Cash Braddock

by Ashley Bartlett

  Dawn was creeping in the windows by the time we drifted off. I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to sleep. I just wanted to keep touching her.

  It could have been my imagination. Or sleep deprivation. But I could have sworn, as I flirted with the edges of sleep, that she whispered that she loved me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I woke up hot, naked, and alone. Well, without Laurel. Nickels was pressed against my side. Warm cats and hundred degree days don’t mix. Plus, there was the whole naked flesh and fear of claws thing. I rolled away and got tangled in a sheet. I listened for any sound that would suggest that Laurel was still here, but there was nothing.

  I looked at the clock. Just after noon. No wonder it was hot in here. I put on a fresh pair of boxer briefs, found a T-shirt on the floor, and went around closing windows and turning on the AC. Coffee was next. I couldn’t handle waking up alone without coffee. Next to the coffee machine I found a note.

  Had to leave. Sorry. L

  Well, that cleared things right up.

  I’d managed to get coffee brewing when I heard a knock at the front door. I didn’t want to answer it. I still didn’t want to face this day. The knocking got louder.

  “Cash, you home?” Nate shouted.

  I guess that ruled out Jehovah’s Witnesses. Last time had been so fun. They called me son and asked if my parents were home.

  “I’m coming,” I called back. He stopped pounding on the door. I swung it open.

  Nate looked in a bit frantically, then shoved past me. “She’s not here, right? Are you alone?” Not his usual entrance.

  “What? Yeah. Why?”

  Nate closed the door and locked it. “You sure?” He dropped a duffel bag by the door.

  “Yeah, I think I know when I’m home alone. What is up with you?” The coffee machine beeped. “Never mind.” I left him staring at shadows in the entryway and went to pour some coffee.

  “Where is your phone? Why isn’t it on?” Nate followed me into the kitchen.

  I decided to be nice and pour him a cup of coffee too. “I turned it off yesterday. I wasn’t feeling contact with the outside world.”

  “Go get it.” Nate took the mug I handed him and sat at the kitchen table.

  “I saw your message about Jerome. I assume that’s what this is about. I knew that asshole wasn’t going to back off.” I sat across from him.

  “What?” Nate looked confused for a moment. “Oh, yeah. That.”

  “Why are you freaking out right now?”

  “Just go get your phone.”

  I rolled my eyes and went to get the damn phone. I hit the button to start it up and set it on the table between Nate and me. He stared at the bright white apple and drummed his fingers.

  “You need to calm down, man. You’re driving me crazy,” I said. The phone finished starting. I swiped it. Fourteen voice mails. Nine from Henry. Four from Nate. One from Laurel. Nearly thirty text messages. “Jesus Christ. I suppose I need to listen to all five million of these to figure out what is going on?”

  “Yes.” Nate nodded and studied the tabletop. “Wait. No. You shouldn’t find out like that. I just—Fuck.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, Laurel is a cop.”

  I laughed. It was the most obvious response. “Get your head out of your ass.”

  “No, Cash. I’m serious. She’s a cop. Undercover.”

  My heart started to pound. “No, she works at her father’s law firm. And doesn’t like institutions. Law enforcement is an institution.” It was so trying to have to explain everything to him.

  “That’s a cover. She’s investigating us. She’s investigating you.”

  “You’re wrong.” I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts to her name. She could explain this. It was a misunderstanding.

  Nate grabbed the phone. “I’m sorry. It’s true. Henry has been trying to call you since last night. He finally sent me over here.”

  “Nate, she’s not a fucking cop. That’s absurd.” I was doing my best to remain calm. It wasn’t working. “Give me my phone.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. This is real.”

  “Give me my goddamn phone.” I held out my hand. Nate shook his head. I tried to grab the phone. Nate stood and held it out of my reach. I jumped on him, reached for his hand, yanked on his bicep, but he didn’t budge. “Nate.”

  “I’m sorry.” He wrapped his free arm around me. I don’t know if he was trying to hold me back or just comfort me, but it didn’t work. When I clawed at him again, he shoved me back. He put the phone in his pocket and wrestled me back into my chair. I attempted to stand, but he caged me in and leaned close so I couldn’t move. “Give it up. I’m not going to let you call her.”

  “She can’t be. She can’t.” I realized I was shaking. “She loves me.”

  “All I know is that she’s an undercover cop.” He knelt in front of me, but kept my arms pinned. “Maybe there is an explanation. Maybe Henry is wrong. But we need to take a moment and deal with this. Just in case. Okay?” I nodded. “Take a deep breath.” I did what he said. “Good. Now, another.”

  Last night, I finally felt like I could breathe. Now, the shortness was back. My lungs wouldn’t fill. I tried to inhale fully, but it didn’t calm the racing of my heart or the trembling in my arms. “He’s wrong.”

  “Hopefully. But right now, we need to strip any paraphernalia. Whatever you have. Drugs, baggies, money, anything that could be evidence. Can you help me?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I already stripped my place. Where are we going to put everything?”

  I had an answer to that, but I didn’t like it. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a place. Just help me gather shit. How much time do we have?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think she knows her cover has been blown.”

  “She doesn’t have a cover to blow,” I said.

  “Yeah, okay.” Nate nodded. His tone was placating. I didn’t like it.

  I went to the pantry and pulled out all of the drugs I had stashed. Nate took them and carried the bags to the table. There was cash in the freezer. That was the little stash. I tossed the cold bag onto the pile of pills and shoved the taquito box back into the freezer. My big stash was in the dining room. I went to the built-in hutch and pulled out all of the bottom drawers. There was a dusty bag in the cavity beneath each of them. I realized belatedly that Nate could have made up the entire story to figure out where I kept everything. But I trusted him. More than I trusted Henry. I didn’t know if I trusted him more than Laurel.

  It didn’t matter. Henry was wrong. When we confirmed it, I’d beat him to a fucking pulp.

  When I brought the bags back into the kitchen, Nate was piling everything into the small duffel bag from my closet. I pulled out kitchen drawers and rounded up all of the drug-sized baggies and the labels I rarely used. Nate tossed those into the duffel.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Invoices, receipts, phone numbers, anything?”

  “No, I don’t keep any written records. It’s all logged as produce,” I said. But then I realized that wasn’t true. I went to the study and grabbed the small notebook next to my laptop. It had a list of codes. It wasn’t much, but with enough time someone might be able to figure out the translation of prices. “This too.” I tucked it into the bag.

  “Good. Now, pack a bag for you.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  I threw my bag of toiletries into a backpack. When I went to grab clothes, I realized I wasn’t wearing any. I pulled on a pair of jeans and kicked into my Converse. Red, because a day this shitty needed red Converse. The same rules applied to shoes as cars. If I had to run, at least it would look like I was going fast.

  I knew Nate was waiting impatiently so I took mild pleasure in taking my time brushing my teeth and styling my hair. I leaned over the sink as I tried to get my pompadour to stand up at just the right angle. My T-shirt was loose, and I caught sight
of the bruises from Laurel’s fingertips spread across my collarbone. Immediately, I got wet. And then hated myself for the visceral reaction. And then hated myself for trusting Henry’s word over Laurel’s, even for a moment.

  I marched out to the living room and threw my backpack at Nate. He caught it and stepped back when he realized I was angry.

  “Let’s go. I’d really like to punch Henry in the face when he realizes that he’s wrong.”

  “Sure. But we need to stash our shit first.” Nate kicked the duffel at his feet.

  I glared at him and held out my hand. “I need my phone.”

  He stared at me hard. After a minute of searching my face, he pulled out the phone and handed it to me. I hit Robin’s name and waited.

  “Hey, Cash,” Andy answered.

  “Hey. Is your mom there?”

  “She’s driving. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to be out of town tonight. Can you feed Nickels for me?”

  “Sure. Do you still need to talk to Mom?”

  “Nope. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Okay. Have fun,” she said with all the excitement of a teenager who doesn’t know what life will bring and is looking forward to it. “Bye.”

  “Bye.” I slid the phone into my pocket. Nate clenched his hands. “Calm the fuck down. I’m not going to call her.”

  I went to the kitchen and pulled the keys to the Wards’ off the hook. Nate handed me the duffel bag with enough evidence to hang us. I left him pouting and went next door.

  It always felt strange to let myself into Robin’s place. I owned the damn building, but I felt like an intruder. Today, I was. It didn’t matter that she had offered. It was years ago and it was theoretical. Taking her up on it felt like a violation. Probably because I had sworn I would never take advantage of the offer. Yet, here I was, creeping through her home. I took the stepladder from the kitchen and carried it into Robin’s bedroom on the far side of the house. Her room smelled faintly of lavender and magnolia and Robin’s perfume. It didn’t smell like my house.

  I opened the closet and set up the stepladder. There was a small hatch above the high shelf. I pushed the panel up and slid it sideways. A faint layer of dust shifted and settled. I shoved the duffel in and closed the panel. I was a dick.

  I put the stepladder back, made sure there was no evidence that I had been there, and locked the door behind me.

  Nate was still pouting when I came back inside.

  “It’s done,” I said.

  He didn’t question me, which I appreciated. “Cool. Let’s go.”

  I followed him out to his car. He stashed our bags in the trunk and I climbed in the passenger side.

  “Where are we going?” I asked once he got in the car.

  “Laurel’s place. Henry has been watching her since this morning.”

  My heart jumped into my throat. “Is she there?”

  “Yeah, he said she got home around ten.”

  Good to know. “What is he hoping to accomplish?”

  “I don’t know. You can ask him when we get there.”

  We stayed silent as he navigated through midtown. Laurel lived in the twenties on T Street. At least she hadn’t lied to me about that. No, she hadn’t lied about anything. She was going to be pissed when she found out how I spent my day.

  Nate parked and texted Henry. He got a reply almost immediately. “Come on. Henry is a few cars up.”

  I looked for the electric blue Mustang, but didn’t see it. “Where?”

  “He’s not driving his car. He rented something more discreet. It’s the white Suburban.”

  I supposed it was technically discreet in that it wasn’t electric blue. Henry’s head was so far up his ass, it was a miracle he accomplished anything. We were in midtown. So his suburban looking Suburban basically looked like a semi.

  I tamped down on my irritation. At this point, if I lost it on anything, I would lose it on everything. Instead, I vaulted into the backseat of the Suburban.

  “Finally. I was worried about you guys.” Henry was stretched out on the bench seat behind me. This thing had two backseats. It was a monstrosity.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re wrong about her,” I said.

  Henry looked at Nate. Nate studied the floor. “I’m not,” Henry said. “I’m sorry. I know you liked her. But she’s a cop.”

  “Prove it.”

  Henry shook his head like he was trying to keep calm. “Okay, Nate watch Laurel’s apartment. Here.” He gave him a camera with a big ass lens on it.

  “Which one is hers?”

  “The big green Victorian. Her apartment is the top floor. There are two apartments downstairs. Young guy with blond hair just left. Ignore him. Other tenant appears to be out as well.”

  “Sure, what exactly am I looking for?” Nate asked.

  “There is a guy up there with her. Early forties, clean-cut. Gray hair. Almost six feet, about a hundred and sixty pounds. Black jeans, blue T-shirt with a logo on the back. He’s driving the black Impala out front. Let me know when he leaves.”

  Nate lifted the camera to eye level and stared at the building. It was his attempt at giving us privacy.

  “Here, Cash.” Henry handed me a file folder.

  I opened it assuming I would find something definitive, a personnel report or something. Instead, I found printed news stories. “Sacramento judge dismisses…” “Prominent Sacramento attorney…” The headlines went on. I flipped through the articles. Henry had highlighted names. Judge Janice Kallen, Randolf Kallen, Judge Kallen, Sergeant Lance Kallen, Randolf and Logan Kallen. Whoever this family was, they were in deep with Sacramento’s law and order community. I went back to the beginning and skimmed the articles. Judge Kallen had a reputation for going easy on nonviolent offenders. Her husband and son apparently ran a local law firm that did a lot of pro bono work in addition to their work as paid defense attorneys. Randolf had worked in the district attorney’s office before starting his own firm in the mid-nineties. Lance Kallen was a police officer with Sacramento PD. He appeared to be the outlier, but he was featured smiling with his parents at a dinner benefitting the police department.

  “What the hell am I looking at here? Who are these people?” We were wasting time. This was obviously irrelevant.

  “They’re your girlfriend’s family.”

  “Except Laurel’s last name is Collins, not Kallen.”

  Henry reached over the seat. He closed the file I was looking at and opened the one underneath it. It had a copy of Laurel’s driver’s license and car registration. It listed her last name as Kallen. That wasn’t good. It wasn’t damning entirely, but it wasn’t good.

  “Okay, so she lied about her last name. She hates her parents. Maybe she just goes by a different last name. She told me she works for her father’s law firm. Look.” I held up the first file. “He has a law firm.”

  “Did you read the articles?”

  “No, I skimmed.”

  He took the file I was holding up and riffled through it. “Read this one.”

  I read the stupid fucking article. It wasn’t going to tell me shit. It was a profile of Randolf Kallen from Sacramento Magazine. It didn’t tell me anything.

  “See?” Henry asked when I handed it back to him.

  “No. What am I supposed to see?”

  “The quote. ‘Janice and I truly value the contribution of our local police force. One of our sons just finished at the Sacramento Police Academy. He will join his sister on the force next month.’ Blah, blah, whatever.”

  “So what?”

  “His sister is on the fucking police force.”

  “So you’ve got the wrong family. I’m telling you, man. This isn’t her.”

  “This is her.” He shoved another article into my hands. There was a photo of the entire Kallen clan at a benefit in the late nineties. Only Randolf and Janice were named. Their four children were not. I glanced back at the photos of grown-up Lance and Logan. They were obviou
sly the boys smiling in the photo. Their bone structure was familiar. And Randolf’s face clearly reflected what they looked like now. The infant Janice was holding offered no help.

  I studied the eldest daughter’s face. She was in her early teens. Awkward, but pretty. Long, dark hair covered half her face. But it was the boots that made me stop. It wasn’t so much the obviously queer, teenage Dr. Martens as it was the way she was standing in them. Laurel had the exact same stance. She always stood in accidental contrapposto. Once I saw her in the pose, I couldn’t stop seeing it. Seeing her. Those were her hands, her cheekbones. That was her brow and jaw. It felt cruel that the body I had pored over last night was now the confirmation of her betrayal.

  “I’m sorry, Cash.” Henry put his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t even have the energy to shrug it off.

  “What’s your plan?” I asked.

  “Right now, we watch. We confirm that it’s you she’s investigating.”

  I scoffed. Which was impressive because I wanted to scream. “Is there any doubt? Of course it’s me.”

  “There are a lot of angles to—” He stopped when his phone rang. He checked the screen and swiped it. “Hey, what do you have for me?” I could hear a high, soft voice. She sounded pretty. Henry always went for the pretty ones. “You’re sure. Can you get more specific? Is it assigned to anyone?” She said something that made him smile halfway. “Okay, thanks. I owe you.” She said something that made him smile all the way. “Deal.” He hung up.

  “Found a girl?”

  Henry waved off my question. “She’s gullible as hell. But she’s good at following directions.”

  “So what’s the deal?”

  “She just told me that the Impala is registered to the local FBI field office.” He leaned back in his seat.

  “The FBI?” I shouted. This was so bad. Henry was wrong. Not because I had gotten fucked by a pretty girl, but because I was so not a big enough fish for the FBI.

  “Calm down. It’s not as bad as it sounds.” He put his hands up as if that would help me calm down. It didn’t help.

  “I hope not. Because FBI sounds pretty fucking bad.”