by Andrea Speed
Chai had to think back to that message Holden left him, the one that pretty much passed over his brain like unwanted thoughts. “Uh, um, according to the message he left me, he was checking out a lead on Officer Robinson’s shooting. His contact in the Jungle overheard a couple guys arguing about it.”
“His contact in the Jungle,” Murphy repeated. “Who’s that?”
Chai shook his head and flinched slightly at the look on her face. Goddamn, he bet she broke a lot of people in the interrogation room. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. He just said it was someone called Hel.”
“Hel?” She was still frowning, and it still looked scary as hell, but she toned it down a little, maybe aware she was intimidating him. The funny thing? She was the shortest person in their group, and yet he got the impression she could kick all their asses, even friendly bear Shep’s. “As in Helena Holmgren?”
Chai shrugged and shook his head. He didn’t know.
“Who’s that?” Dee asked.
“Street kid. Pretty legendary around here. Tough as nails, dresses like a man, takes care of some of the weaker kids on the downtown streets. When that trans stabber was around, he attacked her.”
“Oh shit,” Shep said, scratching his beard. “I think I remember that.”
“What happened to that guy?” Dee asked.
It was Murphy’s turn to shake her head. “Don’t know. We never got any solid leads on him. Since these guys rarely stop on their own, we figure he’s moved on, got arrested for some other crime, or… who knows.” For some reason, she flashed him a dark look. But why would…? Oh. Oh shit. Holden’s vigilante thing. He got him, didn’t he? Was that why Hel was helping him now? Did he do her a favor, so now she was doing Holden a favor? Holy shit, what did he get thrown into the middle of? “The problem is hunting down Hel. She could be anywhere. You don’t happen to know where she was staying, do you?”
It took Chai a second to realize she was talking to him. “No, I’ve never even met her.”
Murphy ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “How does this make any fucking sense? What’s going on down there?”
Dee shrugged. “The Jungle’s pretty rough.”
“Agreed. But not like this. Someone kills Burn, and when Kevin tries to follow that up—even though it’s not his case—he gets shot. Holden follows that up and is attacked by several guys, many of whom are semipro. This doesn’t add up.”
“Wait,” Chai interjected. “What do you mean by semipro?”
“Hired thugs,” she told him. “Guys who will break other guys’ legs for drugs or money. Anderson just got out of Walla Walla for breaking some guy’s shoulder that he didn’t even know.”
Chai felt like he was going numb from all this. It was information crashing over his head like a wave and dragging him along behind it. “Hold it. You’re saying someone hired those guys to attack Holden?”
“Maybe not all of them, but a couple, yeah.”
Chai stared at her. “Why the hell would someone do that?”
She pointed at him. “That’s what I’m saying. This is fucking bonkers.”
Chai held a hand to his forehead, as if trying to hold his own brains in. It was beginning to feel like they were dribbling out his eardrums. “I haven’t been in the detective business long,” Chai admitted, “and I’m feeling really out of my depth here.”
“Goddammit, where’s Roan when we need him,” Murphy grumbled.
“Kelowna,” Dee replied.
“It’s drugs, right?” Shep said. Only now did Chai recognize a hint of a Southern accent. “Shit like this, it’s usually drugs.”
Murphy threw up her hands in disgust. “Most likely, yeah. We figure Burn was killed in a drug dispute. But why shoot a cop? That was a guarantee that we’d be all up in their grill. And attacking Krause makes zero sense. Where’s the profit in that?”
Chai found himself wondering what Holden would do if he were here and not in surgery. The answer seemed both foolish and spot on. “Do you have Holden’s phone?” Chai asked Shep.
Everybody was giving him funny looks, probably because it seemed like a non sequitur, but Shep humored him. “Uh, yeah, it’s with his personal effects.”
“Can I get it?”
Murphy fixed her scrutinizing stare on Chai. “Does this have anything to do with the case?”
“I don’t think so. But I do need it.”
She studied him a moment, and Chai did his best not to squirm. “If I get it for you, can I hear the message he left you?”
He considered that. Was there anything incriminating in the message? To the best of Chai’s recollection, there wasn’t. Holden was just catching him up on the case as it stood. He’d be shocked if the cops hadn’t figured it out to this point. “Yes.”
She nodded. “Just a sec.”
The detective headed off, and as soon as she was out of view, Chai said, “Is she really scary, or is it just me?”
“She is super scary,” Shep said. “But that’s what I like about her.”
Dee clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “God, you heteros.”
Shep chuckled, and Chai got the sense this was a private joke between Dee and Shep. Dee turned to Chai. “So, you have an idea on how to proceed?”
“At the moment I’m winging it,” he replied, and it was only a partial lie. He was afraid if he told him, Dee might get mad at him and try and talk him out of it.
Murphy returned a couple of minutes later with Holden’s phone sealed inside a plastic bag. Before she handed it over, Chai had to give her his phone so she could listen to Holden’s voicemail message. She listened, stone-faced, lips drawn thin, and when she was done, she handed Chai his phone and Holden’s phone. “He’s as clueless as we are on this,” she reported. “Dammit.”
“Is calling him really out of the question?” Shep asked. It was easy to guess who the he in this particular instance was.
Chai wandered off until he found a quiet corner. Actually not a corner but a small waiting room, presumably for families with loved ones being treated in the emergency room. For the moment, it was empty. Chai sat on a hard plastic chair and looked at Holden’s contacts on his phone. Holden, as per usual, didn’t list people by their proper names, but by nicknames he gave them. Pretty Boy was probably Scott; Golem was probably Grey; and so forth. He was Tea, which was Holden making a joke. But Chai decided the man he wanted was probably the one listed under King—as in King of the Jungle. He took a calming breath and hit the speed dial.
The phone rang three times before someone picked it up. “What is it, Holden?”
“Is this Roan McKichan?”
There was a brief pause. “Who’s this?”
“You don’t know me. I’m Somchai Nayar, Holden’s detective partner.”
“Chai? Right, he told me about you.” His voice thawed a little, and only then did Chai realize Roan had his guard up as soon as he realized he wasn’t Holden. Then he figured it out, without Chai having to tell him. “What the hell’s happened to him?”
Chai gave him the abbreviated version, telling him he was jumped and in the hospital, but Shep wasn’t worried about him. He also admitted this was a case none of them could figure out. “We’re all missing something, and the general consensus seemed to be if anyone could figure it out, it’s you. I thought about what Holden might do, and I knew he’d call you if he needed help. So I’m calling you.”
“Kevin’s been shot?” Roan exclaimed. “Why the fuck didn’t anyone call and tell me that?”
That caught Chai short. “Uh, I don’t know.”
“Shit. He gonna make it?”
“I think so.”
Roan was quiet for a few seconds. “How many of his attackers did Holden kill?”
Just like that. Was that him being a brilliant detective or simply knowing Holden better than any of them? “None, although two of them are in critical condition.”
“Of course they are. The day Holden’s an easy target is the day he takes himself
out.”
That was frightening. Also, most likely true. “I hate to bother you with this. I mean, I know you were just in the hospital yourself—”
“That was nothing,” Roan said. Chai knew he was lying, but he also knew that Roan didn’t care about it. “I have headaches. Sometimes they’re unreasonable, and the doctors don’t always know what to do about them. I’m fine.” He paused briefly. “Where’s everybody? Harborview?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll head down. Where are you?”
It took Chai a moment to figure out what he was referring to. He then told him his address. “Should you come down? I mean, everybody’s gonna be pissed off at me for calling you.”
“I’m a grown man, and I do what I want. Besides, they all know I’m a stubborn asshole, which is probably why no one called me to tell me about Kevin. Thanks for the heads-up. See you soon.” Roan then hung up.
It was great timing, as a couple of people came into the lounge, one of them loudly crying. Chai sat back, wondering if he’d made a huge mistake. And if Dee would ever talk to him again.
This wasn’t a great date night after all.
16—Sorry Dad, I Was Late for the Riot
CHAI TOLD Dee he wanted to go to Holden’s place and pick him up some clothes and things for when he woke up, so Dee took him back to his place to get his car. If this was a date, it had ended really weird, without even a kiss.
Chai still had a key to Holden’s place, and Holden had a key to his place. It seemed like a wise precaution. They were single men with friends in unsavory places, in a profession where sketchiness was a continual issue, and he realized that for Holden this was even truer. He was a vigilante, and violence was usually met with violence—such as tonight. Although that wasn’t his fault. They were going to kill him, right? Sending six guys to beat him up meant beat him to death, right? Shit.
“What have you gotten us into, Holden?” he asked the air as he went into his bedroom to pack a bag. He found a backpack in his closet and started shoving clothes in randomly. Chai made himself stop to think about what he was putting in it. He looked through his drawers and told himself not to look for weapons, but he did anyway. He only found a foldable utility knife, but that could have been for home repair or something.
Holden had a scattering of paperbacks around, and Chai had to decide which ones to throw in. He picked a couple at random; the covers swayed him more than anything else. Then he found Holden’s iPod and threw that in as well.
Once Chai had filled the bag, he went to the front room, collapsed on the couch, and didn’t move. He knew he needed to get up, probably run back to the hospital with this bag, but he couldn’t. It felt like all the life had been kicked out of him. Someone had tried to kill Holden tonight. It didn’t matter that he’d nearly killed a few of them first. He was fucking lucky to still be alive.
What would he have done if Holden died? His mind kept going back to that, and he didn’t know. He had no answer. Would he get revenge for him? Could he? Could he become the limping vigilante? He amused himself for three seconds thinking about it, but then it just tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Fuck. This whole detective thing was a mistake, wasn’t it? He wasn’t cut out for this. He’d never been in a fight in his life. Or, more correctly, people had punched him, but he never had a chance. He was not a fighter, in temperament or ability. He could wield sarcasm like a razor, though. That would show thugs with knives and guns, wouldn’t it? Shit.
Somehow, somewhere in the middle of feeling sorry for Holden and sorry for himself, he fell asleep. Chai had no idea how that was possible but didn’t think about it until a strange noise woke him up. He looked around, thinking it was in the apartment with him, but after letting it sift through his sleep-fogged mind, he realized he had heard a loud engine outside.
Chai pushed himself up, ignoring the aching in his leg, and went to the door. Looking out into the early light of dawn, he saw a man standing by a motorcycle, opening his leather jacket to reveal a T-shirt underneath that said Pansy Division. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
The penny dropped on his identity when he took off his full-face mirrored helmet and revealed a messy shock of startling red hair. It wasn’t the usual red you might see on a natural ginger. It was dark, shocking, a deep crimson that seemed to go almost black. It made Chai think of blood, then think there was no way that could be his real color. That had to come from a bottle or a jar of Manic Panic. But then he turned around, and Chai saw that his eyebrows, although a slightly darker shade, were essentially the same color, so no, probably not a dye job. And his eyes were like a punch in the gut. They were a bright, clear green and reminded him somehow of cat’s eyes.
Oh. So this was Roan. Funny, Chai thought he’d be taller.
Not that he was short. Chai had simply assumed, the way people talked about Roan, he’d have a general Hulk-like, man-mountain build. But he looked normal, like a regular person, except for his gaudy hair and bright eyes. And something else. Chai couldn’t say why, exactly, but he felt attracted to and scared by him in equal measure. He generally didn’t like gingers, and there was nothing obviously scary about him, so he didn’t understand his reaction. Maybe it was because he knew he was the lion guy and was reacting accordingly.
Chai opened the door and watched as he walked up, helmet tucked under his arm. “Chai?” he asked.
He nodded. “Roan, I presume.”
“Nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry the circumstances couldn’t be better.”
“Me too,” Chai agreed. They shook hands, and again, Roan had big hands and a strong grip. But Chai could feel the tension in his hand, like he was holding back. He suddenly wondered if full-tilt Roan could crush his hand to a fine powder. If so, no wonder Dee put odds on him going against an army.
Chai stepped back, and Roan came in. He smelled faintly of ginger—the spice, not his hair-color grouping—and it was unexpected but pleasant enough. “You drove from BC on a motorcycle?”
“I told my husband I wasn’t going to be long, and I took the bike to prove it.”
“Did he believe you?”
“Oh hell no. He’s coming down on the train, and I imagine we’re going to fight about it at the hotel, but fuck it. Two of my friends are in the hospital, and I’m not going to stand by and do nothing.” Roan put his helmet on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. “Did Holden leave some case notes, or is that a pipe dream?”
“A bit, but he left me a message.” Chai cued it up on his phone and handed it to Roan. “Want some coffee?”
Roan took the phone with a nod of thanks. He was really startling-looking up close. How old was he? He looked ageless in that weird way that only some really lucky hot guys could. “Thanks, but I think my doctors would kill me if I got into hard caffeine again.”
“How about some iced tea, then? Holden has some in his fridge to mix with gin.”
Roan gave him a crooked smile. “Figures. Sure, I’ll have some tea. Hold the gin.”
Chai nodded and poured him a glass. Chai really had planned to make himself some coffee but ultimately decided he didn’t want to bother and poured himself a glass of tea as well. He carried them out to the living room and set them on the coffee table as Roan sat on the edge of the sofa, listening to Holden’s message with an intensity that was palpable. Somehow Roan was a big presence in a room, even saying nothing and remaining perfectly still. Holden was right. He had gravity, and maybe that was the most frightening thing about him. Chai sat in a chair and stilled his hands to stop himself from reaching out to touch Roan’s hair. It still looked like an unreal color, and he kind of wondered what it felt like. Would it have that dry, crackly overdyed texture, or would it be inexplicably soft and fluffy? He was dying to know.
Roan finished listening to the call and gave the phone back. “Okay, tell me if I have these in the correct order. Burn is knifed in the Jungle. Kevin asks Holden to look into it, he does, and following a lead, Kevin
goes to the Jungle and gets shot. Hel overhears a conversation she reports to Holden, who goes into the Jungle and is jumped by six stupid sons of bitches who got to see what their own entrails looked like. Is that about it?”
Chai nodded. “That’s about it. Detective Murphy said some of the guys who jumped Holden were semipro.” He didn’t explain further, just to see if Roan got the inference. Not surprisingly, he did.
“Shit. That makes no sense at all.”
“Detective Murphy said that too.”
“Just call her Dropkick. She’s not here to arrest us for it.” He said that with a brief, sharp smile. Roan then went back to thinking. It seemed like he was looking at the far wall, but his eyes had turned inward. He was looking at something no one else could see. “Okay. Do we know where Hel is?”
“No, although Det—Dropkick seemed to indicate she was going to have people out looking for her.”
Roan nodded. “Good. It’s unlikely they know she’s Holden’s mole, but if they even suspect it, she’s next on the hit list. She needs to come in from the cold, one way or another.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone. Chai couldn’t help but note it was an older phone, maybe a couple of years into obsolescence. Could you even send a decent text on that thing? Roan searched for something on it and then pressed it to his ear.
“Is this Big Mike? Hi. My name is Roan McKichan. You don’t know me, but I’m sure you know of me. No, this isn’t a joke. Here’s why I’m calling. Holden just got jumped in the Jungle, and he’s in the hospital. I want you to find out who’s dealing drugs in the Jungle and the surrounding neighborhoods, and who they’re affiliated with.” He paused briefly, then repeated, “No, this isn’t a joke. You’re going to do it because if you know anything about me, you know it’s in your best interest to play along with me. Why? Because if you don’t, you’re done.”
Another pause. Whatever he heard made Roan smile, but in an off-kilter, snarky way. “I don’t mean your drug business, Mike. I mean you. You’re done as a human being on this Earth. Oh no, sweetheart, this isn’t a threat. It’s what’s going to happen if you don’t do this out of the goodness of your own heart. And if you think I’m kidding or I can’t, then your intelligence network has failed you in a major way.” Roan nodded along to whatever Mike was saying. Chai could only watch, equally horrified and amused by what he was witnessing. “Mike, you have to be alive to do any of that. Your men too. Do you know what happens to people who threaten my friends? I’d tell you to go ask them, but we’d need to hold a séance. I can’t make this any clearer. You find out, you call me back as soon as you know something, and I won’t eat you for lunch. That isn’t a metaphor.” Roan sighed. “Sanity is just a state of mind, isn’t it? If I don’t hear from you within two hours, I’m paying a visit.” Roan hung up, even though Chai was sure he heard someone still speaking over the line.