Jeremy fingers the red tie of his tailored suit, his gaze drawn to the floor. “You know street gangs, Pierce. Once the head of the organization goes down, the rest of it goes with it. The Cobras don’t have a contingency plan once Harlan is gone—they’re not like us and our dynastic rule. They’ll fight amongst themselves, ripping apart at the seams.”
I must admit, I like the idea. This turf war has gotten out of hand, and after Malloy threatened that it would escalate, I’ve been having my doubts. Killing Harlan would be a swift decisive blow for the Vice family.
“Have you told your father?” I ask. I wonder what Nick would think of this.
“We can’t let the Cobras figure this out,” Jeremy says, returning his gaze to mine. His smile turns coy, and he looks me over, leering. “Besides, I’ve come to trust only a certain kind of man in this world. Men like us. Men that don’t need women.”
I exhale a line of smoke and cock an eyebrow.
Subtle. Real subtle. I’ve had guys admit to me they like dick, but never quite like that. That explains the strippers…. Jeremy wanted something for himself to enjoy.
“So you haven’t told your father about the plan?” I ask.
Jeremy places a finger to his lips and half laughs. “You’ve known my father for a long time, Pierce. Tell me… now that it’s just the two of us… has he ever ordered you on your knees?”
I chortle and shake my head. Oh, Jeremy. Clearly he doesn’t know his father in the least. I would happily suck Nick off if he asked—but he’s not that kind of guy.
“Your father has never asked me to do any of that,” I reply with a few smoke-laced chuckles. “He’s old-fashioned. He’s got Anita. He never touches anyone else. You know that.”
“Well, I’ve also seen the way you look at my father and brother, Pierce. I know you have a thing for Vice men.” Jeremy leans back on his desk and grabs a fistful of his crotch. In a voice that I can only assume he thinks is seductive, he whispers, “You want a taste?”
Coughing and choking on my own cigarette, I stand.
I can’t backpedal out of this situation fast enough.
“Jeremy,” I force myself to say between strangled-back laughs. “Listen. You know your father doesn’t want anyone touching his kids, right? And your mother—what would she think?” I gulp down smoke and take control of my vocal cords. “Your offer is very appealing. It is. But I can’t risk it. Your plan, though—it’s a good plan. I want to be part of it.”
I grab the case of money and motion to the door. Jeremy crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, a dejected frown on his face. “Really? You follow my father’s orders even when he’s not around? Even if he wouldn’t find out?”
“What can I say? I’m loyal to the Vice family. I follow the rules.”
It’s true. Nick would kill me if I fucked his kids, even Jeremy, who he’s not fond of. When Rodger goes on his “sabbaticals,” Nick even sends men to watch him and make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble. All that aside, Jeremy isn’t my type. He wants me to get on my knees? I might have to sit down to be a crotch-level with the man. Plus, I like playing the top—Nick has a commanding aura that makes him the exception to the rule—but Jeremy didn’t inherit any of that. If anything, Jeremy makes me want to scratch out my good eye in an attempt to stop looking at him.
“Pierce,” Jeremy says, halting my escape. “You can’t tell anyone about the bootleg tunnel or else we could lose this opportunity. Not even my father. He’ll surely tell some of his enforcers, and you saw what they did to him at the Crystal Floor Nightclub.”
“All right.”
“Leaving so soon?”
I’ve made it a few feet to the door by backing up, but I’m not yet there. I smirk. “Yeah, well, I have a full schedule. I came to take you out of the city, but it looks like you have all the protection you need here. And boy toys. I saw the strippers. They must love a guy like you. Guys like that always gravitate to the one in charge.”
Jeremy combs back his hair with his fingers, basking in what little praise I lavished on him. “Eh. They’re not what I expected. I enjoy men like you. I’ve always admired your masculine qualities and quick wit, especially when Father assigned you to protect us as kids.” He offers me a devious smirk. “I would think to myself, when I’m in charge I’ll have him work for his money…. My father isn’t using you properly.”
Oh God. This is only getting worse. I regret every decision that brought me here.
If he were any other man, I would just give it to him straight… but he’s not. He’s Jeremy Vice. There’s a good chance he’ll be in charge, and he’s apparently already pulling the purse strings. What am I going to do? Tell him to fuck off? Tell him he makes my dick shrivel every time he talks? He’s never been quite right in the head. Maybe when Nick dies I’ll be forced to join Guinevere—if only to escape Jeremy afterward.
“Yeah, well, I gotta go,” I say, snuffing out my cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
“Wait, Pierce. Before you go, tell me about the kid you have in the police force. What’s his status?”
“We’re making headway. I’ll have the police hitting Cobras’ locations all over the city.”
“I want to stay informed.”
I open the door and take a step out. “I’ll do that. Give me a call anytime.” I stop right before I exit completely. “Actually, there’s one other thing. Where’s your brother? Where’s Rodger?”
Jeremy shrugs and steps away from his desk, his mind clearly on other things. “Last I heard he joined some cult or religion or whatever he was doing.”
A cult? Jesus Christ. No wonder Anita is worried about her children. They’re like turkeys—they might drown themselves in the rain if you don’t watch ’em close enough. Then again, Guinevere turned out all right. One out of three is as good as any parent can hope for, I guess.
“Where is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for it, but apparently the place moves periodically.”
I leave the office, case in hand, and make my way back to the car. My back is killing me. Stiff and sore, I take the time to stretch and loosen my muscles. The strippers and enforcers give me sideways glances, some outright staring, but I ignore them. I spot Miles by the front door of the strip club, chatting with the two bouncers, laughing it up. Once he notices me heading to the car he stops, nods to the men, and hops to the passenger door.
I take the driver’s seat. Miles takes his seat next to me.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Just getting to know the people,” he replies. “Learning their names. That’s Dorian and Gene, but they call Gene by his nickname—Lucky—’cause he won it big in some casino when he was younger and then lost it all in some scheme he took part in. They’re funny guys.”
“Heh. Good to know.” I’m glad he’s quick to pick up on my lessons. I throw him the case of money and start the car. “Count it.”
Miles cracks open the briefcase and stares down in mild shock. He glances over at me like I might be joking. When he realizes I’m not, he picks up the stacks of cash and fingers through them, counting in his head and adding everything together.
“There’s fifty thousand here,” he says. “And a card? It says, ‘Remember to call me.’”
I jerk my head to the side and spot the business card with Jeremy’s number on it. I snatch it away from Miles and crumple the thing as I toss it to the back.
Miles chuckles. “What was that?”
“Never mention this to anyone,” I drawl. “Understand? It goes to your grave.”
“All right. I won’t mention it.”
“And take twenty-five thousand for yourself. That’s bonus money for killing Malloy. You were part of it, so you get part of the cash.”
In reality I could have killed Malloy with my car and been done with it, but Miles did jump in to save me from Santiago. Half the cut is fair.
“Half?” Miles balks. “You want me to have half?”
I f
lash him a glare. “Did I stutter?”
He fidgets with the case and closes it. With uncertain movements he hesitates between putting the case on the floorboard or keeping it in his lap, his train of thought clearly derailed and impairing all other mental functions. He’s probably never had that much money in his life.
“Where’re we headed now?” he asks.
“We’re going to Big Man Vice’s house to tell him about his son’s plan.” I give him the once-over and mull over some options. He’s still wearing my clothes—which don’t fit right—and his hair is out of control. “I’ve changed my mind. First I’m gonna get you looking proper.”
“Why?” Miles asks with a laugh in his voice.
“Because Nick appreciates clean-cut appearances. You need to look the part if you’re gonna be one of his enforcers.”
OF COURSE he looks good. He’s lean and young, and Sandora—the best tailor in Illinois—knows how to craft clothes like Michelangelo knows how to paint chapels. She put him in a snappy little number complete with fitted black slacks and a smooth charcoal-gray shirt.
His haircut brings it together for me. His silky black hair is cut short on the sides and round the back and his longer locks have been tamed and trimmed. He looks like a goddamn professional, and it gets me hard just starin’ at him. He had the aura of a timid kid before, but now he stands a little taller and walks around exuding confidence. Clothes really do wonders for a man.
Miles straightens his shirt using my car’s side mirror. The chill wind rustles the privacy hedge surrounding Nick’s palatial mansion. The driveway runs half a mile from the road up to his house, ensuring that most don’t get a good look at the place when they drive by. Nick’s a private guy and hates unexpected guests. The cameras in the nearby fountain and trees track our every movement.
“I’ve never worn stuff this expensive this before,” Miles says.
“You get what you pay for. You look good.”
“Still…. A few thousand for a couple of shirts and slacks? Is that what you pay every time you get new clothes?”
“Yes.”
“But you get pretty messed up all the time. Getting shot and stabbed….”
“Don’t remind me,” I groan.
I motion with my head toward the mansion. Miles jumps to my side and shadows my steps as I walk to the front door. The tranquility of the property is a welcome change from the commotion of downtown Noimore. I admire the landscaping, and my thoughts go back to watering the lawn. I chuckle aloud. Miles cocks his head and lifts an eyebrow.
“Just a stupid thought,” I murmur.
“Hey, after this, will we search for my brother?”
“I called some guys I know who deal on the streets. I’ll call them again after we’re done. Trust me. This is more efficient than just driving around.”
“We found him last time just driving around,” Miles quips, though his tone has an edge of seriousness.
“Are you saying you want to just drive around a massive metropolis searching for your brother? Do you at least have any ideas about where he would be?”
“No,” Miles says. “I don’t. I’ll trust you. But… do you think we can make one stop once we’re done workin’ today?”
“I’ll make it work,” I reply.
Nick’s humble abode doesn’t have any blatant enforcers milling about, but I know they’re inside. I get up to the front door and knock, my announcement echoing in the entrance hall. Miles glances around with wide eyes, his attention lingering on the brass knocker, the detail work of the masonry, and the intricacy of the iron bars around the windows. The place is expensive without being gaudy, but his gawking has got to stop. I elbow him.
“Keep it together,” I say. “Don’t look like such a green hand.”
“A-all right.”
He keeps his gaze straight ahead as the door opens. Anita greets us, a tight smile on her face and a tight red dress across her body. She motions for us to enter with a curt gesture, no doubt holding back choice words.
“Pierce,” she says. “Here you are. I’ve been calling you.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and see I’ve missed another forty-seven calls. I delete the notifications and shrug. “Phones are fickle sometimes.”
“Get in here,” she commands. “Where are my children?”
Miles and I walk into the entrance hall. Anita doesn’t allow us to sit or get comfortable; she takes us straight up the stairs.
“Guinevere already took a plane out of town,” I say as we climb the steps. “Jeremy is still in the city—fucking around in his playpen—and Rodger… well, I haven’t found Rodger yet.”
Once we reach the top, Anita stomps down the hallway and slams open the door to the workout room. A large full-wall window on the opposite end of the room allows light to stream in, giving the place a holy glow thanks to the time of day. They have way too many machines for two people—it’s almost a full-blown commercial gym—but Anita and Nick don’t share well. They have two treadmills, two weight-lifting stands, two bikes…. They even have two personal trainers, though they’re not around at the moment.
I spot Nick running on his treadmill, and I have to adjust my pants for a moment before anyone notices. He’s in sweatpants—a rare sight—and a tight ribbed tank top. His shoulder is bandaged up from the gunshot wound from the Crystal Floor Nightclub, but it only adds to the sight. The bandages are spotted with blood from the injury underneath.
“Nick!” Anita shouts, her voice shrill. “What did I tell you? He hasn’t found Rodger and Jeremy is still in the city!”
Nick continues running. Not jogging. Running. Sweat coats his shirt and most of his pants. Damn, he’s in good shape for his age. Hell, he’s in good shape for any age.
Anita storms up to his workout equipment and slams her heel down. “I told you he wouldn’t handle this! He doesn’t listen to me like he should!” When Nick still doesn’t answer, she wheels back around to me. “And what about Juliet? Have you seen her yet?”
Juliet? Oh, right. Juliet is the old mortician. Anita wanted me to help her with something in her basement. I shake my head. “No. I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Are you hearing this, Nick? He’s done nothing! Our children’s lives are on the line, and you’re letting your dogs walk all over you! You need to take control of the situation and get your men back in line!”
Nick stops his machine and jumps off. He pats himself off with a nearby towel, wiping the sweat from his face and neck. Anita huffs and glares as he loosens his muscles with a few quick stretches.
“Pierce is my best enforcer,” he says, his definitive tone stoking my ego. “If he hasn’t gotten to it, he hasn’t gotten to it for good reason.”
“You’re playing favorites! Pierce is getting slow, and you’re making excuses for him.” She turns on her heel, glaring at me with the intensity of death itself. “Pierce, I swear I’ll have you put down if anything happens to my children. I swear it.”
I offer no response as she flounces past me. She slams the door, punctuating her exit with an echoing smash of wood on wood. Nick, unfazed, throws down his towel and takes his pulse with his smart wristwatch. He ambles over and, half glancing up, examines Miles.
“A new enforcer?” he asks.
“My name is Miles Devonport,” Miles replies, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Nick doesn’t return the gesture of a handshake. He lifts a perfect eyebrow and gives Miles a thorough once-over, his eyes lingering on the bite marks just beneath the collar of Miles’s shirt. Nick turns his attention to me. “Your new toy, Pierce?”
Miles awkwardly returns his hand to the side, his posture cold.
I nod. “He’s a little more than that, though. He helped me kill Mikey’s murderer—some Cobras scum by the name of Malloy. Miles has potential.”
“I didn’t think you were the kind to think with your dick.”
“It’s not like that. He’s trustworthy. Tha
t’s worth a lot these days.”
“Does he have any notable skills?” Nick asks, rubbing at his wounded shoulder and walking over to a mirror mounted on the far wall. “Can he drive better than most? Shoot better than most?”
I remain silent. As far as I know Miles is new to most things on the street. Sure, he can use a knife, and he knows his way around a gun—but Nick doesn’t want to hear about knife skills or how Miles can reload without instruction. He wants to hear about talents he can put to work right now.
Nick allows my silence to stew before continuing with, “You’re making me look bad, Pierce. I endorsed your work, and then you bring me some kid because you liked the shape of his ass? Too many enforcers have died during our street brawls. I need good people to replace the ones who have died. Reliable people. Not fuck-boys.”
“I have the ear of the police,” Miles says. I can hear the anger in his tone, though he does a good job of suppressing it. “Their top detective knows and trusts me. I bring more to the table than just being Pierce’s fuck-boy.”
Nick stares at me via the mirror, our gazes locked in the reflection. “Is that true, Pierce?”
“No,” I state. “It’s a potential long-term plan, but—”
“It is true,” Miles cuts in, turning to me with a glower.
“No. It’s not.”
Not another word, I mouth to him. You’re only making this worse. Why would he lie to Nicholas Vice? Is his pride really that important to him? If he had just stayed quiet, Nick would have made a few more insults and then let it go. But now….
Miles shakes his head, his eyes saying a million words in a foreign language I can’t understand.
“Toy,” Nick snaps, addressing Miles. “Watch the door.”
A long second of silence passes over the room. Miles—thank God—does what Nick says without protest and exits the room. This isn’t how I imagined the encounter going, but it could be worse.
“Is that the same kid we suspected of being a mole for the police?” Nick asks. “The one caught visiting the police station a few times? The one that Pete and Brisko took to the docks?”
My mouth goes dry. Fuck. “Yes,” I say. I won’t lie to Nick. I won’t.
Vice City Page 13