Blame It on the Shame- Part 3

by Ashley Jade

  Ironically enough, killing the council is actually the easiest part of my plan—in part because I know they'll request a meeting right after Travine's death; giving me access to all of them under one roof.

  At least I'm counting on it.

  However, the only snag in that plan is the fact that I'm currently under their microscope, and the people I care about are targets—which means the second I kill Travine...they will go after Jackson, Tyrone, and Lou-Lou as punishment.

  Since I can't be two places at once...I'm going to use the two weeks I still have left to set things up, put my affairs in order, and make sure they're protected.

  But first, there's someone's trust that I need to earn back.

  He won't know until after the ball has already been set in motion and there's no way it can be undone—because there's no doubt in my mind he wouldn't agree to this if he did—but Jackson's the one I'm counting on to look after everyone in my absence.

  He's who I'm entrusting to protect the most important thing of all when I'm gone. Her.

  It's not that I can't trust Tyrone to take care of her...I know he will.

  But the fact of the matter is, even though Jackson and Tyrone are both made from the same inherently good molds, and they're both two of the best men I've ever known.

  There's one monumental difference between them.

  Jackson's killed before...Tyrone hasn't.

  Tyrone loves selflessly...and while that's admirable...I can't depend on him to do this for me. Tyrone will just attempt to talk me out of my plan and put himself in direct danger trying to protect me at the last moment.

  But Jackson?

  When his back's against the wall and he has no other choice...he's got it in him to take a life, or multiple lives if need be for those he loves.

  I know when push comes to shove and I finally lay it out on the line for him—and he knows it's my life or everyone else's—he'll protect everyone else, including Lou-Lou for me.

  Which is why the very least I can do right now is take care of this problem for him. Give him a show of good faith that I'm on his side, because I know that ever since the vice-mayor was assassinated two days ago and that motherfucker Travine went on T.V. again and tried to pin the shit on me...he's had his doubts.

  I'd also be lying if I didn't admit my own selfish reason behind doing this as well...I've wanted to kill Ford ever since Graham died all those years ago.

  Ford's death has been a long time coming and I see absolutely no reason for that piece of waste to go on breathing any longer...it's time to start tying up some loose ends.

  When I pull up to my secluded parking spot in the back of the complex, I find him waiting there with a pissed off expression on his face.

  I slam on the brake. “Get in, asshole. We're about to do something that will cheer you up.”

  He looks pensive as he makes his way over to the car. “Unless it involves beating the shit out of you, I'm not interested.”

  “You can try, but we both know how well that will end for you. Besides, I have a better punching bag in mind for you to use.”

  I reach for my pack of cigarettes and he begrudgingly gets in. “We're paying a visit to a certain—as your girl likes to call him— manipulating, bastard agent Ford.”

  He looks out the window. “I guess this is your way of apologizing for being a manipulating bastard yourself and lying to me about the shit with the mayor?”

  I press down on the gas. “I didn't lie to you, Jackson. I didn't think it was foul play a few days ago. Obviously that's changed now...but trust me I've got a plan.”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “That's great and all...but why is Travine telling the media you're involved with both Gaffney and the vice-mayor's deaths?”

  I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. And my guess is that he's trying to provoke me to go after him.”

  I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “And while I will be going after him eventually...I won't let him rile me up and incite me into giving him what he wants when he wants it.”

  I exhale sharply, hoping my next statement will appease him until I can tell him the actual truth. “My father made a lot of fucked up decisions out of anger, Jackson. And those split second decisions weren't always smart. It got rid of the initial problem and threat...but all too often it created a dozen more problems for him.”

  I take a drag off my cigarette. “But unlike DeLuca...I can't go around putting out all those fires right now because it's a distraction. One that I can't afford, not when I have something valuable that my enemies won't hesitate to take from me. I know that's not the answer you were hoping for, but that's all I've got for now. That's the honest to god truth.”

  He nods, appearing to be lost in thought. “I don't like it, but I get it.” He types something on his phone. “Just do whatever you can to ensure that asshole doesn't become mayor. Alyssa's gonna have a damn coronary from all her anxiety lately.” His jaw tics. “And I'll kill him myself before I let that happen.”

  I grip the steering wheel. “He won't, Jackson. People aren't stupid, they know he's full of hot air. I don't even need to step in because they won't elect him...he doesn't have enough supporters and right now he just looks like another babbling, idiot politician throwing a tantrum and pointing the finger to distract from his own transgressions. In fact, him running and losing again right before I kill him is a brand of justice that I'm personally looking forward to.”

  And that is the god's honest truth.

  When he raises an eyebrow, I tell him what I spent the better part of my morning doing—giving my own personal memo to the council that I'm not backing down from this. Because even though I'm not allowed to kill him...it doesn't mean I can't fuck with him in my own way.

  “I might have planted some seeds in a few reporters' heads this morning. Those seeds being that Travine's actually the one behind it all and that's why he's so hellbent on pinning it on me.”

  I focus on the traffic ahead of us and grin. “And when they still seemed apprehensive...I hit them with a dose of logic. I wouldn't have a damn thing to gain from the assassination of both mayors...but Travine would.”

  When I look back at Jackson I notice he's smiling now too. “He doesn't stand a chance, brother. Karma's going to hit him right in the ball sack a few times before he meets the barrel of my gun and I blow his miserable, perverted existence off the planet for good.”

  “How is she?” Jackson then asks and my stomach twists.

  How do you tell someone that you almost committed the most heinous act on a woman you're hopelessly in love with in a fit of jealousy, anger, and the darkest thoughts you've ever had a few nights ago?

  Ignoring his question, I pull into the entrance of Bellevue Hospital. Despite Ford's participation in bringing down Travine the first time he ran for mayor, I know he's now one of Travine's pawns. Travine just wants him to suffer a bit before he pardons him for good. Hence why he's currently spending some time as a psych patient.

  But unfortunately for me, since Travine is an official associate of theirs now, I know the DeLuca's have Ford under strict orders to be protected during his stay here.

  Jackson looks at the building and laughs. “Can't say I disagree with him being here out of all places.”

  When I throw a pair of white scrubs at him, his laughter comes to a halt. “What do I need these for? I thought we were just gonna walk in, pay him a visit, and rough him up a little?”

  That's when I laugh, because Ford's not going to be roughed up a little.

  I pull my own white scrubs over the jeans I'm wearing. “We're not walking in. We're sneaking in.”

  Jackson follows suit but I don't miss the look on his face. “Why? You're a mob boss, I thought you could pretty much do whatever you wanted. You did at Rikers.”

  Since I can't tell him that the rules have changed for me when it comes to Ford now—I simply say, “I don't want too much visible blood on my hands since Travine's
keen on painting me as the bad guy on the news. I need to lay low, so it's better if we just sneak in as orderlies.”

  I slip my shirt over my head. “If you don't want to, I can make this a one-man job.”

  “Fuck that,” Jackson says as he finishes putting his scrubs on. “I've been practically salivating for the chance to beat the shit out of him.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I let Alyssa get her payback the way she felt she needed to because it was important to her...but it doesn't mean there aren't still times where I'm not chomping at the bit to turn his face into hamburger meat.”

  I slap his back. “Let's go.”

  All things considered, it really shouldn't be so easy to sneak into a locked down psychiatric unit.

  Jackson shoots me a look as we walk down the hallway and I know he's thinking the same thing.

  I expected and came prepared to run into some kind of trouble, but other than a few smiles from the nurses, no one's questioned us yet.

  “What room is he in?” Jackson whispers and I shrug.

  I had my men hack into his medical file and have it on my laptop, but there's no room number listed.

  “We should have brought Tyrone with us, he could have used that Southern charm of his to charm the nurses.”

  “Yeah, but then we'd have to hear one of his Dr. Phil talks about turning the other cheek and letting bygones be bygones.”

  Jackson snorts. “True.”

  We walk down another hallway and after checking a few rooms, we come up empty.

  “You're gonna have to flirt with one of the nurses,” I tell him and he frowns.

  “Why me? Before Lou-Lou, you were the regular Don Juan, not me.”

  “Yeah, but now my way of prying information from people involves threatening and torture. Therefore, my flirting skills are a bit rusty. Plus you're way less intimidating looking than me.”

  He gestures to the pretty nurse at the end of the empty hallway. “We'll do it together. I'll do the talking, you just stand there and try not to shoot anyone.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts whistling when we approach her. “Hi there, sugar,” Jackson says in the strangest combination of his own Boston accent and Tyrone's Southern one.

  I shoot him a look, but he ignores me and gestures between us. “Sorry to bother you, but we're new here and I was hoping you could help us out.”

  The nurse looks up from her med cart and I don't miss the way her eyes bounce between the both of us. “I wasn't aware they hired new orderlies.” Jackson opens his mouth but a smile stretches across her lips. “Thank god, because we are so understaffed lately. What can I help you two with?”

  “We were told by our supervisor that we needed to check on a certain patient...problem is he forgot to tell us what room the patient was in.”

  “What's the patient's name?”

  “Ford Baker.”

  The nurse pales and I instinctively reach for my gun. “I'm sorry, but I think you were misinformed. There's no patient by that name here.”

  Shit.

  She goes back to focusing on her med cart and that's when I step in.

  I look at the name on her badge and give her a smile of my own. “Listen, Heather...I'm not sure you understood what my friend meant before.”

  “What—”

  I lean in close. “By supervisor...he wasn't referring to the shit stains in cheap suits who sit behind their crappy desks and make the schedules.”

  “But—”

  I grab her elbow and lug her into an empty room, with Jackson following close behind me. “Heather, this can go one of two ways. One—you can either tell me what I need to know. Or two—I'm going to stuff your body into that med-cart of yours...after I personally remove each one of your joints with a pair of pliers.”

  Beside me, Jackson mutters a curse.

  “Oh my G-god. You're a-a De—”

  I cover her mouth with my hand. “Be careful, I'm worse than the candyman, sweetheart. Because unless you're in my bed, you never want to repeat my name too loud or too often. Got it?”

  She nods and I take my hand off her mouth. “Now tell me where Ford Baker is.”

  “It will be hard for you to find his room on your own, I'll have to bring you there myself.”

  I gesture for her to lead the way and her hands start shaking as she locks her med cart up. “Please don't kill me,” she whispers.

  “He's not going to kill you,” Jackson says and I scowl.

  “Not if you start walking and bring me to his room I won't.”

  We follow her down a few hallways until we come to another hallway and finally come to a door. When we enter that door, she unlocks another door. “He's under orders to be kept in here for 24 hours a day.” She looks around nervously. “Sometimes he's violent, but mostly he's just exhausted and sleepy, probably due to all of the medication he's on. It's the strangest cocktail I've ever given.”

  Jackson's brows furrow and he looks at me. “Your doing?”

  No. Travine and the DeLuca council's doing.

  “Yes,” I lie and he nods.

  When she unlocks the door to the padded room, Jackson plugs his nose. “Oh, hell.”

  Hell indeed. Ford's huddled up in a corner, rocking himself in a pile of his own piss and shit. There's snot and drool covering his face and the life in his one eyeball has severely diminished.

  The nurse points to the door. “I have to get back to my rounds.” She stuffs a folder in my hand. “Please don't tell them it was me.”

  Jackson makes a face but I turn my attention to Ford.

  Ford babbles some incoherent nonsense when we approach him and I can sense the uncertainty Jackson now feels as he looks around the padded room. “I don't know, Ricardo. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he doesn't deserve this...but there's something awfully unsatisfying about beating the shit out of someone who's currently sleeping in a pile of their own shit.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think he's suffering enough. Besides, he's so out of it, I don't even think he'd register the beating we came here to give him in the first place.”

  And therein lies the monumental difference between Jackson and me.

  Jackson has empathy and compassion for people, including those who don't deserve it—I have absolutely none.

  Not unless it's someone I care about, and that's one hell of a short list with only a handful of people on it.

  I lean over so I'm directly in front of Ford's face and clap my hands. “Hey, buddy. How's life been treating you?”

  More drool drizzles out of his mouth and he grinds his teeth. Yeah, Ford's still in there somewhere.

  “I heard you tried to kill yourself, special agent.” When his one eyeball connects with mine I smile. “Sorry things haven't been looking up for you.”

  He closes his eye and I pull out a needle.

  Jackson looks at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Poor Ford here wanted to kill himself.” I jab the needle into Ford's arm and push the plunger down. “I'm just helping our friend out.”

  “Christ,” Jackson mutters. “You brought me here to help you commit murder? Did you miss the fact that I recently got out of jail for that shit?”

  “That's not why I brought you here.” I hold up the needle. “It's just a sedative. The real fun will happen when his meds are out of his system and he wakes up and realizes he's chained up in my basement...which you won't be around for.”

  He looks down at a passed out Ford. “You sure that's really what you want to do?”

  I barely manage to hold back my grin. “Positive.”

  Jackson grabs one of Ford's shoulders and I grab the other. That is until Jackson's fist goes sailing into his face and I hear something crunch.

  “You sure that's really what you want to do?” I ask tauntingly.

  “You can't be the only one who's allowed to have some fun.” He looks around. “Now how the hell do we get this smelly motherfucker out of here without anyone noticing?”

 
; We walk out of the padded room and into the adjoining room. “Stay here, I'm gonna go grab a stretcher and a few blankets.”

  When I return, we load him up and I head for the laundry room I noticed at the other end of the hallway.

  “People will notice us taking a stretcher with what they presume to be a dead body out to my car,” I say when he gives me a look.

  “But they won't notice us taking a laundry bin out to your car?”

  I open the laundry room and grab an oversized bin. “They will, but it won't draw as much attention. They won't fully register what they saw until after we're long gone.” I stuff Ford inside. “Personally I would have preferred a garbage bin but Ford's too tall.”

  “I gotta say, it's a little unnerving just how much thought you put into this, brother.”

  “All in a day's work.”

  We start walking down the hall and I give the same nurse from earlier a warning look when we pass her on our way to the back exit.

  “Should we tie him up?” Jackson questions when we reach my car.

  “Why?”

  “Gee, I don't know, maybe so he doesn't wake up in the middle of the car ride and lunge for you while you're driving?”

  I press a button on my key and my trunk pops open. “No way in hell is that rancid, one eyed-Willy getting in my Mustang.”

  He chuckles as we throw him in and I slam the trunk. “Yeah, I should have guessed that.”

  When I pull up to the apartment complex to drop him off he turns in his seat and looks at me. “Travine—”

  “Will be handled very soon.”

  “If you can't do it for whatever reason.” He exhales sharply. “I'll find another way to get it done.”

  A sense of uneasiness fills me and I look him in the eyes. “No you won't, Jackson. Don't be stupid, you have a girl and a kid on the way to think about. I've got this. Have some damn trust in me.”

  “I trust you, Ricardo,” he says solemnly. “I just have this feeling in my gut that I can't shake lately. Like something bad's gonna happen. Last time I had a feeling like this was about a week before Lilly died.”

  He rubs his face. “I hadn't heard from her that week and my conscience was nagging at me to call her or stop by. I kept telling myself I would, but I was too preoccupied with training for the fight...and the next time I saw her she was dead.”