Vice City

by S. A. Stovall

  He holds out a hand, but the woman turns away and offers an hmpf! Miles ignores her disregard, and we enter the living room with wrinkled noses. The place smells of death. And ass. I glance over at Juliet and eye her a second time. She doesn’t look so old that she would smell of corpses…. Then again, she was once a mortician. Did the smell of dead bodies ingrain itself in her skin?

  Miles gives me a baffled expression. I shrug. This situation is new.

  Juliet wheels her chair past us. “This way! This way!”

  The walls have more pictures of birds than an aviary. Among them I catch sight of a few family photographs, but otherwise the woman has an obsession. The wallpaper itself is a horrid floral design, and the furniture she stole straight from the 1940s. Everything is jam-packed in narrow spaces thanks to the overabundance of stuffed cats frozen in “cute” poses through the magic of taxidermy. I’m surprised Juliet can get around without knocking everything over.

  I hate this house.

  “In here,” she says, gesturing to a door at the back of her kitchen. “Clean this out.”

  “Clean it out?” I repeat. “I’m not your servant.”

  Juliet picks up a cane and whaps me hard on the side of my thigh. I stumble back and rub at the bruised area, gritting my teeth to stop a whole slew of curse words. What the fuck is wrong with this woman? She’s crazier than a soup sandwich!

  “We’ll handle it,” Miles says. “Anita knew we could get the job done.”

  “Hmpf,” Juliet huffs. “The last three boys she sent only made the problem worse. You better clean this up. It smells in here.”

  I straighten myself and face the door. “We’ll look over the situation and see what we can do. But I’m not guaranteeing anything.”

  She thwaps me again, and I turn to glower at her with a slow, cold precision. If she does it again, I swear I’ll kill her myself.

  Miles steps between us. “There’s not much Pierce can’t handle.”

  I open the basement door and grimace when the wave of stench hits me. I hold back a gag and push forward. Miles flips on the lights—floodlight-type things—and the entirety of the basement is illuminated in one go. The place is huge, no doubt some sort of bomb shelter in its original design, but that only adds to the horror of the situation.

  Rats cover the floor. The entire floor. They writhe and squirm and scamper over each other, a carpet of live bodies.

  Why are rats in the room? Probably because of the corpses chained to the far wall. Two of them. Big men too, by the looks of it. Or, they were big men. They’re half-eaten and liquefying from the rat saliva and heat of the unventilated basement. Well… the mystery of the rotting aroma is solved.

  “They made me hold two Cobras thugs in my basement,” Juliet yells from the top of the stairs. “And then they forgot about them! And then rats got in. It’s not my fault I have this problem. I was barely a part of this.”

  I notice hunks of cheese and rat poison boxes littered around the edges of the room. The rats ignore these treats and scurry about without fear. The mousetraps I spot are either triggered, killing a single rat, or they hold a gnawed-off foot. There are over a hundred rats—perhaps more—and such small-scale solutions wouldn’t even account for the breeding.

  Juliet slams the basement door.

  Miles walks down to my step and stands next to me while he surveys the situation. Half coughing and half gagging, he glances over and shrugs. “So what do we do?” he forces out.

  I pull my gun and look it over. I don’t have enough bullets for this… “I don’t know.”

  “Really? You don’t have a plan?”

  “I’m standing in a basement full of corpses and rats. Clearly I don’t have all the answers to life.”

  He lets out a single laugh and smiles.

  I contemplate calling an exterminator, but they’ll go straight to the cops. Anita gave me this assignment because she hates me, I know it. This is the worst problem I’ve ever had to solve, and I’m not even ten minutes in.

  The basement door flies open. “Have you started yet?” Juliet asks.

  I’m going to kill her. It’s just a matter of time.

  Miles must sense my deep irritation because he turns to the woman and forces a smile despite the smell. “We’re going over our options.”

  I glare. “We’ll tell you when we’re done. Keep to yourself until then.”

  “I worked for the Vice family for thirty years,” she says, waggling her cane like Crotchety is her middle name. “If I wanted, I could call in favors and have you two dealt with.” She shuts the door, leaving Miles and me to our work.

  “Hey,” Miles says. “What if we pour a whole shit ton of bleach and ammonia down here?”

  “I’m not physically cleaning this place no matter what the old woman threatens. They can put a bullet in my head before I pick up a scrub brush.”

  “No, not for cleaning the place….”

  “Then what’re you talking about?”

  “When you mix ammonia and bleach, you make chloramine gas. It’s fatal. It burns your lungs and stuff. If we poured it all over the basement floor, I’m sure it’d kill the rats… but then we have hundreds of rat corpses here.”

  I turn to him and narrow my eyes. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “Chemistry class,” he replies. “The one I took getting that high school diploma that everyone can get and is in no way impressive.”

  I scoff. “You’re becoming a regular smartass.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  I crack a smile and huff out a laugh. “How dangerous is this gas?”

  “Fairly dangerous. People die by accident from time to time when cleaning their house. I think Juliet would need to live elsewhere for a week or so, and then her basement would need to be thoroughly cleaned, but the pests will be dead.”

  “Fine. I’ll get the chemicals. You deal with the woman.”

  “That’s fine. I think she wants company anyway.”

  What an optimistic kid. That’ll change before long.

  Miles walks back up the stairs and opens the door. Juliet is waiting right there, her wheelchair practically touching the door itself. He smiles, and she frowns but doesn’t say anything.

  “We have a plan,” he says, his cheer cutting through the stench. “And we’ll be taking you to a hotel for a week or so. It’ll be a nice vacation, and when you get back, everything will be fixed.”

  “No one better steal my stuff,” she replies. “I’m friends with the Vice family, ya know. I rearranged corpses for them. Did dentist work and everything. They owe me some favors for makin’ it look like specific men turned up dead. You better not be stealing my stuff.”

  Miles motions her back into her cramped household. “No need to worry. Anita Vice made it clear that you were a dear friend.”

  “She did?”

  “Oh, yes. We know what’ll happen if your stuff goes missing. We just want to clear your basement.”

  “Good…. Good. That’s what I want to hear.”

  With his carefree smile, Miles helps Juliet by steering her wheelchair. I must admit, he seems to have some charm with the ladies. I never would have had the patience to deal with the crone.

  I walk back up and shut the basement door behind me. Miles wheels the woman to the far side of the kitchen, and she gives him a genuine smile.

  “Would you like some coffee?” he asks.

  “Yes,” she replies. “Thank you. Anita picked good this time. You should have been the first ones to arrive.”

  When I catch Miles’s eye, I motion him over. He jumps to my side without hesitation. “What’re you doing?” I ask. “She doesn’t need to like you for this to happen.”

  “You told me, and I quote, ‘Make nice with the little guys.’ What if she has information for us in the future? She sounds like she knows a few things.”

  I chortle to myself. I did tell him that. I guess he’s serious about learning the ropes. I appreciate the dedication. “
That’s right,” I say. “You keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JESUS CHRIST. Time flies.

  We transformed Juliet’s house into an unwitting death trap filled with fatal gas. I’ll have Brisko go over and clear the place out after a couple days. The man has brain cells to spare…. He’s not doing anything with them.

  But now it’s close to 9:00 p.m. Where did the time go?

  I turn my car onto the long street toward my flat, but Miles starts to fidget in the passenger seat. I glance over and he motions to the window.

  “You said we could make one last stop before going home,” he says.

  That’s right. I did. I let out a long sigh. “Fine. Where to?”

  “The Applegate community in Gary, Indiana. It’s not too far from here.”

  I hold back a scoff. It’s nearly an hour away, but I don’t make a fuss. I’ve been to the Applegate houses before—it’s a gated community of upper middle-class assholes. What does he need there? What isn’t he telling me? “Where’re you taking me?”

  “My mother’s house.”

  “Hm.”

  I flip on the radio to some wordless music and light a cigarette. I like the night. I feel more comfortable in the darkness than the harsh revealing rays of the day. Everything is hidden. And out of sight. Maybe that means there are thugs lurking in the shadows, but if they can lurk, I can lurk too.

  I start the long drive out and allow the music to quell my nerves.

  “Did you ever graduate high school?” Miles asks, his gaze shifting from the evening scenery to me.

  I roll the window down to allow the smoke to escape and shake my head. “No.”

  Nick’s voice rings in my ears. Uneducated, he said. A know-nothing uneducated street urchin. I hadn’t known he thought of me like that. It cuts, just like Miles’s question. What do I care? I wouldn’t have cared two weeks ago. Everything feels wrong lately.

  “Have you ever considered getting your GED?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “People don’t ask for my résumé these days. What does it matter?”

  Miles shrugs. “I don’t know. What do guys like us do when they retire?”

  “Apparently they don’t.”

  “Apparently?”

  “We’re not discussing this,” I snap.

  Silence comes between us. I regret that fact, but I can’t voice my frustrations. Miles fidgets with his seat belt and returns his gaze to the scenery. I want to talk to him, if only to take my mind off Nick and his disregard for me, but I have nothing to discuss that wouldn’t be frustrating.

  The roads are empty and we travel without incident. I end up burning two cigarettes over the trek.

  I turn the car into the secluded community and drive through the automatic gates. Lucky for us they open without need for a card or a buzzing in, but the guard behind the booth snaps a picture of my license plate. Miles tenses once we get onto the exclusive streets of the community.

  “It’s the fourth house down on Pebble Beach Drive,” Miles says. “On the right.”

  The houses have well-sculpted topiary and mailboxes with names written along the side. No one house sticks out. They’re all painted the same shade of white and accented with the same rock façade, no doubt the result of a bland homeowner’s association. It’s a place for the unadventurous to raise children.

  I park the car in front of the driveway. For a second we do nothing but stare at the house. Despite the hour, the living room window is lit with the dim glow of a television.

  My phone buzzes and I remove it from my pocket with a lifted eyebrow.

  Jeremy.

  I answer. “Pierce here.”

  “Pierce,” Jeremy says, the quiet of the car carrying his voice until it echoes. “You told my father about the plan to kill Harlan? When I specifically told you not to? What did I say about the ears of the enemy?”

  “I don’t keep things from your father.”

  “And you told him about your in with the police? I knew he wouldn’t want to risk doing that. Now you’ve squandered our opportunity! What were you thinking?”

  “Jeremy. I don’t keep things from your father.”

  “My father,” he repeats, hate laced in his voice. “You better show me that same kind of devotion when it comes time.”

  “Of course.” Whenever that happens.

  Jeremy pauses for a moment, and I wonder if he’s going to hang up. I can hear the man take a breath and murmur something, though I can’t distinguish what he says. After a calming exhale he asks, “Have you thought any more about my offer?”

  Miles gives me a sideways glance, and I hold back the urge to hang up the phone. “I made my position clear.”

  “I notice you didn’t tell my father about that.”

  My mind mulls over the conversation, and I’m flooded with questions I can’t ask. Did Nick tell Jeremy everything? He wouldn’t do that. How does Jeremy know what we talked about, then? It was just me and Nick in the gym, after all…. Asking would only tip my suspicion. I doubt Jeremy can overthrow Nick, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t hired enforcers to spy on him…. Perhaps Nick is right to be suspicious.

  Jeremy doesn’t give me long before he continues, “Keep it in mind, Pierce. I have a lot to offer in the way of promotion, so to speak.”

  He ends the conversation, and I jam my phone back into my pocket. I have a feeling in my gut that says this situation isn’t going to disappear anytime soon. I need to think of a way to get Jeremy off my back before this turns into a full-blown problem.

  “I’ll be right back,” Miles says as he steps out.

  “I’m coming with.”

  I exit the vehicle and walk around to him. Miles shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “Still don’t trust me?”

  “I left you alone with your family last time and look what happened.”

  “My mother isn’t going to do anything.”

  “I don’t know that. She could be a heinous bitch.”

  “No… my mother is everything my father isn’t.”

  His voice is… odd. I can’t place it. It’s like he reveres his mother while simultaneously loathing her.

  In truth I exited the car to hear what he had to say. Why speak to his mother? What’s there to be gained? I don’t know if it stems from my doubt—all I do know is that I’m curious. I want to know more, and I fear Miles might not be able to articulate all the subtle details I could gather from just watching the event unfold before me.

  Miles walks up to the front door and rings the bell. Within seconds it opens to a man dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt. He turns his gaze from Miles to me and hesitates for a moment, clearly at a loss for words.

  “Can I help you?” he mutters.

  The man is nothing impressive. He has the physique of a desk worker and the wide eyes of someone unaccustomed to surprise. His hair is parted so thoroughly the line of exposed skin has its own suntan.

  “Andrew, is my mother home?” Miles asks.

  “Miles?” the man says, giving us both a second once-over. “I didn’t recognize you….”

  “Is my mother home?”

  “Yes. She’s home. Who is this?” Andrew points to me.

  I jut my chin forward in a reverse nod. “Call me Pierce.” The man eyes my side, and I’m certain he’s caught sight of my holster. “I’m a detective with the Noimore City Police.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I’m here as a friend.”

  “What’s going on, Andrew?” a woman calls out from within the house. “Is everything okay?”

  Andrew steps aside and motions us in. “Uh, come in. We’ll talk inside.”

  Miles and I walk in, this time with me following his lead. I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m content to watch unless something goes south.

  The place is tasteful and cozy. The blue walls and white carpets give everything a feel of being clean. Nothing i
s out of place and nothing feels clustered. It’s a house with everything—a coat rack, an umbrella bin, a couch, a TV, a recliner, a side table, a coffee table—but we travel through it quick and head straight to the kitchen.

  A woman stands at the island with a young girl, age ten, perhaps, at her side. I know right away the woman is Miles’s mother. She’s Asian in heritage and beautiful, though my eyes shift over her with little interest. I can see where Miles gets his ageless smooth skin, honeyed complexion, and black hair.

  “Miles?” she asks. “Is that you?”

  When was the last time these two saw Miles? They ask if it’s him like they haven’t seen each other in years.

  “Yeah,” Miles intones. “It’s me. Look, I need to speak with you. Is that okay?”

  “Of course….”

  Miles’s mother motions for the little girl to join Andrew. The girl crosses the kitchen and glances up at me. Her gaze lingers on my face, and I don’t flinch away from her stare.

  “What happened to your eye?” she asks, unconcerned with proper etiquette.

  “I got singed saving a little girl from a burning building,” I reply.

  “Wow.”

  She scampers away with a giggle, and I hear Andrew take her from the room, leaving me and Miles with his mother. She keeps her spot near the island, refusing to get any closer, and I hover near the shadows of the corner, hoping to blend in while they have their conversation.

  “It looks like you’re doing well,” the woman says. She laces her fingers together and furrows her brow. I see tears well in her eyes, but again, she doesn’t advance. “What’re you doing here?”

  Miles sighs. “I was hoping you could take Jayden in and send him to the same school you send Lacy to.”

  “No,” she states.

  “Please, Mom.” Miles takes a step closer. “Listen. He’s getting mixed in with all the wrong crowds and—”

  “Which is why I refuse to take him. I won’t have his evils coming to this house. I won’t have your father here. I won’t.”

  “He still has a chance to get better. He needs someone to watch him. He’s your son.”

  Miles’s mother turns away and glares at the countertop. “It’s expensive. It’s a private school. We don’t have that kind of—”