by Andrea Speed
It took Chai a moment to trust himself to speak. “Uh, Big Mike…?”
“Drug dealer,” Roan said, dropping the phone into his jacket pocket. “They have access to an intelligence network cops can only dream about. If this has a drug connection to it, he’ll find it.”
“You had his phone number?”
Roan nodded. “Holden sent it to me, along with his address, in case anything happened to him as a result of working a case for him.” Roan shrugged with his hands. “I didn’t know how to feel about being someone’s failsafe, but hey, if I can swing it in my favor, might as well.”
“What if Mike’s the dealer?”
Roan started shaking his head halfway through Chai’s question. “Not his scene. He keeps the better part of downtown stocked in oxy and Adderall. The Jungle is harder stuff, bathtub grade and above, but not by much. More like street gangs, less like white upper-class pill dealers.”
Chai was impressed. Roan now lived elsewhere, but he still knew how this city worked. “But, umm, the eating thing. That was just for show, right?”
Roan nodded. “Yeah. He’s probably too high in cholesterol anyway.” At Chai’s look, he added, “Joke. Just a joke.”
“Okay.” He honestly wasn’t sure. And he said it with such confidence, like Big Mike and his army of men wasn’t anything to be scared of. Oh, army again. Shit. “Does anything frighten you?”
“A lot of things frighten me. But not men with guns.”
Chai almost followed it up, almost asked why not, but realized that no matter what Roan said it probably wouldn’t help him sleep at night. After a moment, Chai realized his silence might be awkward. “I wish I had your confidence.”
Roan shrugged. “Being born a freak helps loads.” He smiled, softening the blow of his words. But Chai understood the subtext of this conversation, and it didn’t seem any more real than Holden ending up in the hospital.
Roan was saying he was inhuman, and humans held no fear for him. It wasn’t a statement of low self-esteem or an overstatement of his abilities. It was what he was, and rather than hide it, he was going to use it. It was weird, thrilling, and terrifying, and Chai almost envied him.
Few could embrace the “freak” label and make it totally their own. But Roan had, and he wore it well. And Chai really hoped Mike kept up his end of the bargain, because there was no way in hell Roan was joking. If he had to eat Mike and his men to make an example of them, he would.
BIG MIKE took him seriously and called him back within the hour. He also proved that Roan’s faith in the drug-dealer intelligence system was well placed.
Chai only heard Roan’s side of the conversation, and it was a lot of “uh-huhs” and “I sees.” Roan pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen and started writing things down, but his writing was too cramped for Chai to read properly, at least from this vantage point. So he had to wait. It was all he could do to keep his leg still. Sadly, keeping himself still reminded him his stump hurt. He tried to ignore it.
Finally Roan hung up and told him what he’d learned. “Okay. So the Farrell brothers arrested prior to Burn’s murder were the drug dealers inside the Jungle. Slingers affiliated with the 2-1-2 Crew tried to move in there but were arrested on bullshit charges of loitering and possession almost right away. Officially, no one sells in the Jungle, but it has been the source of a lot of the aura and flakka coming into the city.”
“Um, those are drugs, right?”
“Synthetic drugs, yeah. Nasty shit. About a month ago, a huge storehouse of synthetic drugs was busted by the cops on the waterfront.”
Roan looked at him expectantly, and Chai could see why everyone was in love with him. Also, he wasn’t following the thread. “Uh, so somebody’s smuggling it in?”
“Yeah, but most likely the drugs coming in from the Jungle were from the waterfront bust. Somebody—somebodies—on the SPD are making money on the side.”
“Whoa. Isn’t that a logical leap?”
“A bit, but it makes sense. Why are drugs still moving around without official sellers? Why did the cops only give a shit about anyone in the Jungle when the 2-1-2 tried to move in? Why hire semipros to take out Holden? Why shoot Kevin when he tried to look into it? It smells like corruption, someone trying to game a system they’re very familiar with.” Roan sighed. “I’ve busted bad cops before. It’s made me very popular with the police.”
“I can imagine.” Chai was still trying to piece this together in his head. He could see the through line now. “Are you sure you trust Big Mike, though?”
Roan scoffed. “No. But I do trust he doesn’t want a visit from me.”
Put that way, yes, that made total sense. “Why kill Burn, though?”
“My guess? The same impulsive asshole—I’m gonna guess a rookie—didn’t know Burn wasn’t a regular dealer, thought he was simply an opportunist, and killed him. Just like he probably wasn’t supposed to shoot Kevin, but he panicked. Maybe he was afraid Kevin made him. I don’t know. I have a feeling we’re gonna hafta find him and ask. But I suspect this cop is in Vice or works closely with them.”
“But how do we get cops? I mean, do we turn them in to other cops?”
Roan grimaced. “Here’s the thing. Good cops like seeing bad cops prosecuted. Bad apples and all that. But it’s even easier if shit like this goes away. And as you may have noticed, what with all the unarmed black men being killed, even getting a prosecution for an open-and-shut case can be seriously difficult in today’s climate.”
“Which means what?” Chai wondered.
He sighed. “It means I don’t know yet. We have to get an idea of how many people we’re dealing with and how far up this goes before we know how to handle it. The good thing is, the current Chief of the SPD has always liked me. I can call in that chip if I have to.”
Chai felt a little better. Having some pull among higher-ups was always a good thing. Maybe things weren’t hopeless. “And if it’s cops, and they know you’re here, shouldn’t they back off?”
Roan chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “They really should, but understand I have as many enemies on the force as friends, and there’s a certain segment that would love to kill me if they had the chance.”
“Oh, fantastic.”
“And maybe you should find a new place to stay for a couple of days.”
Chai raised his eyebrows. “I’m a target?”
Roan nodded. “Of course you are. You’re Holden’s investigative partner, right? From what I can tell, some bad cops are like hyperactive geese. Once one starts to panic, they all start to panic. They think they can bury their problems and make them go away. But they’ve fucked up twice already. Kevin lived, and not only did Holden live, he injured his attackers enough to get them caught. They’ll probably keep their mouths shut since the cops who hired them are right there, but I’d bet money at least one of them is going to turn up dead in the next few days.”
Chai found the visual of cops as geese funny for a moment, but he couldn’t maintain the image much longer than that. They’d tried to kill Holden, and he was a target too. And why? He couldn’t hurt them in a million years. He’d never even know who they were if he hadn’t called Roan. Which was another kettle of worms.
“Are you okay?” Roan asked.
Chai looked at him curiously. “Yeah, I guess so, considering none of this seems real.”
“You’re kind of giving off a pain smell. Are you hurt?”
Chai stared at him. He wasn’t familiar with Roan’s sense of humor, but he didn’t seem to be joking. “Pain smell? Pain has a smell?”
Roan nodded and appeared perfectly sincere. “It took me a while to figure it out, but yes. It’s like a combination of diluted fear and aggressive melancholy. A little more chemical than metallic, with a hint of ozone.”
“This is a con, right? You’re making this up.”
“Believe me, I know how it sounds, but I’m not kidding. Do you need any painkillers? I have my own portable pharmac
y.” Roan pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and shook it. It sounded half-full.
Chai was starting to get that unreal feeling again. “Are you an addict?”
Roan shrugged. “Guess it depends on your point of view. But I live with a lot of pain. When the lion comes out, even if only partially, sometimes I’m in so much pain I can’t move. Pills can take the edge off.”
“Shit. How do you live with it?”
Roan shrugged. “The other option is not living, so I don’t really have a choice.”
He supposed not. But the more Chai learned about this, the more he realized that the superpowers Roan got probably weren’t worth it. But it wasn’t like Roan could trade them in.
They left for the hospital, this time going in Chai’s car. Roan said he thought it was best they didn’t separate for the time being, but Chai read between the lines and saw it for what it was—Roan was protecting him. Which was nice, since he was essentially a complete stranger to him, but he got a sense that’s what Roan did. Holden had even said as much. Some people wanted to watch the world burn, and others wanted to save as many as they could from the flames.
Holden wasn’t allowed visitors yet, as he was resting, but the nurse seemed to recognize Roan and was surprised he was back. As a favor to him, she let them into Holden’s room.
He was out, heavily medicated and braced by beeping machines, and Chai felt a mild sting of anxiety as he remembered his own time in the hospital. But he forced himself to ignore it and concentrate on Holden’s beaten face.
He didn’t look as bad as Alexei, but he looked bad. His face was swollen and mostly black and blue, with bright red slashes of new cuts, but he was still recognizable as him.
“Oh, I can tease him about losing his beautiful face.” That was a running joke between them. Holden felt Chai was the handsome one, and while Holden was far from plain, he believed his face was not part of his appeal. He thought he had a banging bod and a brazen willingness to do almost anything, which was his allure. Chai was pretty sure Holden was discounting himself, but he wasn’t sure how a man with such inborn confidence could be insecure about anything.
Roan looked around as if searching for something. “I’m surprised Scott left.”
“What do you—” Chai interrupted himself with a gasp. “Scott! Oh shit, I didn’t tell Scott!”
Roan pulled out his phone. “That’s okay, I’ll do it.”
“No, I’m the one who forgot. I’ll do it,” Chai said, pulling out Holden’s phone. How could he forget, when there was Scott in Holden’s saved contacts as Pretty Boy? He shook his head at his own stupidity. How could he be so dumb?
In a way, he was hoping Scott wasn’t home so he’d be leaving a message. But nope, he was home and picked up on the second ring. As soon as Chai said hospital, Scott interrupted to ask which one, and as soon as Chai told him, Scott said they’d be right there. They? So Grey was home too. Figured.
As soon as he was off the phone, Roan told him, “Don’t worry about it. You’re new at this. When I was here, we had to establish a system, mainly because it was usually me in the hospital. I really should have a wing at this hospital named after me.”
He said it light, like it was a joke—and Chai was starting to get a sense that Roan told a lot of jokes—but Chai could see the queasy truth lurking under it all. Roan was essentially chronically, terminally ill. Weren’t all infecteds? No cures, no real treatments either. Just painkillers until they died. Hadn’t Holden been concerned about Roan a few days ago? Afraid he was never coming out of the hospital, although he was generally loath to admit it. And now here he was, as if nothing was wrong with him, as if it was all fine. Which it simply couldn’t be.
Roan gave him a funny look. “I’m not going to drop dead on you, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“You’re a mind reader now? Don’t tell me thoughts have a smell.”
“Some do.” Chai stared at him for half a minute before Roan scoffed. “Kidding. But I had you going for a second, didn’t I?”
“That is so unfair. You know you could tell me anything and I’d buy it.”
“Anything?” Roan repeated, smiling. “So, if I told you I could fly….”
“Nope, too late. Not falling for that.”
“Damn.”
Roan decided to pay a visit to Kevin, and Chai elected to stay behind, as he didn’t know Kevin at all and didn’t want to intrude. He stayed with Holden and found himself looking at his cane. It was certainly heavy enough to do some damage. Holden got it for that reason, didn’t he? In case Chai needed to defend himself.
That was the thing. Holden was always thinking ahead, preparing for the next disaster, while Chai was lucky to know what the hell was going on in the now. Planning ahead sounded great, but Chai had never been that together. Even in high school, scheduling and timing had been his enemy. He didn’t think you could be born with such a deficit, but if you could, he had it.
What was he willing to do to protect Holden? He already knew Holden would do anything to protect him. Why had Chai first become attached to his hip when he was a newbie whore? Holden looked after people, especially those who were vulnerable. Chai wondered if he could return the favor.
He wanted to, without a doubt. But something in him quailed at the thought of violence. He’d never liked it, and that hadn’t changed. Chai didn’t even like confrontation. He remembered how, even though he was furious at Paul for leaving him after all they’d been through, he was simply numb around Paul. He could only express his anger when Paul wasn’t actually physically present. He remembered sending an epic, angry text message. Afterward, Chai decided he was never texting ever again. Even his therapist thought it would behoove him to work on his interpersonal skills and expressing anger appropriately but thought the swearing off texting was a little extreme. But Chai understood the lure of venting your rage and hiding behind screens. It was easy, and it got him out of awkward conversations and confrontations. He hated this tendency toward cowardice in himself, but he’d never really known what he should do about it. Also, if he was completely honest, he never went out of his way to try and fix it. Why should he? Yeah, it bothered him a little, but changing was hard. And even before the accident, he was hardly known for his physical prowess, at least in a fighting sense. But hey, you need anyone fucked into submission, he might be your man.
Chai felt ridiculous and helpless and angry. Holden hurt the bastards who hurt him, so Chai didn’t even need to track them down. How could he help him now? Feed him ice chips when he was conscious? Chai supposed he could, but knowing Holden, he’d fucking hate that. Solving the case so he didn’t have to was probably the only way to pay him back, and how did he do that? Well, by calling Roan, he pretty much did that, but that was Roan’s doing, not his. He could see the case through, but how was he supposed to do that? It was bad cops! In the battle of ex-porn star versus cops, he didn’t see the cops even noticing him as they drove over his lifeless corpse. So how did he make this at all better for Holden? How did Chai help Holden in any way similar to how Holden had helped him before? Right now, he had nothing. Could you even become a vigilante if your first impulse in every situation was to hide?
The door burst open, and Chai jumped, but it was just Scott, apparently in a hurry to get in. “Holy shit, Den,” he said, making a beeline for the bed.
Grey followed him in. He was still a mountain of a man with lots of ghostly scars and burst blood vessels across his face, but Chai found him oddly appealing. Maybe it was the laid-back attitude he projected in front of him, like a big teddy bear that could accidentally crush you. Which was absolutely true. Chai imagined he gave great hugs but was always a millimeter or so away from snapping your spine like a piece of celery. “You okay?” Grey asked.
Chai levered himself up from his chair, using his cane. “I’m fine. I was nowhere near this when it happened.”
“Who did this, and where can we find them?” Scott asked.
Chai shook his head
. “Either arrested, in the ICU, or both. Holden really fucked them up.”
“That a boy, hon,” Scott said, giving Holden a pat on the arm. He looked down at him with such tenderness, Chai was suddenly irrationally jealous.
“What happened?” Grey asked. Chai was kind of surprised Grey was still talking to him. Did he suspect the weird crush Chai had on him? He hoped not, although it was almost impossible to read Grey’s face unless he wanted you to. It was a neat trick Chai hoped Grey would teach him one day.
“I don’t know. He was jumped by six guys in the Jungle while investigating the death of Burn, this guy we used to know. It’s not super clear what’s going on, probably something to do with drugs.” Chai decided to not mention dirty cops because he didn’t want to get Scott or Grey tangled up in this. They’d want to help, and he knew he couldn’t let them. They had way too much to lose. But people like him and Holden, people on the fringes of society, had never had much to lose in the first place.
“Shit,” Scott said. He was still looking down at Holden, brushing the hair from his forehead. Now Chai understood why Grey had called Holden Scott’s once and future boyfriend. Clearly he still cared for him, and he knew damn well Holden cared for Scott, no matter how he tried to deny it.