Golden Trail

by Ashley, Kristen

  He found what he was searching for in St. Louis, San Antonio, Reno, Phoenix and LA but he lost more by leaving what really mattered at home and he’d paid a mighty price for that fuck up. Nevertheless, he made more friends than enemies along the way, case in point, Devin Glover dropping everything and hitting town after getting a phone call.

  Jarrod Astley and Stew Baranski hadn’t learned not to shit where they lived, where they worked, wherever they wanted. They didn’t care who they screwed over. You couldn’t live your life like that and not face retribution eventually.

  And it was closing in on Astley and Stew’s judgment days.

  Layne and Colt hit the even smaller town next to the ‘burg, a town right on the outskirts of Indy. It held a Raceway and was a decent place, generally, but could get pretty rough when the races were on. The ‘burg had J&J’s as its hotspot, no other drinking establishments in town because every one that sprung up failed due to people’s loyalty to J&J’s. J&J’s wasn’t the only place to drink, there were restaurants that had bars, but it was the only place people went to meet friends, listen to the jukebox, play a game of pool and tie one on.

  This town wasn’t the same. They had tons of bars, most of them rough due to their clientele being race groupies or race hangers on. Layne swung into the one Colt informed him they were going to and parked.

  He switched off the ignition and turned to Colt. “There a way we need to play this?”

  Colt shook his head. “You don’t play Ryker. He either likes you or he doesn’t. He likes you, he shares. He doesn’t, we’ll know in about two seconds and then we’ll go have lunch.”

  Layne nodded and they both turned to their doors.

  The day was overcast with intermittent rain. Even if there was sun, the light in the bar would be dim stating openly to its customers that anything goes. You could fuck a race groupie in the corner and not be noticed. You could also make a drug sale or slide a blade into an enemy.

  Colt led Layne to a corner table where a man sat alone with his back to the wall and a bottle of beer in front of him on the table. It was cold outside but the guy was wearing a black tank top stretched across his bulky, ripped torso, jeans and motorcycle boots and he wasn’t resting with his coat slung on his chair. But he was lounging back in that chair, one of his long, beefy legs straight in front of him, foot resting on its heel, the other leg cocked with foot flat to the ground. He looked relaxed but Layne knew he was alert to anything. He had two sleeves of tattoos running up his arms, full on wrist to shoulder ink, both sleeves slithering up his thick neck. He was bald, he was ugly and it was easy to read he was not a guy you messed with.

  “Ryker,” Colt greeted and didn’t hesitate before he sat down at Ryker’s table.

  “This guy a cop?” Ryker asked, his eyes locked on Layne.

  Layne took a seat at the same time he held Ryker’s eyes.

  “Nope,” Colt answered.

  “Smells like a cop,” Ryker commented and, even though Colt was a cop, he did this in a way that stated plainly cops were not his favorite people.

  “Used to be one, now he’s a PI,” Colt replied.

  Ryker’s eyebrows shot up and he kept his eyes on Layne. “A dick?” That was meant to have two meanings and Layne clenched his teeth.

  “What he is, for the purposes of this meet, is Gabrielle Layne’s ex-husband,” Colt told Ryker.

  Ryker’s eyes cut to Colt. “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Stew Baranski’s woman,” Colt answered.

  Ryker grinned, he knew who she was but he still asked, “Fat bitch?”

  “Ryker,” Colt said low.

  “Dumb bitch.” Ryker refused to read the warning.

  Layne was done so he entered the conversation.

  “She and I have two boys, one of ‘em saw Baranski hand off an envelope to Carlito at the house. Gabby tells me Stew has troubles. You know anything about that?”

  Ryker’s eyes sliced to Layne on the words “two boys” and he waited a beat before he answered, “I know Carlito is a fuckwad.”

  “I know that too,” Layne returned.

  “And I know Baranski is an assclown,” Ryker went on.

  “Yeah, you aren’t tellin’ me anything I don’t know,” Layne informed him. “Not here to find out shit I know, I’m here to find out what’s goin’ on because I’m not a big fan of my boys witnessing Baranski makin’ a payment to a loan shark.”

  Ryker grinned. “That wasn’t no payment.”

  Layne didn’t like the sound of that.

  “So what was it?” Layne asked.

  “Wasn’t no payment,” Ryker answered.

  Layne studied Ryker then looked at Colt.

  “Ryker, you got somethin’, it’d help Layne out,” Colt prompted and Ryker’s eyes went from Colt to Layne.

  He examined Layne for a long time before he asked, “Which one?”

  “Come again?” Layne asked back.

  “Which boy?”

  Layne felt the muscles in his neck contract. “Not sure that’s relevant, man.”

  Ryker didn’t let it go. “The one that tagged that sweet catch and, after, caught it from that dickhead coach who should have his nuts in a vice or the one who can block like that fat bitch pushed him out while he was wearin’ shoulder pads?”

  Christ, this fuckin’ guy was a Bulldogs fan.

  “Jasper,” Layne knew at that moment it was safe to say. “My older boy. The one who can block.”

  “Got quick feet, hasn’t seen the ball in two games,” Ryker noted. “You doin’ somethin’ about that?”

  “All I can do,” Layne replied.

  “And what’s that?” Ryker pushed.

  “The School Board is investigating my complaint,” Layne answered and when he did, Ryker threw back his head and barked out his laughter, something Layne didn’t appreciate all that much but he held his tongue.

  When he was done, Ryker tipped his chin down and leveled his eyes on Layne. “You give me the word, sport, I might find it in me to convince the coach to let both your boys see the ball. No marker to be paid, I’d give you that for free.”

  Jesus.

  “I like my way of doin’ it,” Layne told him.

  “Scouts not gonna get the full picture, your older boy’s a senior, that motherfucker’ll fuck him up.”

  “I still like my way of doin’ it,” Layne repeated and it was far more firmly this time.

  Ryker watched him awhile then he shrugged.

  Layne brought the matter back to hand, saying, “How much is Baranski into Carlito for?”

  “Nothin’,” Ryker answered immediately and Layne’s brows drew together.

  “Nothin’?” he reiterated.

  “Nope, he was, dickhead’s shit at the dogs, but he ain’t anymore.”

  Layne felt Colt’s eyes on him and he turned to meet his gaze.

  Then Colt looked at Ryker. “You wanna fill in that picture?”

  Layne looked back at Ryker too and Ryker leaned forward, putting a tattooed arm on the table.

  “He got deep with Carlito, so deep he couldn’t get out,” Ryker shared. “So, instead of Carlito takin’ it out on Baranski the normal way, he put Baranski to work. Baranski liked this work so now he’s doin’ it part-time.”

  Then he leaned back and stopped talking but Layne knew what he was saying and Layne knew why Gabby asked him to take the boys for extra weeks, even though she probably didn’t know why. Carlito was undoubtedly a frequent visitor and, even if Gabby wasn’t full in the know, she’d read Carlito and wouldn’t want the boys around that. And, lastly, Layne was struggling against the urge to hunt down Stew Baranski and beat him bloody.

  He won his struggle and sought confirmation. “Stew is Carlito’s enforcer?”

  Ryker nodded once. “One of ‘em, yeah.”

  There it was. Confirmation.

  Fucking shit.

  “You are shittin’ me,” Layne whispered but he knew Ryker wasn’t.

  Ryker confirmed
this too and grinned while doing it. “Nope.”

  Layne turned his head to Colt. “That asshole’s livin’ with my boys.”

  Layne was addressing Colt but Ryker answered, “Yep,” and Layne’s eyes went back to him.

  Then he told Ryker, “Done my homework, Ryker, and Baranski hasn’t been payin’ bills and neither has my ex.”

  Ryker shrugged again. “Why would he? He’s got a sweet ride. She’s fat and she’s nothin’ to look at but she keeps him fed. Pays his bills,” he grinned again, “or maybe she doesn’t but she tries. She’s good cover, all respectable, single mom, two boys.” He tipped his head to Colt. “Means even the cops don’t know about his leisure activities. Leaves him free to do his job and gives him the opportunity he didn’t have before to use his money and his take from Carlito to live his life as he wants to and to keep his other piece sassy. Figure, he got hooked up with your ex because no one else would suck his dick but lotta women will suck your dick you got the money to pay ‘em to do it.”

  “His other piece?” Colt asked.

  “Yep,” Ryker answered.

  “You know who that is?” Colt pressed.

  “Don’t know her name but know she ain’t no fat bitch, she don’t got no kids, she drives an ace ride that Baranski bought her and also know she takes it up the ass because everyone knows that’s the only way Baranski likes it.”

  Layne swallowed the saliva this statement brewed in his mouth, not needing that much information about Gabby’s relationship with her fuckwad boyfriend.

  Ryker was grinning at him and then he leaned forward again and his grin disappeared.

  “I’ll give you an extra bonus because your boys can play ball,” he said. “Baranski won’t be cryin’ in his cornflakes, your ex turns him out. But he’ll wring her dry before he gets shot of her. She’s diggin’ a hole to keep him in her bed, he won’t give one, single, shit he leaves her in that hole. You want him outta her bed, wouldn’t take but a touch of pressure to get him to go but that don’t mean he won’t leave her fucked up the ass and I mean that in a different way. You want him gone, it’ll take you about two fuckin’ seconds to make that happen. You want him to pay, now that would be more fun and, since I’m feelin’ generous, I could help you with that too.”

  “How?” Layne bit out.

  “I make it my business to know Carlito’s business and I can give you the head’s up, he sends Baranski after someone. You’re a dick, I bet you got cameras and, if you’re a good one, I bet you can make yourself invisible. You take shots of him leanin’ on someone, and he has a special flair with that, sport, he’s Carlito’s top man, what you’ll catch him doin’ won’t be pretty and that’s comin’ from a man who ain’t squeamish at the sight of blood. You can use those shots to lean on him. You got evidence, you shove it in his face, make the payoff somethin’ that’ll get your ex outta her hole and he’ll be gone.” He sat back and clapped his hands. “Problems solved.” He smiled big and his smile made him uglier. “You got a mind to do it, you could even do some ass fuckin’ yourself, after he makes that payoff, your ex is good, you hand over those shots to the pigs anyway. Baranski goes down, only people would miss him are Carlito and his piece of ass and, I’m just guessin’ here, but I bet neither of ‘em will take too long to find replacements.”

  Layne smiled at him.

  Then he said, “I’ll give you my number.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dark and Wild

  It was ten to six when Layne turned onto his street and saw Rocky’s Mercedes parked, not in the drive, but at the curb behind a white Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais circa 1987, Dev’s ride.

  She was early.

  Layne was late.

  He was late because he’d made the mistake of calling his client who was dedicated to the belief her husband was stepping out on her in an attempt to convince her that her husband was not stepping out on her. This should have been a ten minute conversation. It ended up being a forty-five minute conversation during which she’d fired him and informed him that she was hiring someone who would do the job properly. Layne wasn’t broken up about this, mainly because she was coming the next day to pay in cash.

  He was also late because he stopped at the liquor store. He meant to buy a bottle of red wine for Rocky but ended up purchasing three and, because she hadn’t been of age when they were together and he had no fucking clue what she drank (outside red wine and fancy-ass beer, the latter of which he wasn’t spending money on on principle), he bought bottles of vodka, rum, gin, tequila as well as margarita mix and two-liters of diet cola and tonic water.

  When Layne pulled into his drive, the garage door was up and the Charger was parked inside. Rocky and Dev undoubtedly parked in the street because Layne was coming in and Jasper had to go out to pick up Keira.

  He pulled in, jumped down and Blondie jumped down behind him. Layne opened the backdoor of the SUV and hefted out the three carrier bags. He led the dog into the house and this took effort because Blondie was crowding him in her excitement to get to her boys, so much that they walked into the kitchen together.

  Blondie shot forward but Layne stopped dead.

  The vacuum was going and this was because Jasper was pushing it around the rug in the living room. Tripp was also in the living room, a dust rag in one hand, a can of furniture polish in the other and he was working on the wood of the TV unit. Rocky was still wearing her work getup, her back to him, standing at an island that was cleared of mail, magazines, papers, used coffee mugs, pop cans, beer bottles and other detritus. It now appeared to be covered in vegetables and at the end was an enormous bouquet of flowers. All the other counters had also been cleared as well as wiped down. Devin was sitting on a stool opposite Raquel, his fingers curled around a bottle of beer. When Layne walked in, both Devin and Rocky were laughing.

  “Hey Dad!” Tripp shouted, Jasper’s head swung to him, Devin’s eyes went to him and Rocky turned toward him, a knife in her hand. Blondie barked and attacked Jasper and the vacuum.

  “Have I entered a new dimension?” Layne asked the room to which Jasper grinned as he gave Blondie a head rub.

  “Rocky says girls don’t like dirty houses,” he shouted over the vacuum then Blondie lost interest in Jas and attacked Tripp and Jasper grabbed the handle of the vacuum again and started pushing it under the coffee table.

  There you go. Rocky was behind this activity.

  “She’d know,” Layne muttered, his eyes swinging to Rocky and catching her dimple before she turned back to her vegetables.

  He walked to the island beside her and dumped his bags next to the vegetables. She had a bowl in front of her already filled with salad leaves, sliced cucumbers, diced tomatoes, strips of yellow bell pepper and she was working on a carrot.

  “Hey Dev,” Layne greeted.

  “Boy,” Dev greeted back, his eyes slid to Rocky, back to Layne and he smiled slowly.

  Layne had no idea how long Rocky was there but however long it was, she’d earned Dev’s approval. This didn’t surprise Layne. Her Dad was a cop so was her brother and she knew every uniform and plainclothesman in the county – Rocky was Dev’s kind of people. Rocky was also a female of the beautiful variety who wore tight skirts, high heels and soft sweaters – that was Dev’s kind of people too.

  Layne moved into Rocky’s back, put a hand to the counter in front of her and discovered one good thing about her wearing her hair up. It left her neck totally exposed. With this opportunity afforded him, he placed a hand on her sweater at her waist, slid it forward to her belly and touched his lips to the skin behind her ear.

  He absorbed the minor tremor that slid through her body before it went stiff and he whispered in her ear, “Hey baby.”

  She kept cutting as she whispered back, “Hey Layne.”

  “You’re early,” he noted and she nodded, her body still stiff, likely because his was pressed the length of her back, from hips to shoulders and he not only hadn’t moved either hand, he also had begun to slide
his thumb back and forth across the soft material of her sweater.

  “I thought I’d help Jasper impress Keira with his concern over her nutrition,” she replied and tossed some of the carrots into the bowl. “Though, not too concerned. I also bought an apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream for dessert.”

  She hadn’t changed because, after work, she’d gone to the store and she’d gone to the store to do something for his boy.

  Layne grinned and lifted his face from her neck but didn’t move away when he asked, “Flowers?”

  “Those’re from me. You don’t have dinner with the ladies without buyin’ ‘em flowers,” Dev put in and Layne smiled at him.

  “Fair warning, sweetcheeks, Dev’s a ladies’ man,” Layne told Rocky.

  “He’s already impressed that on me,” Rocky returned and Layne chuckled.

  Then he put his lips back to her ear and invited softly, “You need to get outta those shoes, baby.”

  “I would,” she replied, “if I wasn’t scared of what my feet would encounter after doing it.”

  Layne lifted his head again, still smiling, and called to Tripp, “Finish polishing, Pal, then get that thing that sweeps the floors.”

  At his words, Rocky twisted her neck and tilted her head back to look up at him. “It’s called a broom, Layne.”

  He smiled down at her. “I told you this was a testosterone zone, sweetcheeks. ‘Bout the only thing in the house that has a connection to work that doesn’t have a plug or use batteries is that polish Tripp’s wielding. We got a thing that sweeps the floors.”

  Rocky kept staring up at him after he’d finished speaking, the vacuum had gone off and Layne forced his eyes from hers when he heard Jasper announce, “I’m on that, Dad. Tripp’s gonna clean the downstairs bathroom after he finishes with the furniture.”