by Callie Hart
Of course I remember. I remember all too well. The very first time I met Lowell, she pulled up in her bland sedan with the tinted out windows, and she spent the next five minutes explaining in great detail how she was going to fuck with my shit if I didn’t help her. Mac had asked me about it the next day, suspicion deeply engrained in every line of his body, and I’d told him she was just some tourist, asking how to get to the Pacific Science Center. “No. No, I can’t say that I do,” I lie.
“Well, she seems to know you, Mason. She said she’d been trying to get hold of you for a couple of days now. Said she hadn’t had any joy. And this woman, she said something really interesting before she left, Mason. You wanna know what she said?”
I keep my tongue in my head. Nothing I can do or say is going to make this situation any better. The wisest course of action is to seal my mouth shut and wait it out, see what happens. Mac throws the brick. It launches through the air and impacts with the wall just behind my head, exploding into tiny chunks of debris and a cloud of red dust.
“She said you weren’t holding up your end of the bargain. That you hadn’t given her anything interesting in days.” Mac shrugs, his palms turned up to the early morning sky. It looks like it’s going to rain. Why the fuck I’m noticing something so arbitrary as the weather when Mac looks like he’s about to cut my fucking head off is beyond me, but I can’t help it. “Why the fuck would this woman show up here, talking about you giving her something interesting? Tell me, Mason, ‘cause I am all out of ideas over here.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Probably shouldn’t have said something so patently untrue. Mac snarls under his breath, reaching down to pick up another brick. This time it hits home. Pain blossoms like a firework in my head as the chunk of stone smashes into my left shoulder.
“You lying little shit. You’ve been informing on us this whole fucking time!” Mac screams. “I kept asking myself over and over, why the fuck won’t this kid pick up any extra work? Why won’t he just give in and fucking take the easy route? And now this…this makes everything so much clearer. Can’t be blurring the lines between right and wrong, picking up extra work, if you’re already working for the cops now, can you?” Another brick flies through the air. Dave stands off to one side, watching on with grim satisfaction as Mac volleys missile after missile at my head. “She even left her fucking card for you in case you’d lost her number, you ungrateful little cunt!” Mac rips a rectangular flash of white card from the top pocket of his shirt and flicks it at me; it falls at my feet in the bare dirt, but I can see all too well the blocky black print on its surface:
Denise Lowell
Drug Enforcement Agency
Why the fuck would she do this? Coming here? To the shop? She must be furious with me if she thinks betraying me to Mac, letting him in on the fact that I’ve been feeding her information, is going to make me comply with her wishes. Her actions are more likely to get me fucking killed. Lowell knows Mac’s up to all sorts of shady shit here once the roller shutters are pulled closed each night. The stolen cars that get shunted through Mac’s are innumerable. She has to know he would assume I was informing on him if she did this; it must have been her plan all along.
Fuck that fucking bitch.
If I ever see her again…
But, no. I probably won’t see her again. The likelihood of me seeing anyone ever again is pretty fucking slim. Mac has this look in his eye—pure hatred, so intense and so raw that it looks like it’s gripped him whole. I won’t be walking out of here today. I’m going to be bundled into the trunk of one of Mac’s cars, and he’s going to have my body dumped on the stairs of the downtown police station. A message to those who think they can snitch on someone like Mac and get away with it.
“I haven’t told her anything about you, Mac. What the fuck could I have told her? I don’t know anything. Please, Mac. Just think this through.” It’s barely worth wasting my breath, but I have to try. I’m a proud guy. I hate to make myself look weak, hate begging, but a responsibility like mine will make a guy do all kinds of things. Millie is the only thing that matters. If I’m not there to take care of her, who the fuck will? She’ll be placed into the foster care system, and what family is going to want to take care of a six-year-old who suffers from grand mal seizures? No one, that’s who.
Mac snorts, looking at Dave. “Can you believe this shit? It’s fucking pathetic. Why else would a fucking DEA bitch show up here, spouting shit like that, if it weren’t true?”
Mac is many things, but smart is not one of them. “Why the fuck would she show up here, spouting that shit, if it was true? God, Mac! If I were an informant, working for her to try and bring you down, she would have just blown my cover and ruined her whole operation by talking to you. She would never have done it!”
A shadow of doubt flickers over Mac’s otherwise angry features. I’ve got him thinking, but it won’t be enough. I know it won’t. Men like Mac don’t spare another man’s life on the off chance they could be wrong about them. They kill them with their own bare hands in case they’re right.
“Then you deny knowing her?” he spits. “You’ve never met her in your entire life?”
“I’ve met her. She’s blackmailing me into helping her. It has nothing to do with you, though.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth. They found some dead body up in the mountains. They’re trying to pin the murder on the guys across the street.”
“On Mayfair?” Mac looks dubious. No doubt he has a fair few bodies of his own buried in the mountains that border the city. His mind is probably screaming at him, trying to recall when and where the other victims of his rage were all disposed of. “No one would be stupid enough to fuck with Mayfair. Not even the DEA,” he snaps. “If you’re gonna lie, you little fuck, you’d better come up with something slightly more believable.”
I bang the back of my head against the wall behind me, gritting my teeth. How the hell do you make a mad man see sense? Mac can be pretty reasonable when the mood takes him, but when he’s fired up and out for blood like this, sense isn’t any good to him, and therefore it’s banished from reach until later when cooler heads prevail.
“They have history,” I say. “She’s been after him for a while now. Go and ask him. Go and ask Zeth about her, for fuck’s sake. He’ll tell you it’s true.”
“Ha! No fucking way. So you’re saying he knows about this bitch trying to pinch him for murder?”
I nod.
“There is no fucking way on this earth a man like him would know about her and she would be still drawing breath. Just no way. He’s old school. He’s one of Charlie Holsan’s boys. He’s like me. You don’t leave problems like that walking around, causing trouble, creating problems for you. You take care of them immediately and have done with it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Dave is shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. He’s hovering in the doorway, keeping an eye out for people approaching the shop from the street, while at the same time remaining close to help Mac if I become too much of a problem. Right now, he looks distinctly uncomfortable, like he has something to say but can’t quite bring himself to say it.
Mac spits onto the ground, stooping slowly to collect up another brick. He passes it from one hand to the other, coldly regarding me with distaste. “Maybe killing you isn’t enough, Reeves. After all the shit I’ve done for you, all the slack I’ve given you, you do this to me?” Shaking his head violently from side to side, he grunts, narrowing his eyes. “No. Killing you won’t be enough. Maybe Dave will go pay a visit to Millie after we’re done here. Seems like a kindness to me, in fact. Put the poor little bitch out of her misery once and for all. What do you say, Mase? You think we’d be doing her a favor?”
My body reacts without my permission. I fly at the old man, fists raised, and I hit him hard. His head kicks back, blood spattering everywhere as his nose makes a wet popping sound.
“Ho
shit,” Dave whispers. “You did not just do that.”
I’m not listening to him, though. I’m deaf and I am blind to anything but the man lying on the ground before me. He can’t be allowed to hurt her. He just can’t be allowed to fucking hurt her. No matter what, I have to make sure Mac never comes within three fucking feet of Millie. Something’s in my hand, something uneven and rough against my already rough skin: a heel of shattered brick. That will do. When Mac was launching the bricks at me just now, he wasn’t really aiming properly. He was trying to scare me, to get me to admit to something that would damn me. When I throw the brick, I’m aiming right between the bastard’s eyes. He sees it coming way too late. Mac screams as the brick makes contact, holding his hands over his face. I don’t stop there, though. I pick up another brick, and another and another, throwing each one as hard as I can at his head until his hands fall away and his flesh is a bloody, messy pulp.
I can hear nothing but the loud rush of my blood hurtling through me.
And then:
“Mason? Mason! Jesus fucking Christ, man, stop! You’re going to kill him!” Dave’s hands are all over me, tearing at my clothes, trying to get me to still myself, but I’m gripping by a power larger and stronger than myself. Dave isn’t a small guy, and yet it takes him a long time to pin my arms to my side. “Fuck, Mase, he wasn’t gonna kill ya. You know he wasn’t.”
“Bullshit! He would have done it and he wouldn’t have fucking thought twice. You were gonna stand there and watch him do it, you sick fuck!” I rip myself free of him and spin, shoving him away from me. “Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t you fucking dare!”
Dave looks stunned. Mac’s unconscious on the floor, and his breathing is labored. His nose is shattered, and the index finger on his left hand is practically hanging off, skin scraped away so badly that the bone is exposed beneath. “Shit, Mason. You really fucked him up. You think he’s gonna go easy on you now? You’re a fucking mad man!”
“I don’t care if he goes easy on me, man. Let him come for me again. I’ll finish the job next time.” If I stand here any longer, Dave’s going to gather his wits and grab hold of me before I can make a run for it. I push past him, ready to turn and fight again if I have to, but Mac’s coughing and spluttering all of a sudden, making pathetic groaning noises, and Dave rushes to his side, calling his name.
My eyes don’t see straight until I’m halfway across the street, my feet already marching on a direct route toward the gym. The place is locked up, though. The shutters are down. I can easily get in, sure, but if Zee or Michael aren’t there then what’s the point?
I turn back and jump into my truck, speeding away down the street before anything else can turn to shit. I don’t know where I’m going, but I do know one thing: I’m no longer safe. My life is in danger, and it’s all Lowell’s fault. I’m gonna make her pay. I’m gonna make her pay for what she’s done.
******
It’s late. I spent the afternoon trying to track down Ben again—this time for my sake as much as his own. No joy, though. He seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet, and I can’t help but worry that maybe the guys at French’s have caught up with him already.
I have more luck with Lowell. Following the string of aggressive text messages I send through to the burner phone I know she always keeps in the pocket of her pantsuit, I finally receive a response:
2134 W Renshaw
That’s all it says. The first line of an address. I plug the information into my cell phone and pull up a route to the location, and then I burn across there, my hands itching like crazy as I try to strangle the steering wheel. The address, as it turns out, is an innocuous looking drug store on the outskirts of town—a twenty-four hour place that seems to sell everything and nothing all at once. I find Denise in the feminine hygiene isle.
“So you’re on your period? Is that why you just destroyed my fucking life?” I grab hold of her by the shoulders, shoving her roughly. She staggers sideways into a shelving unit stacked high with pink and purple brightly colored packs of…of god knows what. At the far end of the aisle, a young woman with a ponytail, wearing a set of green overalls looks up, eyes filled with judgment.
“Careful,” Lowell advises, straightening her suit. “Don’t want to rile the natives. Wouldn’t go down well.”
“You’re one sick bitch, you know that?” I want to knock her fucking head off, but smashing Lowell’s skull will come with a set of consequences, just like beating the crap out of Mac will. Assaulting Lowell ends only one way: with me serving a very long sentence in a very dangerous prison. I have to squeeze my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms in order to stop myself from unleashing on her. “I’m not sure what you wanted to happen when you decided to go over to Mac’s place, but you’ll be happy to know I’ve basically got a contract out on my head, I’ve lost my job, and I’m going to have to pull Millie out of school so those sick bastards don’t try and kill her, too. Are you happy? Are you fucking happy?”
Lowell brushes her hair behind her ears. She normally wears it scraped back close to her scalp, but today her shoulder length blonde hair is free. It makes her less severe somehow. I’d be a fool to be tricked by this simple slight of hand, though. She’s just about as severe as they get, and she’s proud of the fact. “If there’s one thing you ought to know about me, Mr. Reeves, it’s that I’m only ever happy when I’m chasing down a felon. You made me very unhappy when you failed to provide any information on Mayfair. So in return, I made you very unhappy. That’s how this arrangement works, okay?”
“Not okay.” I lean in, hissing, so only she can hear me. “I just lost all means of keeping my sister clothed and fed with a roof over her head. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve motivated you, Mason.” She reaches into the inside pocket of her suit jacket and removes a white envelope. Pressing it against my chest, she raises both eyebrows. “One week’s wages. Not enough to grow complacent on, but enough to pay some bills. If you want more money, you need to give me something I can work with. Give me something great that means I can put Zeth where he belongs and I’ll give you six month’s wages. How long could you take care of Millie with that? Pay for her meds? Keep her in Pokémon, or whatever kids are playing with these days.” She gives me a pointed look. “You see, I can be quite benevolent when the mood takes me. But I can also throw whoever the fuck I want under the bus if it means I get closer to accomplishing my goal. Understand?”
Shit. She’s made it virtually impossible for me to do anything but play ball with her. I take the envelope from her and look inside. There are seven crisp one hundred dollar bills inside—I don’t know what she thought Mac was paying me but she’s just given me a fifty percent pay raise. I consider the notes tucked inside the envelope, trying to figure out how to make this right, but I can’t. The bitch owes me. She took away my livelihood, she owes me big time. And yet the money is dirty, feels dirty, makes me feel dirty. I want to throw it back in her face.
Instead I slip it into my back pocket.
“I’ll get you what you’re looking for,” I tell her. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve given me much of a choice.”
Lowell smiles a smug, terrible smile that makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Good boy, Mason. I’m so pleased you’ve come to your senses.”
I leave the drug store before I can go on the hunt for something caustic enough to kill her. I need to know Millie’s safe. Mac’s going to be on the warpath—if he’s alive, of course—and he’s going to be looking for revenge. He’s a sick fuck. No doubt about it, he’d take his anger out on a child if the opportunity arose. He knows I leave my sister with a sitter, but thankfully I’ve never mentioned who I leave her with. I call Wanda, and she confirms that Millie’s safe and sound, a little tired but doing just fine.
The key’s in the truck’s ignition, ready to be turned, and my hand is on the gear stick, ready to throw it into drive, when I see Lowell flit out of th
e drug store and cross the street, running toward a fairly unassuming blue SUV, the kind so generic that you barely notice them among the sea of other generic SUVs that flood the roads. She hops in the front driver’s seat and straps herself in, and the whole time, my mind is ticking. Tick, tick, ticking. I don’t know when I decide to follow her. It’s not really a conscious decision. It’s only when I’m pulling up outside a modest two story building in Greenwood and Lowell goes inside that I realize what I’ve done. Fuck me. If she saw me tailing her, I’m in for a world of hurt. I was careful, though. I made sure to move a few cars back, never in the same lane of traffic unless absolutely necessary.
Lights go on inside the house. Movement: a dark shadow shifts from one room to the next, and then the hall and upstairs lights go on. Lowell appears at the window for a second, a coffee cup in her hand. She draws one curtain closed across the glass in front of her, and then the other. For all the world, it looks like Denise Lowell just arrived home and is settling in for the night.
And now I know where she lives.
Chapter Sixteen
SLOANE
“How the fuck could you be so reckless?” Oliver pulls off his rubber gloves and hurls them into the HAZMAT bin by the door. “I—I don’t even know what to say, Sloane. I just can’t…fucking…believe…”
I knew he wasn’t going to react well, but I had no idea I was going to render him speechless. The blood test he’s just performed has confirmed once and for all that I’m pregnant, and he is none too happy about the revelation. “Have you thought about your options?” he asks. His back is to me, so I can’t see the look on his face. I can picture it, though: so much disappointment and worry there.