Under the Influence

by L. B. Simmons

  Silas eyes us for a moment before rising from his seat and rounding the corner of his desk, only to end up right in front of us. After rolling the sleeves of his designer dress shirt to his elbows, he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. The predatory look in his eyes tells me we’re definitely not here for a friendly chat. The olive colored skin on his face is taut, his light green eyes hard, and the muscles on his forearms flexed with obvious frustration. His head is cleanly shaven, and the only bit of hair visible is that of the goatee circling his tightly pinched mouth.

  “What. The. Fuck. Happened?”

  Rat opens his mouth to explain, but Silas silences him with his hand while his eyes remain pinned on me. “I want to hear it from him.”

  “I was jumped,” I state matter-of-factly with a shrug of my shoulders, then recline back into my chair.

  His eyes tighten. “And how the hell did you manage to get jumped by Ed Jamieson?”

  I inhale deeply, knowing my answer is not going to be well-received. “It wasn’t Ed. It was his men, I think. A set-up. It had to be.”

  “A set-up?” Silas’s dark brows rise in question. When I nod back, he calmly states in an eerie manner, “A set-up. Very interesting.”

  He turns his attention to Rat. “And what the fuck were you doing while your friend was getting the shit beat out of him.”

  Involuntarily, my body jolts upward, almost launching me from the chair. The bitter ache in my ribs increases exponentially, but I ignore it. Just as I open my mouth to inform everyone in the room that there was not one man left standing when I was through, Silas slides the hand of silence in my direction, effectively cutting off any words I may speak in my defense. Ignoring the immense amount of pain, I throw my body back into reclining position just to add a silent exclamation point to my almost-protest.

  Rat clears his throat. “I was led to Jamieson’s office, where I retrieved payment. I was headin’ out the door to get back to the main floor where I’d left D when I heard the cops. So I got the fuck out of there and stashed the cash. By the time I got back, he was already in custody and there was nothing I could do, so I left, grabbed the money from where I stashed it, and threw it in my trunk before calling you.”

  “And where, may I ask, is my money?”

  “Like I said, it’s in my trunk,” Rat replies calmly.

  Silas’s eyes narrow into slits. “You mean to tell me you have been driving around town with 300K of my money in your trunk? Unprotected?”

  Rat’s lips curl into themselves and I fight the urge to shake my head. Silas, however, does not as his head moves side-to-side before he glances back at me. He raises one eyebrow and I shrug, silently pleading the fifth. He turns his attention back to Rat, staring for another uncomfortable moment before finally leaning backward over his desk, extending his arm and pressing a button on his phone.

  “Boss?”

  Silas finally disengages his gaze. “Yes, Juan. I need you to please escort Rat safely to the trunk of his car. Then, after retrieving my money, please deposit it in the safe where is should have been this entire evening instead of taking a fucking joyride on I-10 with the driver.”

  The sound of Juan’s snicker travels through the speaker. “On it, Boss.”

  I glance over at an unusually pale Rat before looking back at Silas, who has ended his call and is once again sitting upright on the front of his desk, arms crossed. Now one would think, being that Rat is obviously skating on extremely thin ice, he would remain silent. But then again, it’s Rat. So instead of demonstrating his thanks to Silas for sparing him an epic beat down from Juan, he decides to poke the grizzly in front of us with a short fucking stick.

  “I think we should be allowed to carry, ‘Caid. We have no protection except for Dalton’s fists and my feet. And although we made it out alive tonight, if this happens again—”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  Silas’s voice is stern and unyielding as he presses himself up and off the desk, rising to his full 6’4” height before stepping directly in front of Rat. “Ed Jamieson will be taken care of. Mark my words. What happened tonight was a direct fucking insult to me and my organization, and if he is not punished for that very unwise decision, I lose respect. And respect is everything.” He bends at the waist, eye-to-eye with Rat, their faces inches apart. “I will not be made to look like a fucking fool, do you hear me?”

  Rat nods once, making his nerves evident by the jerky movement. Silas eyes him before finally rising out of his personal space. “And regarding your … request.” He turns to me. “I cannot allow Dalton to carry until he can control his temper. Otherwise, he will undoubtedly shoot the first motherfucker who crosses him, which will land him in jail. And he can’t very well do what he needs to do for me while behind bars, now can he?”

  His eyebrows lift expectantly and I nod my understanding before he looks to Rat. “You, on the other hand, while you’re fully able to control yourself, you cannot seem to pull your head out of your ass and make good decisions to save your life. Tonight being a prime example.” He dips his head in Rat’s direction. “Once you prove yourself in that capacity, I will happily hand over a Glock.”

  A knock at Silas’s office door alerts us to Juan’s presence. Silas jerks his chin toward the door, dismissing us with the gesture. Rising out of his seat, Rat extends his arm and shakes Silas’s hand. I too begin to stand, but before my ass even leaves the cushion I’m halted by The Hand.

  “Dalton, I need to discuss something with you. Please stay seated.”

  Rat looks as though he’s about to speak, but before he has the chance, I interrupt. “Meet you at the car, brother.”

  He hesitates for a second, but then makes his exit from the room, gently clapping me on the shoulder as he passes. As soon as the door closes behind him, my eyes meet Silas’s. His face is no longer hard and cold.

  “Do you know why I let him go? Unpunished?”

  I shake my head because I really don’t know.

  Leaving the question unanswered he asks, “How long have you two been working for me? Since you were what? Twelve? Thirteen?”

  “Twelve.”

  The memory of the day I met Silas delivers me from the present straight to one of the worst days in my life.

  It hurts to breathe.

  I’m trying to hurry because I know that while Deena, my latest foster mother, is too loaded to notice my being gone, Bill will be home soon and after last night I need to lay low. My entire body aches as I try to quickly make my way to the snack aisle, but my legs aren’t moving as fast as they usually do. This is going to be more difficult than I thought.

  I suck in a breath through my teeth, the pain almost too much to bear, and tears fill my eyes. Bill’s not stupid. It seems he’s had a lot of practice on where exactly to punch and kick so it can be hidden from sight. And while my body has been conditioned to handle a lot, it’s no match for steel-toed boots.

  I unzip my coat and lift my shirt to look at my ribs. Angry black and purple splotches cover every inch of my stomach clear to my sides and I know my back looks the same. I also know, based on previous experience, he broke a lower rib or two during my latest lesson.

  A lady in purple pajama pants and matching slippers enters the same aisle as me, so I quickly lower my dirty T-shirt and zip my coat back up. As she passes, I remain still, suddenly feeling as though she’s watching me.

  You always get paranoid. Just do it, I think to myself.

  My eyes graze slowly over all of my choices. Once she turns the corner, I quickly grab everything I can get my hands on—chips, cookies, gum, a pickle for me, and of course, a candy bar to give to Rat later. I look to the left, then the right, and once I’m sure I’m in the clear, I turn and head toward the door.

  Trying to move as quickly as I can, I make it about two feet before a burst of pain shoots up my back, so overwhelming, my legs stop moving. Every muscle in my body tightens, and I’m forced to take a deep breath just to keep from scream
ing. The result of that breath is such agony, I have to fight every instinct I have to keep from passing out.

  “Hey, you little thief! Get over here!” the store clerks yells.

  Before I know it, the pain dulls as my brain takes over, forcing my body out of its frozen state and into flight mode. I jump toward the door as it opens and begin to run as fast as my body will allow.

  But I don’t make it far because instead of running outside, I run smack-dab into a man’s chest.

  “Whoa there, boy,” he calmly states. I fight to get around him, but he’s got a handful of my coat held within his closed fist.

  The clerk runs over to us immediately, and there’s no mistaking the fear in his voice when he speaks. “Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.”

  “What’s going on here?” The man asks.

  The clerk stutters a bit. “Um…this boy, uh, he stole some things from the snack aisle.”

  “Oh, really?”

  It’s then that the man extends the arm holding my coat, placing me in front of his body so I’m forced to look at him. The green eyes above me tighten as they study my appearance. Another crippling pain explodes along my back and I wince in response, my legs almost completely giving out from underneath me. I would have hit the floor had the man not tightened his grip on my coat.

  I watch as his gaze falls to my hold on my stomach. They narrow further, almost as though calculating something. After a few seconds, his expression clears.

  “I’ll pay for whatever the boy has taken,” he states calmly, eyes still on me. And they remain on me until the clerk speaks.

  “Mr. Kincaid…”

  The man’s face hardens, silencing the clerk immediately. Satisfied, he once again looks to me. “Well, boy, let’s see what you’ve got in there.”

  He releases me and waits patiently as I slowly unzip the coat. I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch as the contents spill onto the floor, but reopen them when I hear a surprising chuckle. The pickle rolling across the floor almost distracts me, but I manage to keep my attention focused on the amused green eyes in front of me. The clerk drops to his knees and snags the items off the floor, then disappears behind the counter.

  The man then bends at the waist, meeting me face-to-face before he speaks. “I don’t think your parents would be very happy if they knew their son was stealing from the corner store, do you?” he asks with a hint of a grin.

  My face goes tight. “I don’t have any parents.”

  I watch as his eyebrows draw together in surprise. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gestures toward my stomach. “Fight at school?”

  “Something like that.”

  His grin widens as he nods. “I see. What’s your name, boy?”

  “Dalton.”

  He nods again. “How long has it been since you’ve had a decent meal, Dalton?”

  “A while.” I angle my head in question. “Mister, do you only ever ask questions?”

  And for the first time in a long time, I find myself fighting my own smile as he bursts into laughter. After a few seconds, he wipes his eyes and then glances back down at me.

  “Silas. You can call me Silas.”

  He sighs deeply before speaking. “Well, Dalton, why don’t we go grab something to eat? I have a business proposition for you that we can discuss over a good dinner.”

  My head jerks back in surprise and I try to not focus on the burning sensation the movement brings. “Business proposition? I’m only twelve.”

  The corners of his mouth tip upward. “Well, that may be true, but you seem like a very resourceful young man. I need someone like that, like you, working for me. Someone to run errands, to pick up some things around town that I just don’t have the time to do. And in return, I will make sure you always have money and food when you need it.” He gestures toward my stomach. “I can also teach you how to protect yourself, from anyone,” he adds, an eyebrow lifted.

  The way he stresses the word “anyone” tells me he’s no stranger to my situation, and for that reason, I find myself trusting the man standing in front of me. Something I’ve never allowed myself to do before in my life.

  “Well, Silas. I have a friend named Rat who would also be good at running your errands. You bring him on board with me, and you’ve got a deal.”

  Reaching out my hand, I offer him a solid handshake which he accepts, relief flooding me for the first time in a very long time.

  He took me to dinner and it was the best meal I’d ever eaten in my life. He also made good on his promises. I never had to steal to eat again and I always had a pocket full of cash. And the protection he taught me? Well, eight months later I beat Bill to within nearly an inch of his life. It was the last time he ever laid a hand on me. I was escorted out of his house—for his safety—and straight to emergency foster care with Spencer’s mom.

  The past fades as I’m brought back to the present by Silas’s voice.

  “Yes, twelve,” he nods thoughtfully, almost as though he’s lost in the same memory. He grins slightly before continuing. “And who was it that made sure you two always had what you needed?”

  “You did, ‘Caid,” I answer honestly.

  “Yes, I did. And all I ask for in return is loyalty and trust. To know when I ask you to do something for me it will be done without hesitation and the job completed successfully. And regardless of the … hiccup this evening, Rat completed the job.”

  Clearing my throat, I reposition myself in my seat and nod my understanding.

  “You are too good to let what happened tonight ever happen again. You’re the best in my entire crew. You’re far more lethal and experienced, and moreover, you’re smart. That’s what gives you the edge.”

  He stands and motions for me to do the same. As soon as I’ve risen, he places his hand on my shoulder and peers into my eyes. “I called in a favor tonight and had the charges against you dropped. I need you on the streets, not behind bars.” His hand squeezes in warning. “Tonight was your one free pass, Dalton. You reign in that fucking temper of yours because if this happens again, you will owe me. And you know better than anyone that owing me is a very dangerous debt to acquire.”

  “I understand,” I answer immediately. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I know it won’t.” He releases my shoulder and gestures toward the door. “Now, go home and get some rest.”

  I nod slightly and turn to leave, only to twist back around when he states, “Allegiances will be tested soon for both you and Rat. As you grow older, I need to know that your loyalties lie with me and no one else. You will soon enter the smallest, most elite circle within my organization, and eventually, you’ll lead your own crew underneath me. You will have your pick—drugs, guns, prostitution. Wherever you choose to go, my world will become yours to reign and everything you’ve ever wanted will be at your fingertips. But before that happens, I need to know that no one comes before me or my business. No one. Got me?”

  His eyes bore into mine and I suppress a shiver at his ominous words. Another wordless dip of my head is given before I finally turn and head to the door. I’m fully aware my path has already been decided. It was decided the day I joined forces with Silas Kincaid. And regardless of what Lawson believes me capable of doing, there is no way out of this life other than being buried six feet underground.

  After closing the door quietly behind me, I make my way toward the location of Rat’s car. Once in the main warehouse, I spot Rat leaning against his trunk, arms folded leisurely across his chest.

  As soon as I’m within hearing distance, Rat presses his body off of his car. “Everything solid?”

  “Yeah.” I head to the passenger side door. “Our loyalties will be tested, just in case you were wondering,” I recap.

  His snicker fills the air as he opens his door. I fold myself in the car as Rat does the same. “I’m getting my own fucking Glock. Fuck that shit. We need more protection out there.”

  I say nothing in respon
se because I’m too goddamn worn out.

  I lean back and rest my head on the back of the seat, the evening’s effects finally taking their toll. My entire body aches and my fucking head hurts from dealing with Silas. I stare out the window as Rat puts the car in reverse.

  “You’d better call Spencer as soon as you get your phone replaced.”

  Shit. My phone.

  Right on cue, Rat responds, “Yeah. You’re gonna need to lay low, brother. There’s no way she’s going to believe all that damage was done to your face at the garage. I would contact her as soon as possible. Otherwise, she’ll make a surprise visit and if she sees you, she’s going to lose her shit, which isn’t good for either of us.”

  My good eye closes in frustration, leaving me in complete darkness. My body is clenched tightly in response to the pain, but the only sensation I’m able to feel is that of sudden asphyxiation as Silas’s expectations saturate my mind and clog my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. And my only relief from the suffocation, from the absolute agony burning within my chest, is the one person who I’m forced to deny myself.

  Fuck.

  It’s going to be a long week.

  To: Dalton Greer

  Subject: Where the hell are you???????

  Date: Friday, March 26, 2010 9:29 PM

  Dalton,

  Four days. It has been FOUR days, Dalton. Where the hell are you?

  I have always respected your privacy and your need to be on your own sometimes. But this is just a pure assholish move on your part because I know for a fact you are just sitting there in your apartment, hiding out and avoiding me. I know this because I saw you Wednesday when I was forced to bribe Cassie with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s to do a psychotic, spur of the moment drive-by, leaving both of us nothing short of surprised when we spotted your Camaro in the driveway. Giving you the benefit of the doubt, I instructed her to keep driving, thinking I would hear from you later that day. Yet, my calls continue to be unanswered and my texts remain unread.