Miles pulls away, coughing. He inhales a couple of times, but after a moment he regains his composure. I zip up my pants and allow the afterglow of the situation to settle on me. It went fast, but intense. I haven’t fucked someone’s mouth in a long time. It felt good. Real good.
My forgotten cigarette is nothing but a line of ash, and I snuff it out.
“You weren’t half-bad,” I tell him, somewhat out of breath.
Still on his knees and between my legs, he replies, “I’ll do better next time.”
My cock throbs at the statement, ready for a second round, but my mind reasserts itself. “If you’re just hungry for dick, there’s a good line of work for you as a prostitute.”
“That’s… not what I want.”
“Heh. Well, there isn’t going to be a next time. The plan is that I give you some money and you blow town. I tell Jeremy I had to put you down like a sick dog, and then no one ever finds out about this. Capisce?”
Miles lowers his gaze and takes a short breath. “I can’t. Not without my brother. I don’t want to leave town without him.”
I narrow my eyes. “What the fuck are you thinkin’? This isn’t a game. If they catch you around town, they won’t hesitate to finish what they started. Take the money and get out while you can. It’s the smart option.”
“My brother gets into trouble all the time. He says he’ll leave the Cobras, but if I go, I know he’ll just fall back into it.”
“So? Why is that your problem?”
“He’s my brother….”
I don’t understand. I don’t have any siblings, and I’m glad that’s the case. They sound like trouble.
“What if I stay?” Miles asks, glancing up to meet my gaze with his. “And we do what you said we would do? Just until I find my brother. Once I find Jayden, I can skip town.”
“You aren’t actually in with the police.”
“I could be.”
“Nothing’s that simple, kid. I’m not workin’ pro bono either. I helped you once and that’s my good deed for the decade.”
“Please,” he says, gripping my slacks. “I won’t be any trouble. I’ll shadow you around and do whatever you say. Just until I find Jayden and we can leave. Maybe I can even get in good with the cops and you can impress Jeremy.”
I don’t need to impress Jeremy, but I can’t help but feel conflicted by Miles’s begging. He doesn’t have anyone else to turn to? Why is this being thrown into my lap? I should’ve known this would be a bigger hassle than I originally anticipated.
I remain silent and stare. My rational side says I should get rid of him now. Then again, if he gets caught on the streets, Jeremy will blame me for letting him roam around. It’ll look bad, especially after I said I would handle the situation one way or the other.
When I remain quiet, the kid tightens his grip. “Please. I don’t have much, but I’ll pay you back any way I can. I… haven’t fully repaid you for saving my life either.”
My mouth goes dry with anticipation. The look in his eye gets me excited. It’s a terrible idea to actually try and manipulate the police with an amateur involved.
I know I’m thinkin’ with my dick, but I offer him a one-sided smile. “You’re gonna do everything I say. No questions. No back talk. Got it? I won’t suffer a sad sack as company—not when life sentences and death are on the line.”
Miles widens his eyes in excitement. “Really? Thank you. You won’t regret it!”
I hope not.
CHAPTER THREE
I RUB at my good eye, struggling to stay awake.
The streets of Noimore are always congested Saturday night. I turn down a back road and continue through the grime and rain. Despite the storm, people stand on the corners—vagabonds and hookers—all asking for money. I ignore them and try to focus.
Last night was hell.
Knowing Miles slept only a room over killed my ability to sleep. A combination of paranoia and excitement kept me tossing and turning. I’ve worked with gangsters for so long, all I can imagine is that he’s secretly out to slice my throat open the moment I give him an opening. I glance over to the passenger seat. He sits, his gaze glued to the passing sidewalks, with a relaxed posture.
He turns and catches me staring.
“What is it?” he asks.
I return my attention to the road. “You’re recovering pretty quick.”
“Thanks to your painkillers.”
“Don’t get used to ’em. Once they’re gone, they’re gone.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve gone through stuff like this before.”
“Oh yeah? Brisko and Pete had to beat some sense into you?”
“No. My father did.”
I stop asking questions.
We make it to the slummy part of town, and my nose knows it. Everything reeks of trash and marijuana, even during the rain. If anything, the rain adds its own foul soggy scent that causes my lip to curl. I hate this place. It reminds me of the first night when I struck out on my own so many years ago….
I pull the car up to a three-story “hotel” and park.
Miles fidgets with his seat belt. “What’re we doing here?”
“The boss called me. Said I needed to take care of some business here.”
“How is this helping me get in good with the police?”
“It’s not. We just gotta wait for something to present itself. Until then you stay with me and only me, got it? I don’t want anyone calling your loyalty into question.”
“All right.”
I step out of my car and squint at the flashing neon red sign that reads ROOMS BY THE HOUR. Who rents rooms by the hour? Johns and their call girls. Why get a room for the whole night when you only need six minutes and a bottle of lube? It’s a cheap-ass place for cheap-ass lowlifes. I walk up to the front door—a heavy metal thing with bars and security latches—and step in.
The girl at the front desk smiles wide.
“Pierce! I knew they’d send you, puddin’. What took you so long?”
“Stella,” I reply, addressing her.
Her watery blue eyes immediately hone in on Miles. She throws back one of her blonde pigtails and straightens her lacy bra, the garment clearly visible under her chiffon blouse. “Ooohhh. I see you brought a buddy. Did you two need a room?”
“You know I’m here for business.”
Miles glances around the small waiting room, his attention drawn to the many pictures of half-naked women on the walls. “Uh,” he says. “What kind of place is this?”
Stella lifts one of her drawn-on eyebrows. “Oh boy. He’s green. Real green. Who is this kid, Pierce?”
“Never mind him,” I snap. “Just tell me which room I need to inspect.”
“I’m not that green,” Miles says. He holds out a hand for Stella. “I’m Miles. It’s nice to meet you.”
The girl clearly doesn’t know what to think. She holds out her hand, half in confusion, and shakes. “My, my. You’re a little gentleman, aren’t you? Are you Pierce’s replacement?” She turns to me with a smarmy smile. “Did they say you’re getting too old, Pierce, is that it? Is this Big Man Vice’s new favorite?”
I grit my teeth. “Just give me the room number, Stella.”
Miles looks me over from head to toe. “What’re you talking about? Too old? He doesn’t look that old.”
Stella giggles. “Oh, you’re so cute I could just eat you up. You hear that, Pierce? You’re not that old.”
I don’t dignify the conversation with a response.
“How old is he?” Miles asks the girl.
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s just been around a long time. Longer than most in the business, ya know what I’m sayin’? It’s a young man’s game on the streets. Guys like Pierce are rare.”
“Enough,” I state. “Tell us the damn room number.”
She mulls over the demand and says, “First room off the elevator on the third floor. Three A. You won’t miss it. Hurry with it, won’t ya? We can’t r
ent any rooms on that floor while the mess is still there.”
I walk over to the elevator and open the door. Miles shadows my steps, nodding to Stella as the door closes behind him. I hit the third floor button and sigh as I hear the ancient gears of the machine flare to life. I doubt an inspector has been out to this elevator in over a decade. If I die here, I won’t be surprised.
The lift starts up like molasses.
“How old are you?” Miles asks.
“Thirty-six,” I reply as curt as possible. Do we need to talk?
“When did the Vice family hire you for… this line of work?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“So you were sixteen when you first started with them?”
“Oh good. You can do basic math.”
He gives me a seething sideways glance. “Yeah. Of course I can do simple math. I graduated high school, ya know.”
“What an accomplishment. No one has ever done that before.”
Miles shoves his hands into his pockets and turns away, his posture stiff. I glance over and sigh, but my gaze trails the outline of his body. He looks better in slacks and a button-down shirt. They’re mine, so they’re a little too big, but he still wears them well. I glare up at the roof of the elevator, listening to the slow grind of gears.
“At least you’re not an idiot like Brisko and Pete,” I say as the elevator reaches the top. “I prefer workin’ with someone who knows a yard can also be a unit of measurement.”
He laughs once and then quiets himself, but his posture goes back to relaxed.
We step out into the hall, and I see the room we came for. The door is ajar, the inside well-lit with three lamps. I walk in and take note of the surroundings. It’s a small room—a single bed and a single nightstand—but those are details I take in after the copious amount of blood splattered across the walls.
Gunshot splatters. I’d bet my life on it. I’ve seen ’em a hundred times.
The rank odor of coagulated bodily fluids washes over me. My gaze falls to the bodies strewn about the floor. There’s a girl, half undressed and brains blown everywhere, and then there’s a guy missing his pants. I get a good look at his face. He’s Mikey Vice, the Big Man Vice’s cousin.
I don’t know the girl. Her corpse bothers me. What kind of sick fuck would kill an uninvolved party? The girl didn’t have anything to do with this. She didn’t deserve a bullet to the head just because Mikey wanted to get his rocks off. Her death almost disturbs me more than the Vice’s—I have my standards.
Miles grimaces the instant he gets an eyeful of the room. He backs up to the elevator. “What… happened?”
I walk around, careful not to step on anything. Mikey got caught with his pants down, both literally and figuratively. Multiple gunshot wounds to the body. He bled to death. Slowly. I scan everything—it’s difficult with one bad eye, but I take my time. Lucky for me, the killer wanted to be known. I find a calling card on the bed, tucked between the disheveled sheets. It’s a business card with a snake on the back. I snatch up the scrap of paper using the sleeve of my coat.
Cobras. It’s always the Cobras. I could have guessed. They wanted to send a message.
Miles ambles back to the door and leans against the frame. “How could the girl downstairs be so cheery?”
“She works in the industry of faking emotions,” I quip. “Besides, I bet this isn’t the first time she’s seen this.”
“Are the cops on their way?”
“No one here calls the cops. They deal with the problems themselves. Do you really think a bunch of hookers want cops scoping out the area? It’s bad for business.”
“Don’t the… other women… want the killer caught?”
“Oh, the killer will be brought to justice,” I say. “He’s a damn scumbag who deserves everything that’s coming to him.”
Miles averts his gaze, unable to bring himself to look at the gore for longer than a few moments. “You care about the girl?”
“I don’t kill innocent hardworking people. If some gangbanger encroaches on Vice territory, he’s fair game. They knew what they had comin’. The girl, on the other hand, was just making ends meet. She isn’t part of our feud. Obviously the killer didn’t give a shit. He blew her brains out regardless. No moral compass whatsoever. Those types of people shouldn’t be roaming the streets.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
I don’t say anything, but that one rule is the only way I know I’m still human—that I still have empathy. Don’t shoot the innocent people. Streetwise thugs have it coming. Gunrunners are just as bad. Dealers even worse. But the average man minding his own business? Never.
Miles furrows his brow in contemplation.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I was just wondering…. What if we could use this somehow?”
I turn to face him. Miles rubs at his neck and shrugs.
“Maybe we move the bodies and I take the card to the precinct, ya know? I tell them where the bodies are, and that the Cobras did it.”
I mull over the possibility. If it were going to work, he would need to contact someone on the inside. I pull out my wallet and finger through the cards I have stored away. Detective Ambers is trusting—but is she trusting enough? Depends on how Miles handles himself. After pulling my phone, I dial up my favorite stooge and wait until he answers.
“Yeah?” Brisko says, his voice saliva-swallowing thick.
“This is Pierce. Get over to the Getaway Inn. Ya know the one.”
“Whatever ya say.”
“Bring some lifters, a van, and a tarp. We have bodies to move.”
“I’ll be there.”
I hang up the phone and toss Miles the detective’s card. “Later tonight you’re going to call that number when you make your tip, got it?”
He flips the card over and examines the words carefully. “Detective Ambers?”
“Yeah. You know her?”
“N-no,” he mutters. “It’s just an odd name.”
I don’t like the way he answers… seems off, but I can’t place it. I don’t know the man like I should.
With a sigh I walk back out into the hall. “You can’t ask to be her lackey or else she’ll know something is up. Just say you’re tired of all the death and pointlessness. Tell her you want to save people for a change, or some bullshit like that. Something she can latch on to and think you’re trustworthy somehow. She has to be the one who suggests you’re a mole if you’re ever going to gain her support.”
Miles follows close to me. “Aren’t you tired of all the pointless death?” he asks, his voice low and his gaze fixed on mine. “I mean, that girl back there…. She got shot because she was with the wrong john, right? Pretty pointless….”
I pull a cigarette from my coat pocket and light it up. “You get used to it.”
“You sounded pretty upset when you talked about her death.”
“That was different.”
“You saved me from Pete and Brisko. You didn’t have to do that.”
I shoot him a glare and exhale smoke through my nostrils. “Whadda ya want from me? To shoot you right now to make my point? Don’t test my mercy. I almost shot you on my drive back to my flat. You’re lucky, okay? Just lucky.”
Miles turns away with the jerk of his head, grimacing in pain from his leftover injuries. He rubs at his shoulder and leans back against the wall, glaring at the tacky fake plants lining the hallway.
“Sorry,” he intones. After a moment he takes a deep breath. “I knew joining the Vice family was a mistake after the first couple of weeks. I just wanted to know if you felt the same—if you ever regretted it.”
I refuse to answer him. What does he expect me to say? It’s a little late for that now.
“You had your chance to leave,” I say. “I offered to give you money and send you on your way.”
Miles continues staring off into nothing, but his eyebrows knit into worry.
I continue, “The offer is s
till on the table. I can make ’em think you’re dead.”
“No,” he says. “No, that’s not what I want. Look, I’m sorry. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
You should just skip town is what I want to say. The longer he stays, the more likely this will become his permanent occupation. It’s not that he can’t do the job; it’s that I don’t want to see him go through with it. He has a “do anything it takes” attitude, which is good for this line of work, but he still has a straight edge about him: apologizing, greeting ladies with a hint of respect and etiquette. A year or two following me around, and he’ll be just like Pete and Brisko. A thug.
“Let’s take the stairs,” I say, shaking the thoughts from my head. “We should wait in the lobby and get some information.”
Miles nods and follows me back down. The trek through the stairwell is safer than the elevator, despite the lack of fire safety and windows. When we enter the lobby, I spot Stella giving a threesome a key to a first-floor room.
“We’ll give you a fifteen-minute warning knock,” she says in a singsong voice.
Two men and one streetwalker disappear into the back hallway, giggling like only drunks can. I approach Stella and lift an eyebrow. She rests her elbows on the front counter and her chin in both hands.
“Pierce. You have a sour look on your face, puddin’. What’s wrong?”
“Did anyone see anything?” I ask. “Before the gunshots?”
“I didn’t, but Joey did.”
“Joey? The janitor you ladies pay in sad hand jobs?”
“Yeah. He’s the one. Said he saw a guy shadowing the hallway before everything went down. A small guy with a neck tattoo of some lady’s tits.”
I curse under my breath. I’ve seen that asshole around. Definitely part of the Cobras. Well, that makes everything a little easier—I’ll track him down and make him talk. Maybe I’ll put a few bullets in him for the girl’s sake….
Vice City Page 3