by Amber Lacie
Not that he would ever know that. Though, I had hoped one day I could explain it all to him. Why I did what I did, why I let them both go…I hoped he wouldn’t hate me as much as I hated myself. Water dripped onto my cheek and I quickly wiped it away. I had no use for self-pity. It wouldn’t aide me in my plans, and it certainly wouldn’t give me the feeling of revenge I so desperately craved.
The sound of Jim’s bike entering the lot thrust me back to my reality. I wasn’t just here on a job from my father. You see, Brendan was hiding somewhere near the house I was sent to watch, and I had every intention of finding him. Two birds. One stone.
A few minutes later, the door opened, letting the sun filter in around Jim’s large form as he stood in the doorway. Something wasn’t right. I could see it in his eyes. Shit.
“You better have good news for me.”
As he stepped into the room his eyes glanced towards my hand, which was still holding the picture of Arlington. Hastily folding it, I tossed it on the dark wooden dresser near the TV. “Whatcha’ doing with that?” he asked.
“Why the fuck does it matter to you? My business, not yours. Now, tell me what you found,” I snapped.
He hesitated for a second before taking another step. “What I found was Brendan hiding under Saint’s thumb. Fucker goes by the name of Bull now. The thing is––that’s not what I’m worried about.” He rubbed the back of his neck and closed the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “They’re hiding something else down there, but I didn’t get a chance to see what it was. The whole situation is off. But from what I can tell, Saint seems to be the one running shit. I don’t even know if Roscoe is aware of what’s happening. The white powder-trail leading from his nose to his wallet tends to cloud his vision. Ya’ feel me?”
“Loud and clear. So, who do I play––Roscoe or Saint? How deep is our little friend Brendan?”
“I don’t know, man. This shit is bigger than us,” Jim explained.
“Are you saying we back off?”
“Nah. I’m with you on this. I’m tired of running around chasing my own tail for them. They need to pay for what they’ve done.”
My reflection stared back at me from the large hazy mirror that hung on the wall next to the television. The walls behind me danced with flashes of light as a wicked grin spread across my lips. “Then I guess it’s time for me to pay them a visit.”
“Should we call it in first?”
“No,” I stated firmly. “I want as little involvement as possible on their part. No whispers in my ears. I’m doing this my way.”
Nodding his head, Jim stepped to the side. “After you.”
It only took a few minutes before my bike was once again humming between my legs. A soft rain fell from the sky, making the road slick. My tires hugging the curves, I pressed on. Nothing was going to keep me from getting the revenge I so desperately wanted.
The house was simple and well hidden, the woods completely surrounding it. I could see why Roscoe picked this place. With its own access to the river it was more than convenient. The white ranch-style home had a small porch to welcome guests as they arrived. Though it looked more like a warning of what was to be found inside. Paint barely covered the aged wood. Empty bottles and boxes lined the edges of the porch in a precariously stacked fashion. One wrong move and the whole pile would come tumbling down. Ironically, that’s what I was there for. I was going to bring everything down, even if I had to light myself on fire to do it.
Gravel crunched under my feet as I stepped off the bike. Peering at the clouds above me, I could clearly see that a storm was coming––one much bigger than me. Behind me, Jim quietly walked, neither of us speaking as we made our way up the old wooden steps. As we approached the front door, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted from beneath, turning my stomach. Before I could even give a rap of my knuckles, the door suddenly flew open, revealing a short, skinny kid. He might have been one hundred thirty pounds soaking wet, just barely over five feet, and no older than nineteen. His hair was shaved on one side and raked to the other. With a nod of his head, he gave me a simple, “Sup?” as a greeting.
Turning to Jim, I nodded, “Who the fuck is this?”
Jim tucked his hands into the back pocket of his jeans. “No fucking clue. He wasn’t here yesterday.”
My tongue ran along the inside of my bottom gums. Irritation severed what remained of my already fraying nerves. I wasn’t there to play games, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to waste my time on some bitch ass punk that thought he was God. “Listen here, Fuck-stick, you can either move, or I can end your life. Take your pick.”
The kid rolled his eyes and looked back into the house. “There are a couple guys out here, and one of them looks really pissed off. You want me to let them in?”
Rage curled my fingers into a fist as the other hand quickly wrapped itself around his neck, cutting off all oxygen to his brain. I wasn’t waiting for permission. Besides, I needed to make an impression he wouldn’t forget. “You will obey every fucking command I give you or I will end your life so slowly, you’ll scream for death. We clear?”
His dirty fingernails dug at my hand as I tightened my grip. From behind me, a hand softly gripped my shoulder. “Ben, let him go. He doesn’t know any better. Kid’s just doing his job.”
Jim may have been right, but that didn’t mean I had to listen. My hand still wrapped around his skinny ass neck, I pushed myself through the doorway before dropping him to the dirty wood floor. Just off the south end of the room, a door at the end of the hallway closed, drawing my attention to the man now stepping out of the shadows. Fucking Saint.
“Good, you’re here. I have something I want to show you.” Looking down, he stared at the kid now sitting on the floor, rubbing his throat. “I see you met Kyle.”
“Fuck-stick? Yeah, I met him. Maybe the men you have around here should know who they really work for. It sure as fuck isn’t you,” I snarled.
Saint laughed nervously, wiping his hand across his jaw. “Right you are. Kyle, you can go.”
My jaw twitched at the command. Looking down at the kid slowly rising from the floor, I arched my brow. His neck quickly snapped back and forth between me and Saint. He stood for a moment before finally settling his eyes on me. He was waiting for my permission. Turns out, the kid was smarter than I initially gave him credit. “You can go,” I snapped. The little fuck-stick took off so quickly, I barely saw him move.
Saint cleared his throat, the irritation at the kid ignoring him obvious in his scowl. “Roscoe said you were coming.”
“Did he? What else did he say?”
“He said you were here on account of your pops. I figure I’ve been running things pretty good and I finally got his attention. Now that you’re here, maybe we can move things along.”
“First things first––Jim told you I was coming, so where’s my bed?” I asked, peering around the small house. The room we were standing in had a television propped up on a small metal table in the corner with a worn-out couch sitting in front of it. Papers and books were scattered all over the floor around it. From where I stood, I could see the hallway lead to at least two doors––one at the very end and one just to the left of it. A slight glow of light escaped from underneath both doors, revealing what appeared to be dirty dishes on a metal tray, lying against the wall. That meant two things––someone was behind them and they weren’t allowed out.
Catching my eye, Jim made his way down the hallway, gathering the tray and taking it with him to the kitchen, which sat off to my right. Saint swallowed hard as Jim slowly walked by, intentionally staring at him, as he made his way through the room. What does Jim know that I don’t?
“Interesting things going on here. What’s with the tray?” I asked, my eyes remaining locked on Saint.
“Oh that?” He swallowed again. What is he hiding? “That’s just my lunch. Kyle was supposed to clean up. Lazy fucking kid. I’ll have him get to it.”
Nodding my
head, I followed him as he walked down the hallway, revealing a third door I had missed. Opening the door, he reached into the dark room and flipped on a light. A cot was positioned in the corner with a few blankets neatly folded on top. A thin chest of drawers stood against the stark wall next to it with a lamp sitting on top. No closets, no windows––just four walls with fresh white paint staring back at me.
“New paint?”
“Yeah, yeah…just wanted to make it nice for you. It’s not much, but it’s the best room in the house.” The sound of my boots walking across the wooden floors echoed beneath me. Something was below me. Either a crawl space or a basement. Whatever it was, it wasn’t insulated properly. “I–I just wanted to go over a few rules while you’re here,” Saint stammered. I stood motionless, waiting for him to finish. “My room is across the hall. The door at the end of the hall is where we keep our, um, stash. So, no going in there without me. The men trust me and I don’t want your presence to undermine that.”
“Saint,” I growled, my back to him.
“Ben,” he countered.
“You are in no place to make demands of me. In fact, from here on out, I fucking own you. Everything you do is with my permission. You breathe because I allow you to. If you think I’m here on a friendly visit, you’re mistaken. I’m here on business. It’s always business and right now, I’m your fucking boss. Not Roscoe. Me. We clear?”
I turned quickly to face him. All the color from his face had drained. Now he gets it. “It’s late, Saint, I’m hungry. Have the kid bring me some food in about an hour. I’m going to crash for a bit. When I wake up, after I’ve eaten, I’ll look at whatever it is you have to show me.” I didn’t bother to wait for his response. Instead, I dropped my bag to floor beside the cot before stretching my long frame across it, kicking my feet up on the metal rungs at my feet. “You can go.” Saint quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Once his footsteps had faded, I retrieved my gun from my bag and slipped it under the pillow. There was no way in hell I was walking into a drug house, unarmed, let alone staying for a few days. With the feel of the gun under my head, I closed my eyes, welcoming the darkness.
Voices I didn’t recognize woke me from my slumber.
“Who is he?”
“Someone I don’t want to cross again.” That must be the kid.
“Scarier than Bull?”
“Fuck Bull. He’s a fucking pussy compared this fucker.” Oh, now I’m a fucker?
“Saint said he’s just here to try to get in on our cash flow. I ain’t having some asshole jump in the game this late and take my shit. Roscoe said he didn’t even know he was coming.” There was a momentary pause as I continued to listen. “This ain’t adding up––how would Roscoe not know? He can suck his own dick for all I care. I ain’t kissing his ass.”
My fingers gripped the handle of the steel under my pillow. Whatever was happening outside my door was now my business. As I mentally prepared myself for the insanity I was about to cause, I tried my best to stretch out all the kinks the sleazy motel mattress had created in my back. I would kill to be lying in my own bed. Sadly, based upon the conversation being had outside my door, it looked as though that option wasn’t on the table.
“Hey, Fuck-stick,” I shouted.
Silence.
Throwing my body over the edge of the bed, my boots hit the floor with a thud. Standing, I slid the gun into the waistband of my jeans before covering it with the back of my shirt. “Hey, kid,” I shouted once again.
Silence.
Either he doesn’t know his name or he’s ignoring me. Making my way to the door, I yanked it open as the kid from earlier stumbled into the room. A man in a blue flannel shirt leaning against the wall across from me let out a laugh, but I cut him off with a sharp look. I squinted as my eyes took focus on him. The cunt had his hair pulled back into a fucking man bun and he was running his mouth about me as though he could take me. “Princess, you can go, Fuck-stick here is going to help me for a bit.” Leaning into the doorway, I stretched my arm across it, blocking the kid in the room behind me and preventing the douche from entering.
The fucker clenched his jaw tightly and took a step towards me with his hand in his back pocket. I could tell by the look in his eye he was reaching for something. Not to be outdone by some asshole in a flannel, I quickly pulled out the metal pressing against my back, holding it up square against his temple.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. Bring your hands forward. Slowly.” His hands shook as he raised them in front of him, one still gripping a pocketknife. “Drop it,” I seethed.
The knife quickly fell from his hand. Lowering my gun slightly, I allowed him to straighten out his shirt before taking a step back. “Saint said to let him know when you were up. Guess I’ll head that way then” the man stammered.
“You do that. And when you’re done, pack your shit and go. You’re no longer needed.”
“What? You can’t do that? Who the fuck do you think you are walking in here like you fucking own the place?”
The corner of my mouth curled up as a large hand grasped the man’s shoulder in front of me. Jim always did have good timing. “Well, Princess, I do fucking own the place as far as you’re concerned. The man behind you is Jim. He’s going to see you out.”
“Want me to finish him, Ben?”
The man’s eyes lit up in fear at the mere mention of my name falling from Jim’s lips. Looks like he knew who I was after all. “Nah, don’t waste your time. Just take him for a little walk. I’m sure he can find his way after that.”
With a nod of his head, Jim tightened his grasp on the man’s shoulder and led him down the hallway. From what I had already seen and overheard, it seemed as though Roscoe didn’t own anyone here. His nose was probably too loaded with blow to notice, and if I were a betting man, I would venture to guess Saint was keeping his habit flowing. Too bad for him, I was about to put an end to it all.
Turning around to face the kid, I tucked my gun into the back of my jeans once again. He stood, nervously running his hands through his hair. “If you’re wondering if you’re fucked, the answer is yes. Sit.” I motioned toward the bed. The mattress barely moved as he sat down. “Give me the run down, kid.”
“Um, it’s Kyle.”
Confusion crossed my face. “What?”
“You keep calling me fuck-stick or kid––my name is Kyle.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking in a deep breath. He really was just a kid. No sense of survival existed in his body. “Listen, I don’t care if you’re the fucking Pope. If I call you fuck-stick, your name is fuck-stick. I don’t care what name your momma gave you––”
“She didn’t.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as the last letter left his mouth.
“What?”
“Sorry––I shouldn’t interrupt.”
“No, you fucking shouldn’t, but here we are, so answer the fucking question. What in the hell are you going on about?” My words were laced with annoyance at his stupidity.
“My real name was Stephen. I changed it to Kyle when I started running the small stuff to town for Saint.”
My mouth fell open, completely stunned into silence. Jesus Christ, this kid is a fucking moron.
“I just thought…you know—”
“No, I don’t fucking know. How the fuck did you think Kyle was better than Stephen? What did you think you were going to do––impress some frat boys with your fucking cool new name? Jesus Christ.” I took a few deep breaths, trying to compose myself. When I chose the kid, versus the asshole in the flannel, to give me some insight as to what was going on in this damn place, I thought I was making the right decision. The kid seemed weak enough to manipulate, but after that conversation I couldn’t figure out why Saint even had him around. “Let’s try this again––your name is kid, fuck-stick, asshole, piss-ant or whatever the hell else I feel like calling you. I let you live earlier, do not make me regret my decision. I need to
know everything you know, very person who has come and gone since you’ve been here. Girls, guys, drugs, boats, rats, spiders, cockroaches…basically anything you’ve seen move. We clear?”
“Yeah, um, I just have one question.”
“Make it a good one.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
I took a slow, menacing step forward towards him. Leaning down to make eye contact with him, I whispered, “Not right now.”
He swallowed. Compliance. “Saint lets me take stuff to town. He doesn’t like cars because they leave tracks. Anyway, I run all the errands.”
“Which are?”
“You know…groceries, picking up girls, dropping the small bags off to some guy up river.”
“Bags? What’s in them?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know. Nothing big. I ain’t allowed to run anything.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never gotten curious? You’ve never even peeked to see what’s in them?”
He shook his head at me innocently. “No. Saint said he’d kill me.”
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the kid does have survival instincts. “I have no doubt that he would. What else?”
“There are some guys on bikes that show up about every week or so. Saint has Bull cut everything in the basement and then the guys take off.”
“What are they cutting exactly?”
“Coke.”
“Are you certain?”
He nods his head, wiping the back of his neck. It’s only then that I notice his hands are shaking. “You’ve tried the supply.” I stated. The first mistake in running anything is getting high off your own supply. It’s a guaranteed way to fuck shit up.
“Yeah. Saint cuts it with his own shit, so he lets us do a line or two.”
“Or two? Jesus fucking Christ, what is he cutting it with?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you lie to me!” I stated firmly.