Deuces Wild

by Christina C Jones

  She snorted. “Do I really seem like the type of woman to get into trouble?”

  “You seem like the type of woman who is trouble. Like anybody who crosses you might have a problem on their hands.”

  “Well…” she smirked. “Glad to know that I’m putting off the correct impression.”

  I chuckled, then pushed my hands into my pockets as I studied her face, trying to figure out… anything. “You definitely are. Which is why you have to understand my curiosity about… pretty much everything, as it relates to you.”

  “I understand it just fine, Detective Bradley. I simply don’t care.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “Neither am I,” she said, meeting my eyes. “So it seems like I’m really good at expressing myself, doesn’t it?”

  She moved like she was going to step around me, so I immediately shifted, getting in front of her again. Alarming her wasn’t my intention, but her shift in demeanor was instant.

  “I promise you,” she started, radiating an eerie calm. “You don’t want to be between me and a door I’m trying to get out of.”

  I raised my hands. “I’m not trying to keep you here against your will – got no reason to. I do wish you’d take a moment to tell me what the hell is going on though. You’re busting up trafficking rings, chasing people through crowds, and now you’re here asking about facial recognition on a surveillance image. You might not be in trouble, but somebody is. Somebody you care about.”

  Briefly, she closed her eyes, then shook her head. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  “Because I’m a cop?”

  “Because I don’t know you,” she snapped. “Because I don’t trust you. Because I can’t trust you, not really. Not with that thing around your neck.”

  I glanced down, realizing immediately that she was referring to my badge hanging from its chain. “So it is because I’m a cop.”

  “It definitely doesn’t help.” She let out a huff. “I’ve been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, experienced many cultures, and you want to know what one thing was always true? A trustworthy cop was always the exception – not the rule.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, because I’m sure you were a model citizen, never had a reason for a bad run-in with the law?” I chuckled, shaking my head. “You know, you have a lot of nerve saying some shit like this to me like I didn’t risk my badge years ago for letting you and Kingston walk out of Sebastian Gray’s house scot-free. Or had you forgotten?”

  “Not in the slightest,” she snarled right back. “But this is a perfect example of why I doubt your loyalty. You know what that bastard did to Robyn Whitfield, know he deserved every punch Kingston threw at him that night. There was no crime, that was good riddance to bad rubbish just like what I did at that warehouse that night.”

  My eyes narrowed. “The warehouse you claim not to know anything about?” I asked, prompting her to let out a derisive burst of laughter.

  “There it is,” she admitted, throwing up her hands. “Boom, you got me. Yet another thing to keep me up at night, wondering every day if it will be the one that I get arrested because Cree Bradley is tired of being a boy scout, he’s ready for a promotion, so he needs a break on a big case.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “I don’t know what you would do. I’ll give you this – you seem like one of the few good ones. You seem like your sense of right and wrong is still intact. But I don’t know. I have no assurance of who you are, how far you’ll go, or where your true loyalty lies – with your badge, or with your heart.”

  “I rarely have occasion to separate the two,” I replied, feeling inexplicably defensive.

  Her lips curved up, just slightly. “Rarely…,” she repeated, softly. “Meaning, sometimes… you do. Sometimes you have to choose.” She stepped in, running her tongue over her lips as her gaze swept over my face. “I have no interest in being on the losing end of your choices, Detective. Now, if you could step aside…”

  Since I was at a loss for words anyway, I didn’t bother trying to give a rebuttal – I stepped aside, as she’d asked. She didn’t say anything else, just moved past me out the door, leaving me with nothing except the lingering scent of rose petals and utter confusion about what the hell had just happened.

  I didn’t have time to process it though.

  Vivica was waiting on me, so we could see what was going on with this dead jogger in the park, so instead of trying to figure out the impossible – Alicia Miller – I hurried along to meet her at the car.

  “You want to tell me what that was about?” Vivica asked, not even bothering to hide a smirk as I climbed into the car.

  I shook my head. “Absolutely not. Nothing to tell yet.”

  I could feel Vivica’s eyes on me, back and forth between paying attention to the road and staring a hole in the side of my head. I pulled out my phone, shooting a text to Rowan about getting in touch with her friend Laurel’s sister, then finally looked at Vivica.

  “Well?” she asked, when I kept looking at her, but hadn’t said anything.

  I chuckled. “I feel like I’m the one who should be asking that, since you’re the one staring upside my head.”

  “I’m staring because I’m waiting for you to modify that “nothing to tell” lie. That woman walked through the squad room looking like she’d come prepared to either kill you or screw your brains out—”

  “I’m dead in both of those scenarios though…”

  “Needing to talk to you privately,” Vivica went on, like I hadn’t interrupted her, “And you’re going to try to tell me there’s nothing to tell. What kind of slow-witted investigator do you take me for, Bradley?”

  Again, I laughed. “We both know I can’t get shit past you, woman.”

  “Right, so I don’t even know why you’re trying. Spill it.”

  I pressed my head into the headrest behind me as I sighed. “Ah… I can’t. There was a certain level of implied confidentiality, so I want to respect that.”

  “Ohhhh, implied confidentiality, I see!” Vivica teased. “That’s how it is now?”

  “Don’t start…”

  “Oh I started two minutes ago. This is a continuation.”

  “Can we change the subject?”

  “Ohhhh, he wants to change the subject,” she continued digging at me, laughing. “No seriously though, what do you want to talk about? I don’t have many details about this jogger yet. And since the Playpen case got snatched from under us…”

  That brought an immediate frown to my face.

  “You know, I’m really trying to figure that shit out,” I told Vivica, scowling at the city through the car window as it passed us by. “Vice is overflowing with cases because half their people are suspended while they’re under investigation, yet they have time and resources to devote to a low-level trafficking case that was specifically referred to me. That doesn’t seem a little strange to you?”

  Vivica glanced at me, her expression somber. “Seems a lot strange to me. Roach is small potatoes, and we had the case just about sewed up already anyway. Unless it’s a thing of wanting to look good by closing a case, I don’t see how it makes sense.”

  “Because it doesn’t.” I sat forward a little, glad that she was on the same page as me. “Maybe there’s pressure on Matt – he’s in the hot seat with everybody else in his division, wrapping shit up looks good. I get that. But this case?”

  “Right. Unless… there is the angle of the anonymous tipster, and the crew dressed in all black. Maybe it’s not about Roach at all – maybe it’s about the vigilante.”

  I nodded. “True. But why? I mean maybe you have an assault charge you could throw at them, but why? It’s one thing to have a vigilante shooting up the city, committing murder. One that beats up criminals and leaves them tied up for the cops? Something else entirely.”

  Vivica scoffed. “Yeah… unless the vigilante is messing up your flow. Interfering with business.”

  My
eyebrow went up. “Are you suggesting…”

  “I’m just exploring all available options.”

  “And your partner is right there with you,” I assured her. “No lie – as annoying as he is, I wouldn’t expect something like this from Matt though.”

  “Maybe he’s not involved. Or maybe he doesn’t have a choice. We really don’t know, do we? All we know is that they sent him in to take over a case that we were fully capable of managing on our own. There’s something fishy – the only question is… what?”

  I nodded slowly, processing her words. There was absolutely something off about this transfer, but I wouldn’t know what until I’d spent some time letting it turn over in my head, which was exactly what I planned to do.

  I’d give them the files, the evidence log, everything they needed – hell, I’d even give them my notes. As imperfect as law enforcement was, I took it seriously, and I wouldn’t jeopardize the case, or my badge, by holding anything back out of spite or unfounded suspicion.

  At the back of my mind though, there was this little shred of… discontent. And it wasn’t just me, Vivica felt it too… just a little itch, just a little inkling that something wasn’t right. I’d messed up plenty of times by ignoring it to follow the rules, but when I listened… it had never led me wrong.

  So maybe I wouldn’t tell them everything.

  If there was some sort of cover-up happening, there was no way Alicia Miller would walk away from a Vice investigation unscathed. There would be questions, and she would give answers, because it would be out of her hands.

  What was she doing at the Playpen in the first place? Who was she looking for? Why hadn’t she come forward? Where the hell had she gotten the resources to pull something like that off? Where was the missing girl?

  All questions that I had myself, but would no longer be in charge of asking.

  If she got connected to this, it was as good as throwing her to the wolves – ruthless ones. The thing was… I was the only person who could make that connection.

  It was a good thing that, in pages and pages of notes… I’d never written down her name.

  Five.

  “I need you to look after her, okay? After tonight, it’s… it’s going to just be you and her, and you’re the oldest. You have to be strong.”

  “But daddy, I—”

  “You have to be strong, do you understand? I can’t… there’s not anything I can do. Not anymore. Not now. If you’re quiet, they will not find you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. My little warrior. Who are you? Don’t shake your head, Alicia, look me in the eyes. Answer me. Who are you to me?”

  “Your… Ace.”

  “And who are you, lil’ bit?”

  “Deuce!”

  “That’s right, my one and two. Look out for her, okay? I’m counting on you…”

  “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screamed, not caring who saw or heard me as I smacked the steering wheel in front of me. Of all times to be plagued by rogue, fractured memories, this was the worst.

  This was kicking me while I was already down.

  I sucked in a deep breath, refusing to give in to the tears threatening to form behind my eyes. Instead of indulging them, I finally turned off the car and unstrapped my seatbelt, pulling myself from the vehicle to head inside.

  It had been a long ass day.

  I went to work this morning – my normal daily thing with Kingston. Accompanying him around town, a few meetings, checking in on the club at Reverie, and then settling into the office for the day. He was getting… older. Well, maybe not older, but more settled. Which meant less time spent in situations likely to lead to a brawl, more time spent looking at numbers, checking paperwork – trademarks of a man who understood he was a father now, and had to make certain adjustments. It was good for him.

  And honestly? It was good for me too.

  And then Jennifer called.

  Because Loren had called her, looking for Penelope, to deliver news nobody wanted to hear. All my hopes and prayers that there wouldn’t be any lingering vines to tangle themselves around her, keeping her tied to that warehouse… gone. In the time it took to run a pregnancy test.

  “She’s… not taking it well,” Jennifer had reported, in a tone that suggested “not taking it well” was putting it lightly. By the time I got there, Penelope’s face was swollen from crying, her voice gone from screaming, and any little bit of confidence she’d gained since that night at the warehouse had left her shoulders. She was, understandably, a mess. And although if someone had asked, I would’ve called it impossible, but still… I somehow hated Roach and his ilk even more now.

  But there had been more pressing things to be concerned with – making sure Penelope understood her options was number one. When she tearfully informed Jenn and I that she wanted the pregnancy terminated, as soon as possible, I didn’t even blink about it.

  I got Loren back on the phone.

  There was a pill, and there were more screams, more uncontrollable tears. There was a sedative, and then there was sleep – for Penelope, of course. But none for me. I sat with her until I couldn’t anymore, too keyed up with rage, too overwhelmed with a nonsensical sense that I’d failed this little girl.

  Just like I’d failed the woman in the picture.

  My limbs felt heavy as I trekked from where I was parked, into the building, up to my floor. I turned the corner down my hall and immediately, my face pulled into a frown as I looked up to see Cree Bradley headed my way, wearing a scowl.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  There was no… warmth to his voice. None of the usual tactful tone I was accustomed to him using when he “needed to talk.” This wasn’t a request – it was a demand. Unfortunately for him, demands weren’t something that agreed with my spirit on good days.

  Today, he was likely to get his feelings – or something worse – hurt.

  “Then you can call and check my availability like you have some manners,” I said, walking right past him. I assumed he’d knocked on my door – unannounced – and had just given up, since I hadn’t answered.

  “You didn’t offer me that courtesy when you came to me for help with this,” he shot back, holding up a file I hadn’t noticed before. In fact – there was a lot I hadn’t noticed at first, including the fact that Cree was dressed in navy blue sweats – a hoodie and pants – with fresh white sneakers, and a cap pulled low over his eyes. A casual look that even in my state of annoyance, I had to admit, was… a good one.

  “You got a name?” I asked, reaching for the file, only to have him pull it back, out of my reach.

  “Not until you give me some answers first. You and I need to have a conversation.”

  “No, you need to give me that file before I kick your ass and take it.”

  Cree laughed, shaking his head as he lowered the folder. “Alicia… I know this isn’t the case for very many people in the world, but let’s make something clear – I’m not fucking scared of you. I’m not intimidated by you. So you can open the door and let's have a seat and talk. You can try to hit me, and we’ll just kick each other’s ass. Or I can walk right back out of here with my information.”

  I shook my head. “Give me one good reason I should talk to you.”

  “Because there’s definitely something illegal going on, and if I walk outta here with this file, I’m talking to my captain about it. Or because you needed help before, and you damn sure still need it after this. Or, how about my favorite – because I fucking said so. Now open the door.”

  I was ready to argue – and more – but he lifted his eyebrows, looking pointedly at the door, and for some reason, I… moved to the door.

  Unlocked it.

  Let him in.

  “Okay, let’s hear it,” I said, as soon as we were inside, with the door locked behind us. “What the hell is so important that it has you at my door after nine at night being an asshole?”

  “This.” Cree opened the folder, wh
ich turned out to hold exactly one page – a printout of the picture I’d sent to his hacker.

  “Is this a joke?”

  He scoffed. “Am I laughing? No, because there’s nothing funny about this – it’s very, very serious.”

  “So then you did find a name?” I asked, hoping I was about to get some good news, only to have it shot down when he shook his head.

  “Not for her. But if you’d shown me this before, I could’ve told you exactly who he is. I wouldn’t have had to wait for Willow, who gave me information I already knew.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She shouldn’t have given you anything. I explicitly asked her to report back to me.”

  “You did. And you want to know why she came back to me instead? Because this is Maxim Bisset,” he said, pointing to the man in the picture.

  I shrugged. “Who is he?”

  “He is a really slippery pimp, with assumed ties to the Belroses – a crime family out of France, who deals in weapons. But I suspect you already know that.”

  “Why would I know that?”

  “Because the woman in this picture has this rather distinctive tattoo… right here,” he said, pointing to the rose.

  Keeping my face free from any sort of reaction, I shrugged. “What’s your point? You can barely see it. How do you even know what it is?”

  “I don’t, but see… I have my suspicions. It just… it just… it looks so close to what Roach described when he described the tattoo our missing trafficking victim had. And I don’t think that’s a coincidence… do you? The missing teenager with this tattoo, the woman in this picture with it. And you want to know something that is just really bizarre? The same day you came to the station, me and my partner caught a case. A dead jogger in the park. Guess what she had… right here…” he said, pointing to his own chest to demonstrate where the tattoo was located, in a revelation that made my eyes go wide.

  “What? What? Cree, I need to see that body. I need to see her face. Did she have an ID on her, was she—”

  “So you do know something about all this, then?” he asked, letting another smirk spread across his lips. “Good, start talking. Tell me everything.”