Hale would feel better with a phone call, but he didn’t want to talk to her like this. He couldn’t let her know anything was wrong.
After sending the message, he sent another, adding: I called off Benz. You were right.
As soon as he sent it, he wondered if it was a mistake. Would Benz tell her the real reason his fingers were broken? He doubted it. Benz didn’t want any more tension between his wife and Hale. Their tenuous hold on courtesy made Benz’s life a whole lot easier. As a rule, Benz didn’t lie to his wife, but little white lies went with the territory. In his line of work, an injury could have a hundred causes. That wasn’t to say she couldn’t put two and two together, though. Knowing Jess, she probably would. Hale probably deserved her anger. It was his fault, wasn’t it? He lay back on the bed, arm under his head, and stared at the ceiling.
What did it mean that a simple inquiry was shut down so completely? Through all his victories, he’d never thought much about how Shadow Fray was run. He collected his paycheck and never really had to worry. Now it was time to start asking questions. Follow the money back to the source, and you’d find the Fray bosses—the game masters who organized the rankings, set up the matches, collected the money.
Where did the money come from? Advertising revenues were minimal because economies were far more localized than they used to be. Hale wasn’t sure how overseas distribution was handled. Could be they charged money, or were looking to start charging, and set it up as pay-per-view entertainment. In the Old World, people used to pay for entertainment. He knew Hollywood had once been a huge city in the industry—long before climate change, floods, and all that other shit had decimated the coasts. Shadow Fray was certainly growing in popularity. This could be the new form of entertainment, cheaply made and seen by millions. Maybe Chicago would be the new Hollywood.
It had to be Chicago money. While Frays took place all over the country, the vast majority of Arenas were here—never in the city itself, but in the area. Chicago was the largest city in America by far, so it made sense. They would have a larger pool of people to draw from but maintain the mythical image of luxury and safety within the city limits.
So the where was pretty clear. The bosses were in Chicago. But back to the money—just how lucrative were the games? And why the need for secrecy? Though even Hale had to admit he benefited from getting paid under-the-table. It was difficult enough to stay off the grid. Nigh on impossible. He supposed the secrecy was understandable—though the secret was so closely guarded that people had most certainly been killed to protect it. Nothing proven, of course, but rumors had to be true. No one had ever come forward who’d left the games. Brawlers just disappeared, perhaps into obscurity—as long as they stayed quiet. That was what he’d always assumed.
He brought his other arm up to clasp his fingers behind his head, still staring at the ceiling. He’d been so naïve. Part of him always thought the secrecy was just for the theatrics of it all—a way to bring in views. He’d found his way in on the ground floor of this business, before it really took off. Maybe that’s why he’d turned a blind eye for far too long. But now there was no doubt the secrecy was more than a mere ploy. It had to be big money to go through all the effort. A lot of money.
The most likely source was the most obvious: gambling. A prime example would be directly across the street in Excalibur. Whether on the web or in-house, they had to make a killing. Create something that people like to watch, that gets a wide audience, and as the audience grows, there’s no limit to how much the house could make.
Trace the money back, and that’s where it had to lead. Shadow Fray was just another casino game. The bosses could even start to manipulate the outcomes to their advantage. Say, give one of the contestants a weapon. Not only would it feed the bloodlust and increase views, but it could be tied into strategy. The house would always have the advantage because they knew how the game was to be played.
Go behind the curtains at these Chicago gaming palaces, and you’d find the Fray bosses. The Shadow Masters.
It was a scary thought. Maybe it was time to quit. Could be this last Fray was a fluke—that bastard Scarecrow wanted more attention, more blood. Or… maybe someone on the inside wanted him out, had decided to give the last guy who faced him a weapon. Would the bosses even let him walk away? Or would he have to go down on camera? Hale might be in as much danger as the kid was.
He unclasped his hands, brought his fists to his sides. His pillow felt hard beneath his head. He closed his eyes. Blackness. He’d been through worse times, sure, but lately he’d been living under a shadow of doubt. He needed to get away from this melancholy, this loss, and find some light. If only he could locate the kid, he’d have someone else to talk to. Benz was a good friend and protector, but it wasn’t enough. When the Fray started, Hale was out there alone. He wanted an ally who knew what that felt like.
He was so fucking tired of being alone.
Hale got off the bed and shucked his jeans and T-shirt, exchanging them for black versions of the same, and threw on his jacket. It was time to ride.
Putting on the helmet limited his vision indoors, but it couldn’t be helped. He easily found the balance point of the bike, walking it through the hall and into the elevator. His all-black Harley Iron was compact compared to other models. It was vintage, and he’d had to pay a pretty penny to print and mold parts that needed replacing. It had all been worth it.
It didn’t take him long to get outside. He recognized the man at the front door as the man who had chased him into Wilma’s room. What was his name again? The man opened the door for him, and Hale smiled and gave him a knowing smirk before realizing the guy wouldn’t see it through his helmet. That was all right, though. From the sideways glance the guy gave him, Hale was sure he was recognized.
It was fully dark now. People filled the street, just arriving to Excalibur, a few passing Hale to enter the Lady. He decided to walk his bike out away from the crowds. From overhead came the steady hum of a nearby CPD drone.
He’d taken about ten steps when a man walked directly into him, hard. It was more than a brush by. Hale’s immediate instinct was to fight, but he didn’t want to let go of the bike. Instead he let go of all the negativity he’d been bottling up over the last miserable days, along with all sense of discretion. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!” he yelled, turning toward the man who was already behind him. The man, tall and African-American, dressed in a suit, didn’t turn around—just kept walking into the club like he was on a mission.
Fuck the crowds. Hale got on the bike and started it up, the loud rumble of the engine drawing the gazes of all those around him.
“Y’all better get the hell out of my way,” he yelled, clearing out none too slowly as people scattered.
Tonight he would ride fast until all the anger, sadness, and frustration were blown away by the wind.
He had no doubt it would be a very long ride.
Chapter 16
EVERY TIME Justin used the elevator, he was reminded how their building had no thirteenth floor. The buttons went from twelve to fourteen. Of course that was bullshit—they lived on the thirteenth floor, were on the thirteenth floor right now, but it was numbered fourteen in order to skip the unlucky number. Stupid, really.
Charlie hit the button for twenty-eight. Even though Charlie was ten, Justin let him push the buttons like he was a little kid. The elevator shuddered as it began its ascent. At least it was working this time, but who knew how long that would last?
Arriving on the top floor, Charlie took off down the hall again. Kids and long hallways—but Charlie really wasn’t that young, so when would he start growing out of these cute yet juvenile behaviors? Though he didn’t look ten. He was very, very different from Justin and Gin at that age, more slight of bone and light of skin. But how much of that could be chalked up to Charlie’s father, whoever he was? Justin’s mom had never said, if she had known.
Charlie didn’t wait for Justin to catch up and knocked
eagerly on Griz’s door while Justin was only halfway down the hall. The door opened immediately, and Charlie stepped back in surprise. A burly man stepped out, glaring down at Charlie. Justin saw fear in Charlie’s eyes and quickened his pace.
The man didn’t spend much time looking at Charlie, walking right past toward Justin. He was moving quickly. The man had thick red hair and was slightly shorter than Justin. He did not look friendly, and Justin gave him a threatening look. The other man was clearly street, returning Justin’s stare. Not an outright challenge but a sign that neither of them would admit weakness. Justin couldn’t help the mean mug. The flame-haired guy had scared Charlie.
Justin turned his head as the man passed, seemingly eye-to-eye despite the height difference. Justin was close enough to notice the man’s green eyes were spotted with brown.
Justin’s pulse was up, his heart thudding. Out on the street, this would be a fight.
The moment passed. He didn’t turn around to look at the man. He continued walking, acting as if the stranger was no threat. Charlie watched from the end of the hall, and Justin looked him in the eyes, wary for any sign that the man behind him posed any further danger. Charlie was holding Mr. Mays’s door open, a scared expression on his pale face, but he wasn’t panicked.
At last, Justin was able to put his hand on Charlie, possessively pulling him close. They stepped inside and Justin closed the door. He immediately turned and engaged the locks before peering through the peephole. The hallway was empty.
“Who’s there?” Griz called from inside his bedroom.
“It’s Justin and Charlie, Mr. Mays.” Justin was pleased his voice sounded so strong even though his heart was still pounding. This whole situation was off. Where was Devin? Or the nurse?
Justin still held Charlie tight to him, and they walked down the hall to Griz’s open bedroom door.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Justin said. “Someone was leaving just as we were coming in.” Griz was sitting up in his bed, a phone in his hand. The crease of his brow and set of his jaw told Justin he was troubled. Was he shaking?
“I’m glad you’re here.” Griz sounded truly relieved. “It was good timing, or I’m not sure I would have been able to get out of bed to open the door for you.”
“Where’s Devin? Or your nurse?”
Griz closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “Devin is working. The nurse… was sent home.”
Justin had to take a deep breath himself. The man leaving the unit had not been the nurse. But best not to agitate Griz. Only easy questions. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah,” Griz said, sounding stronger. “You can help me get out of bed. Let’s go sit in the living room. My walker’s against the wall. I’ll need help standing up.”
As Justin aided in getting him out of bed, he took note of Mr. Mays’s legs, looking bony through the material of his sweatpants. He seemed so frail. Charlie was quickly on the floor, slipping Griz’s loafers on his feet.
Griz smiled down at him. “Thanks, Charlie. That’s the hardest part for me. Can’t do it myself anymore.” Justin positioned the walker in front of the old man and helped ease him off the bed into a standing position. “Feels good to stand up,” he said. “Grab my phone, would you, Charlie?”
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Justin asked.
“No, I’m fine. Been up already before you came over. Had breakfast and everything. I was expecting you, lookin’ forward to the visit. Just didn’t expect… no matter, anyhow. You’re here, everything is fine.” The old man’s smile was strained, but his brown eyes turned bright.
In the living room, getting Mr. Mays seated was a much easier job. He had an elevated electric recliner and used a switch to lower himself. Charlie handed him his phone, and Mr. Mays looked at it.
“Now let’s see what we can do about some music,” he said. He scrolled through his phone with a contemplative look on his face as Charlie and Justin sat on the couch. Outside, Justin could see the endless blue of the lake stretching off into the distance. It hadn’t been overcast in ages.
“Here we are,” Griz said after a minute. “A good album for a Saturday. Let’s see if you can guess it, Justin.”
Justin heard a lively piano. As soon as the distinctive voice joined in, he knew immediately. “Tom Waits,” he said.
Mr. Mays laughed. “Took you long enough. That was near on fifteen seconds. Thought I had you. Get yourself some coffee in the kitchen if you like. I already had mine, but there’s some in the pot yet.”
Justin got up, grateful for the opportunity. Coffee wasn’t common or cheap.
“Feeling a mite better than when you were here last time,” Griz said upon his return. “Some days are better than others.”
“You look good,” Justin said, though it was partly a lie. Griz hadn’t been back from Denver more than six months, and it was a shock to see how he’d deteriorated over the seven years he’d been gone.
They listened to the music for a while, looking out over the lake. The trees on the lakeshore were a mix of green, red, and yellow, while the lake met the sky in a contrast of dueling blue. The summer had been wet and hot, but the fall was very dry and cool. From one extreme to the other, but that’s how things were more often than not. Looking at Griz, Justin wondered once again about the timing of his return. No way it was coincidence.
“Go ahead and ask your questions, boy,” Griz said, returning his look. “I know you got ’em. Can’t say as I’ll answer ’em all, but you can go ahead and ask.”
Justin nodded. It wasn’t like he and Griz had been in constant company before he left, but he did know Justin pretty well in his first sixteen years. And Justin cared for him, if not as a father, then like a grandfather. “Who was that guy leaving your apartment?” Justin asked.
“That’s my business. Different question.”
Okay, then…. “Why’d you come back now, Mr. Mays? Was it for me?”
“Took more than one reason to bring me back, but you were one of ’em. I promised your mama before she passed that I’d do what I could. For a time that meant I had to move to Denver. Wouldn’t have been no help to you here if I’d ended up dead. Can’t say as I was much help to you over there either, but I did what I could.”
“Mr. Mays, you don’t have anything to feel bad about.”
“I feel bad about plenty. You and Gin droppin’ out of school at sixteen to take care of your brother here, that wasn’t an ideal situation.”
“Plenty of people have had it a lot worse.”
“That’s true enough, isn’t it? Still, it’s not wrong to wish for more for you.”
“You came back because I was in… because of what I was involved in?”
Griz paused. Thought. “Partly,” he said at last. “Maybe even mostly. I’m an old man, Justin. I know people. Once upon a time, I was people. By virtue of my age, I’m the last of that group left. I’m all alone now, but I know more than I should. I have limited influence, so of course I’m going to look out for my own. It’s to be expected.”
“Are you putting yourself in danger?”
Griz waved his hand as if to banish the thought. “What harm am I gonna do to anyone anymore?” But Griz hadn’t answered the question.
“My handler,” Justin pressed, “he was spooked. Thought people might be listening last time we met, or that it was a possibility. Are we safe to talk about this here?” It would have been real easy for the man who walked out of the apartment to plant a listening device.
“Whoever has an interest knows I know, knows I tried to look out for you, knows it’s personal. That’s not a secret. Us talkin’ ain’t gonna come as a surprise to no one. I can support you, but I can’t… interfere.”
Mr. Mays had always done plenty to support them. “When I was younger, those trainers I had. I thought that was normal at the time. Mom took Gin out shooting; I learned to fight. I thought Mama arranged that, but it was you, wasn’t it? You paid for it too, I’m guessi
ng.”
Griz nodded.
“Did you have this in mind for me all the time?”
“No!” Griz was emphatic. “I had no designs on you that way. I knew you were a boy that liked to keep to himself. You didn’t have no friends ’cept your family and me. You were always so serious. Fierce. Quiet. At the heart of it, I knew the fierceness was love, not nothin’ vicious. When we’d listen to music, I saw… your soul. I knew you’d get yourself killed trying to protect them. Couldn’t have that.”
Justin nodded and put his arm around Charlie. He looked the old man in his eyes. “Thanks for that, Mr. Mays.”
Mr. Mays smiled fondly. “You’re welcome.”
Justin smiled back. Words didn’t do the exchange justice, but he and Mr. Mays understood each other.
With someone possibly listening in since Griz hadn’t denied it, what more could he ask? He certainly couldn’t bring up anything about Gin. He wanted to ask about the people behind Shadow Fray—the Shadow Masters—but wasn’t sure it was wise.
Perhaps it was safe enough to ask about one individual in particular. “This handler I have. I’m not sure I trust him. Can I?”
“Absolutely not,” Griz said. “Wish I coulda done more about that. Wasn’t s’posed to happen this way. You get a chance… let’s just say, you’re popular enough now that if he’s not in the picture, they’re gonna find you someone else. It’s worth the risk, ’cause not too many are worse than him.”
“You sayin’ to….” Justin made a cutting motion with his finger across his throat, unwilling to say kill him out loud. He was just being cautious, but part of him was relieved not to have say it out loud—and yet he also had to acknowledge that another small part of him was very eager for something else entirely.
“Look to get away from him. As long as you’re valuable, you have more power than you think. Not many will miss him, but best if it doesn’t come to that.” Griz turned the music up and lowered his voice. “And best not for you to do it.”
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