felt a smile break through.
“You’re serious about all of this?” he asked, still not able to comprehend his good fortune.
Shaye and Saul nodded.
“I’ll do it,” Hustle said, “but I’ll earn my keep. You ain’t gonna be put out none ’cause of me.”
“I have plenty enough to keep you busy,” Saul said. “And you’ll be helping me a great deal. I might even like the company.”
Hustle felt a blush creep up his neck and he looked down at the floor. Finally, he looked at Shaye. “Maybe if you need it, I can help you with another case sometime.”
Shaye smiled. “I would love that. But only if you promise me you won’t attempt to confront the bad guy without backup.”
“That’s one promise you can count on.”
* * *
It was almost four o’clock when Jackson pushed open the door to the police station. He was pretty sure he’d slipped into some form of a waking coma when he’d crashed on Shaye’s couch in the wee hours of the morning. He’d awakened to the smell of coffee around eleven and had looked up to see Shaye pouring a cup and looking as worse for the wear as he suspected he did.
They’d split an entire pot, trying to get their tired bodies and minds going, then he’d thanked her for the coffee and the couch and headed for home for a much-needed shower. No one would be expecting him in the office that day, so he’d gone straight to bed again after drying off and hadn’t moved for hours.
When he awakened, he felt almost human again and decided to stop in at work and see if Grayson had made any more headway on the case. He nodded at the desk sergeant as he stepped inside the station.
“Big one last night,” the desk sergeant said. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks,” Jackson said. “But you may want to keep them to yourself. I have a feeling Vincent’s going to make my life hell.”
“Probably going to try, but that doesn’t change what you did. I’ve heard some about those records recovered from Clancy’s office.” He shook his head. “When you’re on the job as long as I’ve been, you think you can’t be shocked anymore, but this one…it’s something out of a nightmare.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Grayson is in one of the interrogation rooms where they’re working on the records. He said if you came in today to send you back there. Something he needed to discuss with you.”
Jackson headed down the hallway and spotted Grayson in the largest interrogation room, leaning over the table and looking at a notebook with Detective Elliot. Jackson opened the door and Grayson looked up and nodded.
“Give me a minute,” Grayson said to Elliot as he reached for one of the notebooks.
He exited the room, motioning for Jackson to follow him into the smaller empty room across the hall. He shut the door as soon as Jackson stepped inside.
“This is going to get out,” Grayson said, “but I didn’t want the others to overhear. Right now, me, Elliot, and Chief Bernard are the only people who know, but given the situation, we felt you should get a heads-up before this breaks loose.”
“What is it?” Jackson asked, unable to imagine what Grayson could possibly tell him that would make the facts of the case worse, but from the look on the senior detective’s face, that’s exactly what he was about to do.
Grayson held up the notebook. “This is one of the old record books that we took from Clancy’s office. You know they’re all in code, but the code in this one isn’t the same. We think Clancy might have changed it periodically.”
“That would make sense.”
“Elliot figured this one out. It was a simple backward alphabet-to-number code. Probably something Clancy used in the beginning before he decided he needed to make it harder to crack.”
Jackson felt excitement course through him. “Then you’ve figured out more buyers?”
“No. This is a payment log. One entry per page, each detailing a description of the ‘product,’ the date acquired, the person paid, and the amount.”
“W
ell, that’s still something.”
Grayson frowned. “It’s more than something.” He opened the journal to a page and pointed. “This page details the sale of an eight-year-old girl.”
Grayson looked at Jackson, clearly upset. “The seller was Lydia Johnson.”
Shaye uncovers the truth about her past in DIABOLICAL. Coming Fall 2016.
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