I skip a shave after I shower. I’m not in the mood. I pour some food into the hellcat’s bowl for whenever he gets hungry, and I head out, satisfied I’ll be one productive motherfucker tonight.
Traffic sucks ass on the three-oh-one over to the office, so I take my standard alternate route. The one-twelve. Honestly, it’s not much better than three-oh-one. Worse, actually. But it makes me feel like I’m taking a stand for traffic haters all over the tristate area.
An eternity later I’m at the office listening to a little over fifteen messages on the answering machine. The results of being absent more than I thought I would be.
A bunch are from Ma. Some prospective clients. But then I listen to the last one. Something about it gives me the heebie-jeebies.
It’s not a client or family member. It’s not even a tele-fucking-marketer.
“Mr. Stiles. Long time no talk.”
It’s my brother’s boss, and he’s chipper.
“I’d like to see you in my office, if it’s not inconvenient. Give me a call, and we’ll set something up.”
Odd. Not so much that he called, it’s not like I never hear from the guy. It’s more along the lines that he referred to me as Mister Stiles. Since when does he give a rat’s ass about how convenient anything is for me?
The phone rings. My mind is too busy pondering reasons Dick Walker would want to see me to bother looking to see who it is.
“Stiles.”
“Green.”
I grin despite the cheesy shit she just pulled.
“What’s up?”
“Your hunch was right. Two of the three boys were brought up on petty theft a few times. That kid, Decker? He was never even booked for anything until he wound up pursued and then dead. Donnie was assigned to foster care quite a few years back, but he disappeared off the radar and never ended up back in the system for some reason. Also there’s absolutely no mention, anywhere, of a brother.”
“Figures.”
“The only other thing on Donnie’s rap sheet is squatting once or twice, but you’d think they’d have set him up in a home or something after that, right?”
Someone had their Wheaties today.
“You’d think.”
I guess it makes sense Stix isn’t in the system. The homeless are basically forgotten about in Redemption, unless you call attention to yourself. Donnie and Jimmy must have made sure that didn’t happen with Jimmy.
“And, Stiles?”
“Yeah?”
“No money was recorded as being found on any of the vics.”
Shit on a shingle. “I had a funny feeling you were gonna say that.”
“Do you think maybe they were stealing things to pawn? You know, so they could buy the pot and sell it?” I can hear her incessant foot tapping on the other end of the phone.
“Negative. That much pot means you’re selling. If you’re selling, you don’t need to steal. The money comes to you.”
“Okay, so none of them have a record of drug dealing, smuggling, or smoking. Suddenly, they turn up dead with only the cops as witnesses. Whoever killed them didn’t take the pot?” She’s right. That’s doesn’t fucking compute. Why would Jim Galley set these kids up to look like they were pot ringers and then kill ’em?
“Maybe there wasn’t enough time to take it,” I say, partially thinking out loud.
“It was right out in the open. All they had to do was reach out and grab the shit. Unless someone planted it after they died.”
“Because they needed a reason for murdering kids with barely a scratch on their records?”
“Maybe─”
I cut her off. “Thing is, Green. I can’t speak for this Decker guy, or the kid before that, but I met Donnie. Face to face. He didn’t seem-”
“Stupid?”
“Or the pot lord type. Nobody at that drag race was smoking either. It’s not jiving.”
“Not for a pot ring theory, anyway,” she adds to my thoughts.
“Right.”
If the cops were using them as pushers, it makes zero sense they’d kill them. Unless… “Maybe the kids didn’t have a rap sheet that showed the drugs because they were middle men. Maybe they ended up knowing too much.”
That happens a lot. But still… kids? Minors?
“So, these cops.”
“Yeah.”
“You think they killed those boys then planted the pot on them for some reason?”
“Maybe.” It doesn’t quite sound right in my head, though.
“What would be the purpose in that?” She never runs out of questions, I’ll give her that. She’d make a good detective.
“That, Green, is the million dollar fucking question.”
“How do we get some answers?”
Good question.
Answers.
My gut tells me they lie within a certain kid who’s been on the run since his brother died.
Stix.
INFORMATION OVERLOAD
THE AREA I found Stix in last night is a ghost town now. No fire burning in a trash can anywhere. People are no longer lingering in the streets. No talking or laughter from anywhere, whatsoever. Not even wild dogs or stray cats are milling around this shit hole.
It’s in this moment I wanna kick myself for giving Stix my number but not getting his.
A side alleyway provides a spot for me to hide the Chevelle while I take a look around. In case someone decides they want to stop by and look around, too.
This whole, being responsible for another human being thing? Not working for me. What the fuck was I thinking, not touching base with the kid last night?
I start to cross the street. I’ll begin with the abandoned building Stix was hanging out in front of.
I know what I was thinking.
I was thinking about Green too much.
The way her body shifts when she gets excited. How she leans to one side when she’s annoyed with me or trying to make a point without actually saying anything. How badly I wanted to take her to my damn bed and disappear inside her until all this bullshit went away.
Since when do I let typical male idiocy interfere with a job?
“Hey! Jackson!”
A pint-sized whisper-yell from a few stories up grabs my attention. I don’t have to look to see it’s Stix hiding in the shadows of a room with no window. I do anyway and give him a short nod to let him know I’m coming up.
After I check, all inconspicuously like, up and down the street, I duck inside and take the stairs two at a time until I run smack into the kid waiting for me at the top.
Here he is: his brother dead, and now Lilah. Certain bad people may or may not be hunting his ass so they can add him to the list of people who mean nothing to them, and he stands there with that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed expression on his face.
One thing’s for sure, he’s a whole hell of a lot like his brother.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“What the hell, kid?”
“Hey, where’s Emma?”
“She’s not here. You wanna tell me why you’re so happy to see me?”
“How come she didn’t come with you?”
Seriously?
“Stix.”
“Sorry, I just thought─”
“What. Is. Going. The fuck. On?”
He blinks a few times. “Oh, right. Okay. So that guy I told you about?”
“Uh huh.”
“He got drunk.”
“That right?”
“Real drunk.”
“Ooooookay.” Apparently, there was a party.
“Yep.”
The fuck? “Good to know, kid.”
“Like, talkative drunk,” he reiterates. Now I’m not only ticked with the situation at hand, but with the under-aged smart ass too.
“There a point to this conversation?” I turn to head back downstairs. This lead is officially dead.
“Well.” Stix follows me down. “I mean only if you wanted to know that he happened to say
something about how he remembered Donnie hanging around in this other homeless community he used to frequent a while back.”
This peaks my interest.
I stop and wait for him to catch up. At my side, Stix gives me another golden nugget of information.
“And how he remembered these cops who used to drive through all the time getting people all riled up.”
“Yeah?” I start heading down again, this time I wait for him to keep up. Stix nods. “And how they zeroed in on Donnie and had a little talk with him one day.”
“Really.”
“Yup, and then he said he remembers specifically how freaked out Donnie seemed after they left. That he mumbled something about how he was screwed if he stuck around here much longer.”
“A drunk remembered all that, huh?”
Call me impressed. Or more like skeptical.
“Yeah. Only he wasn’t always a drunk, homeless dude, it turns out.”
Make that curious.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’d he used to be?”
“Cop.”
“Um.” What? “The fuck?”
“That’s what he said.”
Outside on the street, my bubble for the day is officially busted. “The guy was fucking with you, Stix.” I shake my head and grab my keys, disappointed I even entertained the idea this conversation might be going somewhere.
“I don’t think so, Jackson.”
“He saw you as an easy target, thought he’d steal your money if he made like your buddy. Or maybe he wanted more than that.” I look over at him. “He try anything last night?”
“No. Ew. Gross man.”
I shake my head and unlock the car. The car door sticks for the umpteenth time this month so I have to jiggle the handle a little but it opens. Eventually.
Stix laughs and tries to hide it.
He fucking sucks at hiding it.
Jimmy’s insistent, though. “I’m telling you, I think he was on the up and up.”
“Why in the hell would an ex-cop be on the streets, Stix? Think about it.”
“He didn’t go into that much.”
“Of course not.”
“But he did say the reason he was still there was because he needed to finish the job.”
“What job?”
“He told me, back in the day, his captain had heard some rumors about high traffic drug deals going on around here. Told him he was the only guy they felt they trusted enough to put him in the zone.”
Of course, he was.
And of course now I’m wondering how very “back in the day” he’s talking here.
Like, my father’s time “back in the day”?
The engine revs when I start up the car. To most, she probably sounds pretty normal, but I can hear the rattling as we head out. There’s not much that gets under my skin more than sinking money into a car. I’ve got a lot more interesting things I’d rather be in debt over. Trust me. When it comes to the Chevelle, I make it happen. She needs to be treated right.
I’m about to consider this conversation over when something Stix said strikes a chord inside my gut.
“What did you say?”
“What?”
“Something about rumors and drug deals.”
“Yeah, yeah, he said that’s why he was there staking out some high traffic drug deals that they heard were going down in the area. He said their informant told them cops were dealing.”
Okay, I’m not gonna pretend that scenario doesn’t get me thinking. This could be my best bet at nabbing Jim Galley and whomever the fuck he’s got working for him.
“He say why he wasn’t with the force anymore?”
Or, maybe not.
“Nope, didn’t really wanna talk about that much.”
Figures.
“Your brother happens to tell this ex-cop, turned drunk homeless guy, why he was screwed?”
“Nope. He said after that, Donnie kinda disappeared. He looked for him but said the next thing he saw on Donnie was…” The crack in his voice tells me where he’s going with this.
“When he was murdered.” I finish the kid’s sentence at almost a whisper.
Stix’s eyes focus on the street outside when I say it. I’m not one to beat around the bush, and I’m not about to start so I can spare the kid’s feelings. They’re pretty much crushed anyway.
How he got this guy to start talking about Donnie is beyond me, but the details he’s giving, I gotta admit, doesn’t sound like something he could have made up. The part about the drug deals going on, that puts my already suspicious nature on high alert.
“He give you a name?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Where was he off to this morning? I’m game for taking a crack at getting it from him.”
“That’s the thing.”
“What? What’s the thing?” I had no idea there was a thing.
“Last night, he was asleep in his cardboard house near the bonfire, and this morning, he was gone. So was his house, and the rest of the group that was here last night.”
“And you were where?”
“I found a warmer spot in that building.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you call me first thing, kid?”
“I─”
“You know what?” I raise a hand. “Never mind. I don’t have time, and you don’t have a good enough excuse. Let’s go.”
If I ever needed a fucking cigarette…
It’s not long before I notice the shit-eating grin on his face. “What the hell are you smiling at?”
“You called me Stix back there.” He’s absolutely fucking ridiculous.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I mentioned his grin is irritating as shit, right?
“All right then.” I’m not being defensive. More like, I’m giving a kid a lesson on stating the fucking obvious.
As I drive along and zone out on the lane dividers, I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not to tell the kid who I think might be responsible for his brother’s death.
What makes my mind up for me is when I ask myself if he was any other client, what would I do?
“Kid.”
He looks over at me. Happy go luckless bleeding through his expression. This is my last chance to spare him the bullshit Green and I have been coming up with.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
If this was some other kid, I might think twice about sharing what the two of us realized earlier, but Stix is different. He might be hurting over his brother’s death but my gut tells me he can take it. He’s not gonna go blabbing to any “friends” any time soon. He’s smarter than that.
So I spill it.
All of it.
When I’m done getting him up to speed, I keep my eyes on the road, but I’m aware of what’s going on next to me. Stix is quiet, like he’s letting it all sink in. He doesn’t say a word for a good ten minutes or so.
“So you think maybe these cops…” He can’t, or won’t, finish his thought. I don’t force it either.
“Maybe.”
I mean, let’s face it. They were shady from the get-go. But there’s a difference between conspiracy theory and fact. Stix was most likely still harboring some hope that there’s some good in the police force.
Pretty much everyone is.
And no, not me.
Okay. Fine. Maybe me too. But I evolved.
The kid shakes his head a little and glances out toward the sky. It kills me inside, the way he reminds me of Mikey when we were younger after Dad was having a particularly bad day and decided to take all his aggressions out on the youngest of the Stiles boys.
He didn’t understand then, and Stix doesn’t understand now.
I can’t fucking blame either of them.
Life sucks.
“Why would they do that?” The mixed emotions of anger and helplessness resonate in his voice.
“I don’t know, kid. Maybe to cover their asses. Maybe he knew too muc
h. It could be a number of things.”
“Don’t all drug dealers know too much?” he asks like it’s that simple. He’s frustrated. I get it. “I mean, if Donnie was dealing for ’em, what could he have possibly done to deserve to die?”
Skimmed some money?
Sold on the side?
Lost a deal?
Truth is, it could have been anything or nothing. Hell if I’m telling Stix that, though. He doesn’t really want an answer anyway. He’s simply asking the same thing everyone does when they lose someone so fucking senselessly.
Why?
It’s the same thing I’ve asked myself about a thousand goddamn times: Why didn’t I stop Mike from signing up for the academy in the first place? Why couldn’t I stand up to Dad when my little brother needed me to? Why did he die? But more importantly, why him and not me?
Damn, I do stupid shit every fucking day of my life. Ask my father. And I’m sure as hell that Mikey had a lot more to offer the world than my sorry ass.
Stix sits there, waiting for an answer I can’t give him. Once again, I’m failing at something that to some people is probably the simplest thing in the world.
“You’re too smart for your own good. You know that, kid?”
“Yay me,” he says. He huffs out like he’s trying to blow it off. All I hear in his voice now is sadness.
Then he goes back to counting trees.
X X X
I leave Stix at my office this time. There’s an alarm that alerts an entirely different police force than at my apartment and a couch he can sleep on.
“Here’s the key.” I take mine off of its ring. “I’ll bring some blankets and shit over later. And here.”
I pull out a twenty and hand it to him. “Order somethin’ to eat. You look like death warmed over.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“I’ll get more groceries later.”
It’s completely feasible that I might actually be a manny at this point.
“I’ll be back later,” I tell him but not before texting my cell from his so I have his damn number going forward.
“W-where’re you goin’?” Nerves take him over, but honestly, I think it’s safer than my place at this point. And it’s definitely safer than him being on the streets. Plus my choices for good hiding spots are slimmer than ever now.
Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption Page 20