Shepherd's Fall

by W. L. Dyson

  “I think I ordered…wow. I don't remember.”

  “That's because you never ordered the same thing twice.”

  “Ah, true. And Nick—” Steven smiled.

  “Always ordered whatever Dad was ordering.” They both laughed at the memory. Marti shook her head. “He was always mimicking Dad. Whatever Dad did, he had to do. Whatever Dad ate, he had to eat. He never could just be himself.”

  “In a way, I felt sorry for him.”

  Marti was bothered by the sadness she saw in her brother's eyes. “Why? He chose to be that way.”

  “I don't think so. Dad was always this larger-than-life character. The hero. He knew martial arts and chased down criminals for a living. Nick was the firstborn son, the heir to the kingdom. Dad expected Nick to follow in his footsteps—be a cop and then a bounty hunter. I'm not so sure Nick ever had a chance to stop and consider whether it's what he really wanted to do.”

  Marti picked up her water. “I don't know, Steven. Nick is incredibly intelligent, and he's amazing at his job. He could have done anything he wanted. But he idolized Dad and chose to be just like him.”

  Steven started to say something and then paused as the waitress set bread and butter down on the table and scurried away. “I think Nick wanted to feel secure, and he thought the only way was to know that he was following the rules. Dad's rules. He wanted to be the perfect son.”

  Marti buttered a slice of hot Italian bread and handed it over to Steven. “Perfection is overrated.”

  “Easy for you to say. You were the darling little princess. Daddy's girl. You could do no wrong.”

  “Don't even go there,” Marti snapped. Bitterness welled up that she hadn't felt in years.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that.”

  She swallowed some water, unable to meet Steven's eyes. She offered a conciliatory wave. “No. Forget it. My bad. I'm too sensitive sometimes.”

  “Marti, what happened to you? Why did you leave like that? One minute, I thought everything was fine, and then suddenly you're gone and no one will talk about it.”

  “I gave you your one question, so stop asking. There's nothing to talk about. Let's go back to roasting Nick. That was more fun.”

  But the moment was lost. The food arrived, and they ate mostly in silence. Steven paid the bill, and they headed out. She kept her hands tucked deep in the pockets of her jacket to keep Steven from seeing how badly they were shaking. She had to get away. Run. She'd find this woman for Steven and then disappear again.

  And this time, she wouldn't ever come back.

  Thursday, 5:55 p.m.

  The Stark Lily, Park Heights, Baltimore

  Conner double-checked his wig and the fake tattoo his wife had drawn up the side of his neck and around his biceps. He enjoyed the kick she got out of seeing him in a sleeveless vest and boots with metal heels.

  “You look like The Rock at a biker bar for rodeo fans,” she told him with a laugh.

  “With long hair.”

  “With long hair,” she'd agreed. “But you don't have his tan.”

  Conner rolled his shoulders, erasing the smile from his face as he walked into the Lily. The club featured dark wood, dark floors, and minimal lighting. Music was blaring. The mood was just heavy enough to make Conner wonder why anyone would want to spend time in such a place. Granted, he'd spent more than his fair share of nights in bars much like this, grateful for the dim lights that kept his sin in the shadows, but it was hard to remember now why he'd enjoyed it as much as he had.

  He walked over to the bar and introduced himself. The bartender shook his hand. “Lenny. Good to meet you. You need anything, you let me know. In the meantime, the boss is in the office, so just go on back.”

  Walking down a hall, passing the rest rooms and one door marked storage, Conner found another small hallway that led to an office. He walked in.

  Ralph Henning was a short, thin man with an almost elfin appearance. Conner towered over him, but it didn't seem to bother Ralph at all.

  “Come in, come in. Take a seat. You're giving my neck a crick.”

  A likable guy, Conner thought.

  Conner dropped down in the chair across from Henning's desk. “Appreciate the work, Mr. Henning.”

  The little man waved his hand as if swatting away Conner's words. “Just do a decent job for me and that'll be thanks enough. Just wanted to go over some of the rules with you before I send you out there. No drinking on the job.”

  Conner nodded. “Not a problem. I don't drink anyway.”

  Henning eyed him warily. “No?”

  “Was an alcoholic once upon a time. Nearly destroyed my life. Did a stint with AA and never looked back. I'd prefer to keep a pot of coffee on hand.”

  The look in Henning's eyes changed from wariness to approval. “Good. I don't hold with drugs either. I catch you using, you're gone. No hitting on the waitresses while you're working. You find someone interesting, talk to them before or after your shift.”

  “I'm married, and I don't cheat. The wife doesn't take kindly to sharing me, and she isn't afraid to hurt me if I ever consider it.”

  Henning slapped the table and stood up. “Then let me show you around.”

  After a quick tour of the employee area, the bar, the kitchen, and the dancing area, Henning left Conner at the bar. Conner ordered a coffee, black, and took a stool closest to the front door.

  He watched the people filing through the door.

  Most of them were young, seemed lonely, and were definitely looking for a good time. Some of them had obviously already started partying before they arrived, and some would probably slip out to the parking lot later in the evening for a little boost. But it was only Thursday night, so he didn't expect it to get too out of control. Tomorrow night would be a different story.

  13

  Friday, 10:30 a.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Friday morning brought a cold March rain that threatened to stay all day and maybe spend the night. It chilled Jessica to the bone and threatened to sap her energy. But she was too anxious for anything to calm her down.

  She had just met with the Nelsons and got the final design approved and the contract signed. One to-do item down, eight million to go. She headed for Prodigal's offices.

  Yesterday, Krystal had returned from visiting her dad with a long face and slumped shoulders. All Jessica could get out of her on the drive home was that Nick had jumped on her for leaving school early. The insensitive, selfish boor. Never mind that his daughter had been fretting herself sick worrying about him.

  Well, he was going to get a lesson on parenting this morning.

  She marched into his office ready to tear him apart limb from limb, only to find Jenna going through the files on his desk, Steven sitting on the sofa, Rafe on his cell, pacing by the window, and Nick also on the phone.

  Stand in line, Jessica. Hasn't it always been that way with Nick?

  She took the moment to study the man she had once been married to. When had he started to go gray? Granted, he was forty-two, but somehow she'd hadn't noticed it before. And the little lines around his eyes. Were those new? Or had she missed them through her haze of resentment?

  She slipped out of her coat and folded it over her arm, which got Steven's attention. He sprang up from the sofa. “Hey, Jessica. Didn't see you come in. Here, take a chair.”

  “Thanks, Steven.” She eased into the seat. “How have you been?”

  “Good as can be expected,” he said above the room's clatter. “You?”

  “Busy.”

  He nodded and then turned to face Nick, who was finishing up his call. “Okay, Conn. Thanks. Keep me posted.”

  Nick eyed her warily as he hung up the phone. “What's wrong? Is it Krystal?”

  “Yes, something is wrong, and yes, it's Krystal.” She turned to Steven. “Can you all give us a moment?”

  Jenna, Rafe, and Steven took the cue and left the room.

  “Is she missing?�
�� Nick asked, shifting position, nearly coming up out of his chair.

  “Of course not. She's at home. But thanks to you, she ended up crying herself to sleep last night. She was so tired this morning, I let her stay home from school.”

  Nick actually had the audacity to look relieved as he sank back in his chair. “Don't scare me like that.”

  “Scare you? I just told you that you devastated your daughter yesterday, sent her home to cry for hours, and that's all I get?” She jerked to her feet. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “Exactly what upset her? That I made her promise not to sneak into nightclubs and bars with her fake ID?”

  The breath went out of her. She sank back into the chair. “She's been sneaking into clubs?”

  “Yes, Jessica. She denied it, but she was lying. Someone saw her and told me about it.” He picked up his soda, took a swig, and then set it down. “I begged her to never do it again.”

  It was more than Jessica could handle. She buried her face in her hands. “I didn't know.”

  “What is wrong with that child?” Nick said.

  “She's a teenager. She thinks that she's invincible. And of course, she knows better than we do.” Jessica dug through her purse and found a tissue. She wiped her cheeks and dabbed at her eyes. “I honestly don't know how to handle her anymore, Nick.”

  “Me neither. I threatened her with private school when I found out about the tattoo.”

  “What tattoo?”

  “The one around her ankle.”

  Jessica felt a smile drifting upward like a released balloon. “That's not a real tattoo. It'll wash off. She didn't tell you that, did she?”

  He stared at her. “Wash off. It'll wash off.” The he laughed. “She had me. Hook, line, and sinker, she totally had me.”

  Then Nick's look of amusement fled. “Listen, Jessica. You have to make sure she doesn't sneak out. I don't care if you have to sit on her. She's not to go out. Anywhere.”

  “She's grounded, Nick.” Jessica looked at her watch and then stood up. “I have to run. I'll talk to you later.”

  “I'm serious, Jessica. Make sure she stays home. Just for a while.”

  “Oh, believe me, she's staying home. For a long, long while.”

  Friday, 11:00 a.m.

  Prodigal offices, Baltimore

  Nick watched Jessica leave, wondering if he should have told her exactly how much danger their daughter was in. The future would judge whether he'd been right in keeping it from her, but it hadn't been an easy decision.

  Steven walked in. “Looks like you pulled her claws. That's a first.”

  “Krystal lied to her, and I'm not in the mood to hear you rip at Jess. So what did you really need to see me about?”

  Steven stood there a second, looking as if Nick had just turned green. “I went over the books last night. Today is payday. We don't have enough money to make payroll.”

  “And why exactly were you going over the books? That's my responsibility.”

  Steven's eyes narrowed a bit, a clear indication that he was getting into another one of his snits. “I own a third of this company, remember? I have a right to look at the books if I want to.” He sighed heavily. “Look, I have some ideas about the finances, and I wanted to run them by you. If we take some of the income and invest it, we can—”

  “Invest it? Are you suggesting we use that stock market program you got last year? Steven, we can't afford to be playing around right now. This is serious.”

  “I'm not playing around. And I am serious. Look, I've been following a couple of companies, doing some research, and I think—”

  “So all these times when I catch you playing on the computer, this is what you're doing? Researching stocks instead of finding skips? Why does this not surprise me?”

  “You're not going to listen to me, are you?”

  “Nope.” Nick reached for his Excedrin. “Did Kline pay us?”

  “No. Not yet. But if you'd listen to me—”

  “Steven, enough. I'm not going to let you take what little money we have and gamble it away on some stock market long shot. Now can we get back to business, please?”

  “Fine. But even with what Kline owes us, we're not going to make it all.” Steven sat down in the chair, a hint of temper flaring in his eyes. “The best I can do is to try to collect from Kline today. If I get him to pay us, you'll have something to live on. Without him, you can pay Jenna and the guys, but you are going to be begging people to invite you for dinner.”

  “The electric bill is due at the house, and so is Mom's nursing home bill.” Nick took a quick drink and then set his can aside. “And what about you? You need money, don't you?”

  Steven shrugged. “That stock market game has made me a few bucks, so I can handle Mom's nursing home bill this month.”

  Nick had been dreading this day for months. They couldn't pay their own bills, let alone the business's. “Well, pay for Mom's nursing. Worse comes to worst, I can stay with you until I pay the electric bill.”

  Steven's expression twisted.

  “What?” Nick said. “You not okay with me staying with you?”

  “Of course I am. It's just that…well, it's just a bad time. I have someone staying with me right now.”

  “Who?”

  Steven dropped his face and began to pick at imaginary lint on his jeans. “None of your business, Nick.”

  “Steven, is there a woman living with you?”

  “I never said it was a woman, and don't get the wrong idea. I do not have a girlfriend living with me.”

  “You better not.”

  Steven jumped to his feet. “Look, you are not my mother or my father. You have no say in my private life. If I ever decided to live with someone, it would be my decision.”

  Nick lifted his hand to pacify Steven's confusing overreaction, but by then, Steven had turned and stormed out of the room.

  Nick rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the headache. He expected a fight with Jessica and didn't get one. He expected a pleasant talk with his brother and ended up in a fight. What was wrong with that picture?

  Thoughts of money troubles intruded, and he felt his heart sink. He thought of Benedict's offer. He could make a quarter of a million dollars. Or he could not pay salaries, the electric bill, or his mother's nursing expenses. The scales were tipped, and the only thing holding them steady was his own belief that if he turned Zeena over to Carver, he was signing her—and maybe Krystal's—death warrant.

  Rafe stuck his head in the door. “Annie's not answering her cell phone or her home phone. I went by her place, and her car is missing.”

  “Maybe she's out running errands.” Nick didn't have the energy to worry about every move Annie made. “Did you check the hospital?”

  “No. If she got sick, I don't think she'd drive herself down there.” He slapped the door frame lightly. “But I'll check on it. She has to be somewhere.”

  Nick spun his chair around and stared out the window, returning to his earlier train of thought. If only Michael had been able to get the bank to approve a loan. Then he wouldn't be sitting here actually thinking about how much a gangster's money would help.

  “You look like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

  Nick turned to face the door. “Michael. Hey. What brings you here on a workday?”

  “I had a meeting nearby and decided to slide in for a few minutes and see how you're doing.” He lifted his pant legs a fraction as he sat down, then adjusted his suit coat. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Getting there.”

  “Good to see you improving. How's all the financial stuff going?”

  “Same old. Steven was just in here a bit ago to inform me that we can't make payroll today.”

  Michael winced. “Ouch. It's even worse than I thought.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Nick fiddled with one of the pens on his desk, unable to
meet his friend's eyes. Hard enough to be a failure to your family. Even harder to be seen as a failure in your best friend's eyes. “I'll think of something. I always do. Of course, having someone throw a brick through the front window yesterday didn't help. I can't believe how expensive that was.”

  Michael shifted in his chair. “A brick through the window? Who? Carver?”

  “That's the way it looks.” Nick leaned back in his chair with a half smile. “You remember when we were kids and you threw that baseball through Old Man Johnson's front window?”

  Michael reached up and rubbed his chin. “Did I do that?”

  “Yep, you did. At the time, I thought it was brave and outrageous. Now all I can think is how much it must have cost Johnson to replace that huge window.” Nick reached back and rubbed his neck. “Anyway, whatever. All this is just bad timing because Conner took a night job, so he's not going to be hunting down as many fugitives.”

  “A night job? What for?”

  Nick looked back over at Michael. “Undercover at the Lily. As a bouncer. Trying to get some leads on one of our fugitives. Oh, and get this. I had a visit yesterday from two goons, who I think were from Ken Benedict.”

  “Oh…never heard of him.”

  “Just a higher class of criminal. So I have Carver threatening my daughter and demanding I turn this hooker over to him, and this Benedict rides in like some savior promising to help me if I help him bring down Carver.”

  “Did you turn him down?”

  “Of course I did. I am not going into business with a criminal, high class or not. And if I deal with Carver, that woman will be dead in a matter of minutes. You think I want that on my conscience?”

  “But if you don't deal with Carver, they'll go after Krystal. Can you live with that? You can't honestly say that a woman you don't even know is worth more than your own daughter. Are you nuts?”

  Nick shifted in his chair, searching for the words to help Michael understand. “I have no intention of putting my daughter at risk.”

  “I can't tell you what to do, Nick. But if I were you, I'd find the skip and hand her in, since she's dead either way. I love that kid of yours. If anything were to happen to her, I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking at my best friend and knowing you were the reason she was dead.”