Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption

by Jo Richardson

  “I don’t fucking think so.” I push his leg off and eyeball him, hard. To which he gives me a standard issue annoyed teenage glance as his feet move to the floorboard. After a few more minutes, he reaches for my stereo, and I nix him again.

  “Driver picks the channel.”

  “Tunes.”

  “What?” Was that not implied?

  “It’s driver picks the… never mind. There’s nothing playing, anyway.” He thinks he’s smart, pointing out the obvious like that. He should hang out with Nick sometime.

  “Exactly.” I need silence. If I’m gonna visit one of the worst parts of the city, I have to think it through.

  A blind reach across my chest finds my shirt pocket. I nab the cig inside that I slipped back into its home when I stopped at the apartment earlier. When Stix sees it, his face scrunches up like he’s never seen a fucking cigarette before.

  “What?”

  “You know those things’ll kill you, right?”

  Seriously? “That’s rich, coming from the kid whose brother used to be a gang member and most recently was dealing with the highly illegal activity known as street racing.”

  “You were racing, too.”

  “For my job.”

  “You still did it.”

  “For the love of…” Ya know what? Not important. I slip the damn thing back into my pocket and call it a draw.

  The kid blows out a long, slobbery raspberry in my direction. A few minutes later, he throws out one last “Hail Mary” in an attempt to make this ride enjoyable. For him, anyway.

  “Can I at least drive?” He lifts an eyebrow, expectantly. Mine’s bigger though. Plus, really? He’s barely old enough to make his own decisions much less get behind the wheel of a machine like this.

  “Fine.” He drops the game of twenty fucking questions and instead finds a stray thread on his shoe to play with for the remainder of the ride. When we pull up to our destination, about half an hour later, he instinctively sinks down into his seat.

  “Get in the back.” He does as he’s told without hesitation, and I’m grateful for the lack of wise-assery.

  I’m also wondering if this case is doomed.

  “What the mother of hell is she doing here?”

  “Who?” He strains to see before I answer.

  “Nobody.” I watch Green carefully because, seriously, what in the hell is she doing here?

  “That your girlfriend?” He’s pissing me off with this shit.

  “She’s most definitely not my girlfriend. Now get down and lie low.”

  It looks to me like Green’s interviewing a gang member. He’s all up in her personal space. But that’s not the odd thing about this whole situation. The really disturbing thing is, the guy is smiling at her.

  Fucking smiling.

  What the fuck is it with all these guys being nice to this woman?

  The way she throws her hair over her shoulder and tucks some of it away behind her ear reminds me of the other day when she teased Nick with that flirtatious grin of hers.

  Fake.

  Clearly, she’s trying to get some information out of this one. The way she clicks her pen, like she’s going for a world record for speed, tells me she’s nervous.

  Not fake. She most likely can’t wait to get back into the safety of her car and get the hell outta here. Not that I blame her.

  While I’m busy spying on Green, someone else is spying on me, apparently, and very aggressively approaches the car. I reach behind me and throw a blanket I have back there over the kid as one of Flint’s people taps on the window. Before I make any sudden moves, I confirm I can feel my Smith & Wesson against my hip.

  Check.

  As I roll the window down, he raises his gun. Not pointed at me, exactly. He simply wants me to know it’s there.

  I give him a half-nod.

  “How’s it goin’?”

  “What you doin’ here, hoss?”

  Seriously?

  “That the cool word going around these days? Hoss?”

  He cocks his gun.

  I raise my hands in pacification. “No offense.”

  “You should leave.” His warning isn’t taken lightly. I know this part of town. Been there. Done that. Not interested in revisiting that chapter again. But this is kinda, sorta fucking important.

  “I need a word with Thomas.” He gives me a good inspection up and down.

  “You don’t look like the kinda guy who’d know Thomas.” His even stare tells me he doesn’t necessarily want to shoot me right here in the street, but he will.

  I roll my eyes anyway because, if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a pussy.

  And I am not a fucking pussy.

  “I know the guy. And like I said, I need a fucking word.” The Smith & Wesson is out in full view now. I point it at his stupid-looking head before he’s able to get his pointed at yours truly.

  Do I know Thomas?

  More like knew him. Once. Like in middle school. When kids were still semi-innocent from their elementary school days but getting ready to grow into mutants their parents barely recognize.

  There was a group of us who decided to stretch our inner rebels and practice pissing our parents off by trespassing on the local recreational facilities one night after dark. We weren’t very good at it back then.

  Long story short, the police came, my dad included; I got off easy because of my family connections. Thomas didn’t.

  He pretty much hated my guts, and every other part of me, after that. His disdain for me grew throughout middle school and into high school when I took some ROTC classes with Nick, and Thomas leaned more toward the natural herb growing business.

  Otherwise known as pot.

  Typical kid stuff.

  “I don’t want any trouble.” I’m calm. Collected. That’s how I roll. And he backs off slowly, then heads toward the building behind him.

  I let some air out that got caught in the back of my throat there for a minute and pray to whoever the hell is listening that this guy actually gets me Tom and not his right-hand man, Dice. Otherwise, this could turn ugly.

  He might still be pissed at me for the finger he lost about two years ago.

  Long story.

  Not my fault.

  Honest.

  Okay, maybe it was a little my fault.

  “What the hell are you doing, dude?” Jimmy whisper-shouts from under his blanket in the back seat. I’d nearly forgotten he was even there. “Have you lost your mind? Pointing a gun at Flint’s peeps is like suicide.”

  To say the least.

  “Stay low, stay quiet, and we’ll be outta here before you can say─”

  “Who’s this?”

  SHIT.

  I turn, aim, and cock my gun at our new visitor before I can register who it is. Who she is. Green. Standing at my fucking window. Air rushes out of me, thankful it’s not Thomas or anyone else who might be coming out of the abandoned warehouse I’ve parked near.

  Green’s face drains of the color she painted on this morning, and I pull back on the shooting instinct. A little bit.

  “I’m…” I put a hand up to silence Jimmy and his big mouth. The less she knows, the better.

  “This is none of your business, Green. And what in the hell are you doing here?”

  She looks back over her shoulder to see if her contact is still there. He is. And he’s watching us, closely.

  “Investigating,” she says simply when she turns back to me.

  “This is a stupid place to start.”

  She cocks her head toward me. “You’re here.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.”

  She lets out a small laugh and lifts a shoulder. “You wouldn’t help me. What’s a girl supposed to do?”

  “Go back to her day job. Live a little longer?”

  “That’s no fun.” She thinks playing advocate to gang bangers is a game. This woman. Swear to fucking God.

  “You really should go.”

  “D
on’t tell me what to do, Stiles.” She’s serious now. Like I’ve offended her by trying to be chivalrous and shit.

  Won’t make that mistake again.

  “Or maybe I will.”

  “What?”

  I swing the door open and push Green to the side as Thomas and Dice approach us. And man, they do not look happy to see me.

  “I will cut you, motherfucker!” Dice always has been a bit on the dramatic side. He makes his way past Thomas, but lucky for me, the big guy isn’t in a playful kinda mood today. He puts a hand on Dice to stop him but doesn’t take his eyes off yours truly.

  My stare shifts to Dice, who’s now interested in Green, which is why I told her to fucking leave in the first place. You don’t wanna catch the attention of these guys. Trust me.

  “Good to see you, Dice,” I tell him in an effort to pull his glare away from her and, hopefully, from the back of my car, too.

  “What do you need, Jack?” Thomas is ready to get to the point. I can’t blame the guy. He’s got a lot on his plate.

  Selling drugs. Killing enemies.

  Tough life.

  It’s not my first choice, doing this with Green here. Who knows what information she’ll twist into a front page story for The Chronicle. I don’t exactly have any other options though. It’s now or never.

  “I wanted to ask you about Donnie Leary.” I throw his name out there because a) I need to see how he reacts to it, and b) I don’t wanna be here any longer than I have to. The problem is, when Green’s previous interviewee hears that name, he starts heading over to join the powwow.

  Not good.

  That’s three against two. Well, one and a half really.

  Dice pulls out his smartphone and texts somebody. It’s official. I don’t have much time.

  “What about him?” Thomas looks intrigued enough to not blow my brains out. Which is a good thing. I think.

  “Your guys kill him?”

  No sense beating around the bush, right?

  He laughs and takes a glance over toward the empty road he calls home. Like he’s thinking, he grabs his bottom lip with his teeth. When he looks back at me, straight in the eyes, he tells me without another word of explanation, “No.”

  “Can I trust you on that?”

  Dice grabs me by the collar and shoves me up against the car door as guy number three snuggles up to Green. Who, by the way, looks like she wishes she’d taken me up on that whole leaving thing. Only she can’t because her car is more than twenty yards away, and there’s no way she’s outrunning these guys in those heels.

  At least, I’m assuming that’s her car. It’s the only one I see that doesn’t have spinning wheels and tinted windows.

  “You questioning Thomas, asshole?” Dice double dares me to answer. I steel my temper and my focus.

  “Sure fucking sounds that way, Hoss.”

  He pulls his gun out and points it directly at me while I push him off me and retrieve mine, pointing it at Thomas.

  Green stomps on the third man’s toe with her heel. He hunches over and lets out one hell of a wail in pain, as she pulls her hand pistol out to point at that guy.

  I gotta say, I’m impressed. Using a heel as a deadly weapon. Not bad.

  “Calm down,” Thomas tells his lackeys, even-keeled.

  I, however, am not so calm.

  I keep the S&W trained on the big man in charge as I keep an eye on Dice, hoping Thomas doesn’t hold this shit against me.

  Wishful fucking thinking, dumbass.

  “I’m gonna ask you again, Tom. Can I trust you on that?”

  He nods. Slowly. “You can trust me on that, Jack. I’ve got no beef with Donnie. Or his brother.” He says that last part a little louder than I’d expect him to. Then he warns me, “Now, you come back here again and you better hope you’ve got an archangel on your shoulder. People don’t generally question my actions, much less twice in one day. You get me?”

  His voice is cool and eerie, and if I’m being a hundred percent honest, it sends a chill up my spine. Not that I’m gonna let his sorry ass know that.

  I pull the gun back and uncock it.

  “You really believe in angels, Tom?” I ask him sincerely as I holster it away.

  “Don’t you?” The way he looks at me makes me think the wrong answer could get me a bullet to the head. So I don’t give him one.

  “I get you, Tom. Thanks for the info.”

  I give Green a nod. “Get in.”

  She points down the street at the Honda she came in. “But my car─”

  “Get. In.”

  Seriously? I need to fucking tell her twice?

  Her survival instinct kicks in, and she hurries to the other side of the car, pulls open the door, and slides in. I’m not even halfway down the street before I start grilling her.

  “Do you have a death wish or something?” I glare over at Green, and her expression says it all. She’s shell-shocked.

  Jimmy sits up in the back and checks behind us. “That was intense, man.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t shown up all─” Green waves her hands around. I have no idea what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

  “Your boyfriend know you’re playing house with Thomas Flint’s gang?”

  “He is not my boyfriend.”

  “That guy? Dice? Scary.” Jimmy’s still revisiting what just happened. I flash him a look through the rearview mirror that hopefully says shut the fuck up and go back to sparring with Green.

  “Then what is he?”

  Why did I ask that? That’s not what I was gonna ask.

  “He’s…” She can’t answer. Either because she doesn’t want to admit out loud that he’s her boyfriend, or she doesn’t know what they are yet.

  I have no idea why I care either way.

  “Did you see the size of his─”

  “Shut up!” Green and I both tell the kid.

  “Jeez.” He throws himself back into his seat with the emotion of a thirteen-year-old girl. The car goes quiet after that, allowing me a few minutes to think and calm down.

  I don’t exactly wanna get back on the subject of the boyfriend, so I change the subject.

  “Anyone teach you those survival tactics or was that a natural instinct kinda thing?”

  “What?” For the first time, I notice she’s shaking. Maybe our run-in affected her more than she showed out there.

  “Nothing,” I mumble. I take the opportunity I have to think about what just happened myself.

  If Thomas didn’t have his guys do Donnie that means either someone from his crew did it out of order, the kid had an enemy, or it was the cops. My gut is telling me it’s the cops, but I don’t get why. Donnie was small time. Other than that murder he was wanted for, that is. Which brings me to my next point.

  How does a kid with nothing but petty theft-and I do mean petty─and street racing on his record suddenly turn to murder?

  I didn’t kill that guy.

  His plea from the night I took him in echoes in the back of my mind. My stomach churns again at the thought of handing an innocent kid over to the slaughter house.

  I am such a fucking moron.

  “Two questions.”

  Green must be warping out of scared shitless stage and into real life again.

  Yay.

  She doesn’t wait for me to give the go ahead.

  “Why did you lie to me about knowing anything having to do with Donnie Leary, and how do I get my car back?” I’m not exactly disappointed with her ability to interrupt my thoughts. I am a little peeved she’s backing me into a corner.

  “Lying is part of my job, Green. And you know you had no business getting your nose all up in Thomas Flint’s world, right? I mean, do you have any fucking idea how lucky you are I showed up?”

  She lets out a huge, sarcastic laugh. “Excuse me?”

  Offended.

  “What?”

  “You are such a chauvinistic pig, you realize that, right?”

  “Chauva�
� I saved your ass back there.”

  “Um. I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I was the extra gun you needed when that Dice guy pulled his on you.” Her head jerks to accentuate certain words, and her hands fly around so much I’m surprised they haven't hit me. Again.

  “You’re a liability that shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” She starts to defend herself, but I’m not done yet. “Do you know how to stay out of trouble, though? No, you’re Emma motherfucking Green. You’ve gotta be all up in trouble’s face like it’s nobody’s business, interviewing the gangbanger.”

  I use air quotes for like two seconds, and she barks at me about putting my hands back on the steering wheel.

  When I glance up into my rearview mirror, I see Jimmy snickering behind me.

  “Even if I hadn’t been interviewing that guy. And trust me, I was interviewing him and happened to have gotten some very interesting information, thank you very much. You still had a two-against-one situation with that Thomas guy and his friend. There’s no way you would have─”

  “They aren’t friends, Green, trust me, and I’ve taken more than two guys on at a time before.”

  I say it and she skips a beat, then starts fucking laughing. I don’t know if she’s officially lost her fucking mind or just giving up on making any sense at all.

  “What?”

  And now Jimmy’s laughing too. “That’s what she said, man.”

  Then I get it. One guy. Taking on two guys. Ha. Ha.

  “What-the-fuck-ever.” I go back to driving.

  “I bet that was very hard,” Green jibes.

  Jimmy snorts. “He probably had some stiff competition.”

  “Fuck you both.”

  They roar with laughter. Between the two of them, they might be acting fucking twelve right now. So I pull over at the 7-Eleven we’re about to pass. “Get the hell out.”

  “Oh, come on, Stiles, lighten up. We almost died back there.”

  “Oh, so now you can admit it.”

  Her mouth twists up on the side, and I notice the dimple it creates in her left cheek.

  “I might not have thought that visit through all the way,” she says, then she adds, a little quieter, “I’m glad you were there.”

  Her admission is unexpected, to say the least. And the way she says it, the way her voice falls, just slightly, the graininess it gives off… it’s nice.