“It’s my company.”
“Not the point. You get other people to bid this one.”
“I’ll talk to you later.” Jack ended the call while Dave was still trying to talk sense into him, telling him to walk away, or better yet—run.
Maybe Jack could have walked away if he hadn’t noticed the pale-faced man who stood on the porch talking to one of the uniforms. Jack could have picked Nick’s cousin out of a lineup—he would have known him anywhere. Maybe they had gone to school together, but he didn’t remember. Now, however, seeing the man’s big frame, his pale skin and blond hair—lightly kissed by a tinge of coppery red the Foasberg family had been blessed with for generations—there was little doubt.
Even from across the street, Jack recognized that echo of Nick’s Irish bad-boy looks. The way the man held himself was so goddamned familiar.
Foasberg’s cousin was the final proof Jack needed.
The final nail in Nick’s coffin.
It was a damn good thing Jack had his crutch, because halfway up the walk, his knees buckled.
“Masterson?” Ty Chang, an officer he knew fairly well, put an arm around his shoulder to steady him.
Mouth dry, Jack could only nod. He knew most of the uniforms around the Fullerton area from when he worked at Station 2. Some he’d known pretty well, and they had followed up with him in the four years since his injury in the Freeway Complex Fire. He’d worked with Chang in the past, and they’d remained friendly.
Jack had also met a lot of new people in law enforcement since he’d begun the Brothers Grime with his cousin Gabe and their friend, Eddie. Grime’s red-shirted employees had to be familiar to the police by now, because yes, Jack actively ambulance chased, listening to scanners and sending his people out to bid on local jobs.
Chang stepped forward. “How the hell are you, Masterson? You look a whole lot better than the last time I saw you.”
Jack flushed. He’d lost twenty pounds of muscle since the accident. His buzzed-off hair and hollow, nondescript brown eyes gave him the look of someone who’d seen some seriously hard times, and now he walked with a cane. If that was better, he’d been an awful mess.
Somehow Jack found a way to make words. “Look at you. Hitting the gym?”
“Can’t say I have.” Chang rubbed his flat stomach. “But I’m running my ass off coaching my kid’s soccer team.”
“You got time for that?”
“I have a great assistant coach.”
“Lucky.” On the porch, Nick’s cousin—what is his goddamned name?—seemed numb with shock. He stared blankly beyond them.
“You have to stay back here until we get through.”
“I know the routine.”
“I thought you had people for the grunt work?”
“Sometimes I do this myself.”
Chang nodded and leaned over to speak confidentially. “This one isn’t too bad. Contained to the bathroom on the first floor. Guy ate his gun. Small caliber.”
“I—”
“It’s like he was trying not to make a mess. The tidy ones usually do it in a car. They think they can go somewhere and family won’t have to see. This guy was bottomed out. I guess he didn’t own a car.”
Jack’s skin tingled as gooseflesh stippled his arms. “I knew the victim, so—”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” Chang frowned at him. “Hey, you okay there? Maybe you should call one of your guys?”
“No, I got it. It’s hard to do the job when it’s someone you know. My guys are all busy with other things,” Jack lied. Sweat cooled his clammy skin. “How long, you think?”
“We’re just finishing up now.” Chang leaned over to whisper. “You’ve got competition.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll get the bid, though.”
“Used to be there was nobody to do this shit. Now I’m noticing more and more outfits. Violent crime is a growth industry.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s what pays my bills.”
The coroner’s van rolled out, and the cousin spent a few more minutes talking with the police on the porch.
Jack felt a light touch on his shoulder. “Are you Jack Masterson?”
He turned to find an older woman, blonde and pretty, peering up at him. She wore slim-fitting trousers and a high-necked blouse under a soft brown cardigan that matched her eyes. He didn’t need to be introduced to know this was Dave’s mom.
He didn’t want to meet her. “Yeah.”
“Dave asked me to come over here and talk to you. He said to ask you to come have a cup of coffee with me.” Her eyes were just like Dave’s. Golden and warm. Kind.
“I don’t think—”
“He said I shouldn’t take no for an answer because the man who shot himself was a friend of yours.” Those eyes still shone with warmth when she got tough. Interesting.
“I need to bid this job.”
“There are other jobs.” She wrapped surprisingly strong fingers around his upper arm and tugged, but he braced his legs and didn’t move.
“And I need all the jobs I can get.”
“Dave said—”
“Dave is a good cop and a great guy, ma’am, but he can’t tell me what jobs I can take.” Jack pointed out a guy leaning idly against the door of a white truck with a camper shell on the back. “See that guy? He’s going to bid this job, and so is the guy in the red sedan. They’re all waiting to tell your neighbor how they’ll do the best job for the lowest price. The guy in the red car is retired LA Sheriff’s Department, and I know his company is legit. He’s okay. He does good work. I’ve never seen this other guy before. Seems a little skeevy to me.”
She looked the guy over. He was sipping from a cup of doughnut-shop coffee and using his car keys to dig something out of his ear. “Is that normal?”
“I doubt it. They say you shouldn’t put anything in your ear smaller than your elbow.”
“Pffft. No.” Dave’s mom gave his arm a happy shake. “I meant people standing around like vultures, waiting to—”
“Maybe you never gave this much thought, but suppose something awful happens in your house. Say someone breaking in gets shot by the police. Afterwards, your place is a crime scene, and the police dust for prints and search through everything you own. When they let you back in, who cleans up the mess? Are you going to be up to that?”
“I guess I never thought about it.”
“Say you got a massive sewage backup, and they fix your plumbing, but you’re still knee-deep in sh—excrement when the plumbers leave. You’re sitting on a major biohazard. Do you want to wade in and get yourself a case of hepatitis C?”
Her eyes widened. “God, I never—”
“Do you want to wipe up fecal matter and blood-borne pathogens with a kitchen sponge?”
“Holy cow.” She blanched, and he felt bad he’d started his even-vultures-have-a-purpose speech.
“I’m sorry.” He glanced over her head at the cousin, then back.
“I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Karen Huntley. My son is worried about you. He asked me to try to talk you out of taking this job.”
“It’s fine, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.” Even if it’s the last thing I needed today. “Most people don’t think about this until it happens to them, and then believe me, we try to be sensitive and take care of their needs efficiently. This might be the worst moment of your neighbor’s life. We understand that. We’re here to help.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I realized.”
“I don’t deny the money is good. But we earn it.” Jack held his hand out to shake. She took it and gave it a squeeze. “Dave looks like you.”
“Call me Karen,” she said gently. “And come for a cup of coffee—at least come over until they finish up here.”
“I can’t do that. This is my business. If I don’t approach as soon as I can, your neighbor could be pressured into signing with the competition. I can’t take that chance.”
“You want to pressure him into signing wit
h you?”
Jack stiffened. It looked like Dave’s mom was determined to be honest. “That’s how it’s done, ma’am. This is just business.”
“Even if the blood and tissue and fecal material belonged to someone you once loved?”
He flinched. “You don’t do this job if you get emotional. I am uniquely qualified for it.”
She searched his face and appeared to make up her mind about him. “Then let me help you, and we’ll get that coffee.” She took his hand and walked him to the door, surprising both the police officer and Jack’s cousin.
“Ma’am,” the uniform addressed her, but she ignored him.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She kept Jack’s hand while she reached out and curled her fingers around her neighbor’s wrist. Touchy-feely. Dave was too, come to think of it—when they were alone. “Ryan, this is my son’s friend Jack.”
Ryan. That was his name. Jack offered his hand. “Have we met?”
“Yeah.” Ryan eyed Jack before he took it. “We’ve met.”
“Ryan,” Karen said patiently, “I’d like you to come over as soon as you’re done here and have a cup of coffee with us.”
“Jack and I went to high school together.” Ryan continued to stare at Jack.
“If you need anything else, you can call this number.” The police officer talking to Ryan gave him a card. Clearly he didn’t know what to do since it wasn’t considered good form for Jack to interrupt. This was a gray area because Dave’s mom was the neighbor, and she’d done just that.
High school. Right. Did I have a class with him? “You were in my—”
“I was a freshman when you were a senior. You were friends with my cousin, Nick.” His voice broke, and his expression said, As if you didn’t know.
“Could I maybe talk to you? You feel up to a cup of coffee with me and Karen?”
Ryan glanced down at himself. He wore green scrubs and a hooded sweatshirt. “This isn’t really a good time.”
God bless Dave’s mom. She ordered Ryan to lock up his house and come along, right now. She talked the whole time about nothing, low-voiced and soothing.
Given the situation, Jack had to smile while he watched his competitors try to muscle in. Karen answered for Ryan, taking brochures, saying how he’d look over what they had to offer and give them a call at his earliest convenience.
Bill Engstrom, the retired LEO Jack knew from past scenes, left gracefully, but the new guy was high pressure.
He got Jack’s back hair up.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr.…?” When Ryan ignored him, the guy stepped in front of them and held out his hand. “My name is Daniel Sanders, and I represent KrimeKleen Services. Losing a loved one is so devastating, especially when the loss is violent. I’m sure you’re wondering how you’re going to face going back inside your home right now.”
“No, I’m not.” Ryan tried to move around him.
“Wait.” The man held his hand up. “Since you’re wearing scrubs, I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how dangerous blood-borne pathogens can be, and how great a growth medium blood is for—”
“You can stop right there,” said Jack. Karen maneuvered Ryan around the salesman and herded him toward her house. Surely there was no need to paint a terrifying picture of the consequences of improper disposal of biologically hazardous waste, even if that was exactly what Jack had done to Karen only minutes before. “Give me your information, and I’ll see that he gets it.”
This new guy just irked Jack, who couldn’t forget the guy dug for earwax with his keys. The man turned and took off after Karen in a display of persistence Jack thought smelled too much like aggression. Did this guy get paid by the word?
“Wait. I’d like you to look this over. It’s a brochure explaining why KrimeKleen Services outranks the competition by nearly two-to-one in an independent poll of—”
“Thank you.” Karen was clear she wouldn’t welcome further conversation. “He’ll call if he needs your services.”
“But the pathogens are—”
“I know all about biohazardous waste,” barked Ryan, who’d apparently had enough. He gave Jack and the salesman the hairy eyeball. “I work at a hospital.”
Karen, Earwax Guy, and Jack all gaped at him.
“I don’t need anyone to come clean this shit up for me. I can do it myself.”
Chapter 3
Jack couldn’t say exactly how he ended up sitting at Dave Huntley’s mother’s kitchen table, drinking coffee from delicate, gold-embossed teacups. When she brought out a bag of shortbread cookies and turned the whole thing into a teddy bear picnic, he pinched himself discreetly.
Because he didn’t want to think about Nick, his thoughts settled on Dave.
This is where Dave comes from.
This explains so much.
Karen’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “What Jack is saying, I think, is that while you might be able to clean the room yourself, it might be better—emotionally speaking—to have a third party come in.”
Ryan slid a glance Jack’s way. “Is that what Jack is saying? That I might be emotionally scarred by cleaning my cousin’s blood from the tub, and he won’t?”
She bit her full lower lip. “Jack, I believe what Ryan is saying is he’s worried—”
“I heard him.” Jack sighed. I’ll have to ask Dave if his mom is a marriage counselor. “We both knew the deceased.”
The phone rang, and Karen left them alone while she answered it.
For a couple of minutes, silence consumed them. Jack heard the number on the stove clock flip over from 10:56 to 10:57. Then 10:58.
“Why are you here?” Ryan finally asked.
“To bid the job like everyone else.”
“Right.” Ryan’s tone of voice indicated he didn’t buy it. He’d wrapped his arms around himself.
Jack put his cup into the saucer none too gently, then pushed it away. “Christ. I should not be using something as fragile as that.”
Ryan’s lips curved into a faint smile. “They’re pretty, though.”
God. Pale skin, pale brows. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose and were scattered by the thousands over his forearms where he’d pushed up his sleeves.
Eyes the lightest shade of blue, like shadows in the snow.
Ryan was so like Nick. Yet…they were as individual as snowflakes.
Where Nick Foasberg had been built brutal in the way of Irishmen with the blood of Vikings in them, Ryan had softer edges. He was all lean muscle mass and just as tall as Nick, but he wasn’t keen like Nick had been. He wasn’t sharp or hard.
Ryan’s body language said he had nothing to prove.
He was intelligent. That much was clear. Was he a Foasberg? Or a cousin with a different name?
Jack said, “Look, you don’t know me, but—”
“I know of you.” Ryan’s gaze locked with his. “I know what Nick did to you. I was there.”
Jack’s heart dropped like an elevator with a broken cable. “You—”
“I know he humiliated you. How he and his friends beat you.” His gaze was searching. “What did you think would happen when you asked him to senior prom publicly, when you made a circus out of it so everyone knew you had a thing for him?”
Jack’s heart contracted. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t expect my best friend—who was also my fucking lover, goddamn it—and six other assholes to beat the hell out of me. I didn’t expect I’d barely escape being sodomized with a broom handle because someone called the cops.
No, sir. I did not expect that.
Ryan’s hostile expression turned to one of pity. “I would never condone what he did. Violence is wrong. But you should have gone to him in private. Told him you were gay. Talked to him about it. He was your friend. He would have understood. But he felt cornered when you did your whole rose-between-the-teeth thing. He was desperate.”
“You’re seriously going with that?” Despite years of practice controllin
g his reaction to Nick’s betrayal, Jack’s voice rose. Ryan clearly remembered things differently than he did. “Gay-panic defense?”
“No. Never.” Ryan’s fists tightened in his lap. “But I’m certain he never meant the situation to get so out of control.”
More minutes of silence—measured by the mechanical sound of numbers flipping—ticked by.
Jack felt bone tired already, and it was still early. “What the hell happened to him?”
“He killed himself.”
“I know that. I guess I meant…do you know why?”
“Things haven’t gone well for him for a while.”
Jack sat back. “I didn’t know.”
“You heard the Foasbergs lost the dealership, right?”
“Yes.” Foasberg Chevrolet had been their family business for about eighty years. Jack heard they lost the dealership when GM restructured after the bailout.
Jack took a cookie to give his hands something to do. “That was a nice place.”
“He tried to keep the service bays open for a while, after. Tried to get a different franchise. It finally closed, and they sold the land. The market was shit, and they pretty much lost everything.”
“I didn’t know.”
“After that, things just”—Ryan lowered his lashes—“went downhill.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry.” Karen reentered. The heels of her shoes tapped briskly on the tiled floor. “I have to go pick up a friend whose car quit on her.”
Jack rose to leave. Karen picked up her purse from the kitchen counter.
She must have realized leaving meant Ryan would have to face going back to his house alone, because suddenly she turned to him. “Ryan, you could stay here and finish your coffee. I won’t be very long. You can make yourself at home until—”
“I couldn’t.” Ryan stood up. “I’ve abused your hospitality enough today.”
“But you shouldn’t have to go back there, not when—”
“It’s fine. It’s not like I can unsee the scene.”
Ryan started toward the door. Jack and Karen followed.
Jack wasn’t ready to give up on the job just yet. “Mind if I come with you? I could give you a quote.”
Jack: Grime and Punishment: The Brothers Grime, book 1 Page 2