“What’s happening here?” Miles demands, never lowering his weapon.
The big guy puts his hands in the air and stumbles back. Is he drunk? One deep inhale tells me he’s drunk. In the middle of the day? The man has hit more lows than one.
“You’ve been drinkin’,” I state. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m not gonna sit down,” he says, his speech more coherent than most drunks’. “I paid good money—hard-earned money—and then what do I go and find? I find me problems and more problems!”
Miles and I exchange perplexed glances. Maybe his speech is understandable, but it sure as fuck isn’t coherent.
“Get out!” he bellows. “I paid, so I’m gonna get my money’s worth!”
The man on the floor attempts to stand, but the larger guy cocks a fist like he’s ready to dole out an ass-whoopin’. A piece of me wants to back out of the room—clearly this isn’t a kidnapping—but another piece of me sees that this isn’t a mutual agreement either. The guy on the floor looks to me and Miles with a silent plea, his shoulder-length hair half-clumped with blood across his face.
Before I make a decision, Miles takes a step forward. “You’re not getting anything,” he says. “You’re leaving. Right now.”
“I paid!”
“You’re gonna pay more in blood if you don’t get out of here.”
“If you lay a hand on me, I’ll call the cops.”
Both Miles and I start laughing. The gut of the guy shakes as he whips his gaze between us. “You laughin’? You think this is funny?”
“Yeah, call the cops,” I say, sarcastic in every regard. “Tell ’em you were trying to fuck some prostitute when two guys thought it got too rough, so they busted in to stop you. I’d love to see the look on their face when you tell ’em what a victim you are.”
It takes a moment for the sluggish gears in this guy’s brain to turn full circle. Realization dawns on him, and he stumbles around to collect his shirt. Miles stays tense and ready the entire time, watching the man’s movements like it’s all an act. I let the guy leave without another word and then tuck my firearm back into my shoulder holster.
Kimmy rushes into the room once the fat guy staggers down the hall.
“Are you okay, Nash?” she asks as she kneels down.
The guy nods. “Yeah…. Yeah, I’m fine now.”
“What happened?”
Nash chuckles as he places a hand over his bruised eye and busted lip. “I think he thought I was… someone different.”
“C’mon, get up. I’ll take you to my room. I’m gonna get a movie.”
“You’re not hurt too bad, are you?” Miles asks as he walks over to help the kid up. “We could hear some stuff from the other room.”
“I’ll be fine.” Nash gives Miles an odd sideways glance. “Are you guys cops?”
“No. We’re just, uh, here for some answers.”
Miles takes most of Nash’s weight on his shoulder and helps the man all the way to Kimmy’s room. Once inside, Miles sets him down and gets the remote for Kimmy, almost like he’s caring for his two siblings. I wait by the door, ready to leave, but I don’t hurry Miles. He can do whatever he damn well pleases.
“You sure you two don’t need anything?” Miles asks.
Both Kimmy and Nash regard him with puzzled expressions and shake their heads. “No,” Kimmy says. “We’ll manage. I’ll take care of Nash from here.”
“Well, be safer in the future.” Miles rubs at his neck before pulling out his wallet. He hands over a stack of cash—I suspect all five hundred he had on his person—before turning away, leaving the two to their movie.
I walk by his side down the hall and toward the stairs. “What was that?” I ask in a low voice. “You think they’ll be useful to us in the future?”
“No,” Miles intones. “I just…. Well, it got me thinking.”
“What about?”
“I tried to be a prostitute once,” he says with a chuckle.
We hit the stairs, and I give him half a smile. “Are you sayin’ you’ve been with other guys than me?”
“No. No, that’s not it. I tried to be a prostitute. One time.” Miles exhales and avoids looking at me straight on. “A guy took me to a room, and, well, he got violent. He complained about something, I don’t remember what, but I ran after he got a few hits in.”
I remain silent as we walk out the back door to the hotel. The alleyway between buildings smells of trash and stagnant water. Even the rays of the afternoon sun avoid the narrow walkway, keeping the place dark.
“I was trying to make money,” Miles says. “And I knew I wanted to be with a man, but that experience left me a little confused, to say the least. I went out onto the street to try again when some Vice family enforcers walked up on me. They asked me how I got my bruises, and I guess I wanted to sound tough—ya know, instead of pathetic—so I told them I got into a street fight.”
“And?”
“And that’s when they said they’d pay me to be a gun for them.” Miles shrugs. “I needed the money for Jayden, so I went with it. You know the rest of the story from there. I guess Nash and Kimmy reminded me that things could be worse.”
Hm. He’s never told me that story before. I guess there’s nothing too important in those facts, but still. I like knowing them.
“Hey,” he whispers, “I’m the one always telling you stories from my past.” Miles keeps his hands in his pockets. “You should tell me more about yourself. I want to know more about you.”
“Maybe later,” I say.
“Don’t think I’ll forget.”
“Wait!” Kimmy’s voice echoes down the alley.
Miles and I stop to turn. She jogs down to us, even in her crazy heels, and stops with a smile. I lift my eyebrow, wondering if she’s going to try to extort some more cash.
“No thugs have been around here in a long time,” she says, staring up at me. “It’s the cops. They’re crackin’ down hard. We can’t work the sides of the streets anymore, ya know? People aren’t going missing. They’re getting arrested and going to jail.”
“The cops?” I repeat, mulling over the information. “They come around here?” That’s unusual. They never did before.
“Yeah. The new deputy chief wants to put an end to crime in Noimore.”
“An end, huh?”
“He’s had his pigs arrest anyone and everyone. Even those homeless guys. For loitering. It’s gettin’ to the point that even some of the crooked cops are turning. Everyone’s in jail.”
I nod as I give her statements some thought. Crime has been going down lately. Well, everywhere but Noimore.
“I got a friend in jail too,” Kimmy says. “She’s been there for a few months now. I’m worried about her, but I don’t want to go near the place.” She taps the tips of her fingers together and says, “If you guys go there asking questions, can you tell Roslyn Applegate to call me? I just want to know when she’s gettin’ out.”
Miles pulls out his phone and commits the information to the device’s memory. “Of course. And thank you for telling us this.”
Kimmy nods. “I hope it helps.”
THE CAR ride home is far too long. Jayden’s mouth-breathing buzzes over the sound of traffic. Even his little sister leans away from him, staring out the opposite window with a frown on her face.
I can’t wait until they leave. I know Miles wants to spend his waking time with them, but it’s hard to find a connection with two kids who either hate me or ignore me. At least when we get to the house, I can do my own damn thing and avoid them.
“Who’s that?” Jayden asks, pointing forward.
I follow his gesture to a police vehicle parked outside our house. My chest seizes up, and my mouth gets dry. What the fuck are cops doing here?
Jayden leans onto the back of my seat and whispers, “Have they come to take you to the slammer, Pierce?” He gets way too much sadistic joy out of the situation. If I could, I’d turn around and brea
k his face, but that’s not an option.
Instead I zip up my jacket, concealing the gun still in its holster.
Miles parks behind the police vehicle, and a man steps out. I hold back a slew of curse words. If it isn’t Lieutenant Rhett Walker. My favorite person.
I exit our clunker and hold the seat back so Jayden and Lacy can join their brother. Rhett saunters over with a pleasant smile on his face. Although I don’t like seeing him, I doubt he’s come here to arrest me, which is better than the alternative.
“Lacy, Jayden,” Miles says. “Can you two wait in the house?”
Both his siblings nod and head for the front door, leaving me, Miles, and Rhett to the grandiose scenery that is our dilapidated neighborhood. None of our neighbors are out and about. I blame Rhett’s presence.
“I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced,” Rhett says. “But I wanted to talk you, Miles. Not on academy time.”
Miles perks up. “Me, sir?”
“Yes. Not this weekend, but the weekend after, is the annual Blue Shield Gala.”
“I’ve heard. It’s a big deal.”
“A very big deal,” Rhett says with a wider smile. “It’s a fund raiser, and the most important law enforcement personnel are there from all over Illinois, not just Joliet.”
“Sounds amazing. But what about it?”
Rhett pats Miles on the arm. “Every year I take the top three students from the academy. You get to rub elbows with all the right people. It’s a great way to start your career.”
“Me?” Miles balks. “You want to take me?”
“Of course. You’re top in the class. I’m inviting you, Barry, and Mina.”
“Wow… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” Rhett replies with a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time. And I bet you look striking in a suit. First impressions with your fellow officers matter.”
Miles crosses his arms and then uncrosses them, almost like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He turns to me and then furrows his brow. “Can Pierce attend?”
I freeze up and almost shout Don’t drag me into this, but Miles got his damn sentence out. I don’t want anything to do with some policeman’s gala.
“Of course he can attend,” Rhett says with a wave of his hand. “It’ll be a great opportunity for him to meet your future coworkers.” He stares at me for a moment, and his smile wanes into something else—a smirk, maybe? “How long have you two been together?”
“Almost a year now,” Miles replies.
“Oh? Where did you meet?”
“On the Noimore docks, actually.”
I catch my breath. Rhett smiles his same smirk. Does he remember I said I’ve never been to Noimore? I don’t know, and I don’t like where this is going.
“It’s not a very interesting story,” I interject. “Maybe we’ll bore you with it some other time.”
I glance at the house and smile when I spot Lacy. She’s my ticket out of this. “Looks like your sister needs us,” I say to Miles. “We should probably be going.”
Miles turns his attention to Lacy and nods. “Thank you for stopping by, Rhett. I look forward to the Blue Shield Gala.”
Rhett holds out his hand. “Actually, I also came here to discuss Shelby and his investigations.” He gives Miles a slight nod and then motions to me. “Do you mind if we speak in private? I’m sure you can handle your sister.”
“Of course. No problem.”
I watch Miles walk into the house, my teeth gritted. I don’t want to speak to this man about anything. He rubs me the wrong way. Everything about him. Even when I turn to face him, he still has that odd look. “What is it?” I snap. “I’ve got things to do.”
Rhett, unfazed, says, “So, Percy—or should I call you Pierce?”
“Pierce is fine.”
“So, you know I spoke with Miles at the hospital the other night, after talking to Shelby. Miles is very honest and up-front—it’s a trait I like about him. You know what he said?”
I don’t reply. The cold wind of dusk sweeps between us, and the orange of the sunset casts dark shadows across the dead lawn.
Rhett continues with “Miles said you both used to live in Noimore before moving here. Which is odd, considering what you told me at the police station. About how you’ve never been there before.”
Again, I say nothing.
“And now I’ve come to hear you two met in Noimore. Oh, you know what else Miles said? He said you worked at a lumber mill. Do you know how many lumber mills are in Noimore, Pierce? Or how many are in the county of Noimore? You should take a guess. I mean, you worked in one, after all. I’m sure you’d know a little about it.”
Hot rage mixes with icy dread throughout my system. But still, I remain stone silent.
Rhett takes a step closer to me, until we’re only a few inches apart. In a hushed tone he says, “I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with hero. The last one closed eight years ago. Terrible economy these days, right? That must’ve been hard for you. Being unemployed for eight years.”
“Is there a point to this?” I ask in the same hushed tone, though my voice betrays the surface of my anger.
“Oh, are you getting bored with me?” Rhett asks, his sarcasm adding fuel to my hate. “I haven’t even told you about Shelby’s report. You’re an expert gunman according to him—but public record says that Percy Adams only ever got his hands on a gun a few months ago.”
His green eyes stare into mine with a challenging aggression that gets me tense. I cross my arms, my hand resting over my handgun through my jacket.
“Tell me,” he says, still somewhat sarcastic and amused. “Why lie? It’s almost like you didn’t think anyone would look into it.”
“Maybe the police are incompetent,” I reply. “And I don’t trust them.”
“A man like you wouldn’t, would you?”
“What does it matter?” I say with a forced laugh. “Are there laws against faking a résumé? Otherwise we don’t have any business, do we?”
“Not yet, anyway. But I have to ask one thing. Does Miles know? Does he know the real you, or this charade you’re passing around?”
“Stay away from Miles,” I growl through clenched teeth. “And unless you have something more than conjecture, stay away from me as well.”
Rhett keeps a hand on his belt, inches from his handgun, in a casual yet pragmatic stance. Is he hoping I’ll attack him? Is that what he wants? That would make things easy for him, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t have to get evidence if I assaulted him and he “defended himself.”
Maybe he’s already tried to get evidence. He has quite a bit of knowledge about me—about the fake me, really—which tells me he’s been looking into this. If he doesn’t have anything to arrest me with but he suspects I’m some criminal in hiding, he might be here just to provoke a new crime.
Pretty fucking brazen. He must not consider me a threat—a real threat. He thinks he can waltz up and threaten my life without repercussions. He’s got another thing coming.
Rhett takes a step back and exhales, his hand still resting close to his gun. “Miles is one of the best students I’ve ever had. I’d hate to see him dragged down by someone nowhere near his caliber.”
His statement gives me pause. “I’ve seen the way you talk to him recently,” I say. “I mean it when I say you need to back the fuck off.”
“I’m an instructor at his academy. We’ll see each other regularly, I’m afraid.”
Is he saying this to get under my skin, or is he actually challenging me for Miles? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Either way, he’s a piece of shit. If he wasn’t a cop, I’d throw him off my property, but everything is a goddamn felony when used against anyone in blue. Instead I turn and head for the house—there’s nothing left for us to say—leaving Rhett on the dead grass of our lawn.
Could he dig up something to arrest me? I doubt it. All his facts are wrong. Does that mean it’s impossible? No. I’m sure if he
snoops around long enough, I’ll trip up and give him something to use against me. Which means I have to be on my guard until we leave this wretched city.
Rhett calls out, “I’m sure I’ll see you again, Pierce. Sooner rather than later.”
Perfect. Now I have to add deal with Lieutenant Rhett Walker to my ever-expanding to-do list.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I KNOCK on the neighbor’s door. Nothing.
I knock louder. She has to be home. She’s some old lady with no car and no discernable interests, not even cats. All old crones are up at eight in the morning. I glance at my phone. It’s 8:15 a.m. She must be awake.
Or maybe she fell and died over the weekend. That would be inconvenient, but not the first time I’ve had to deal with an elderly corpse. I guess this time I can call the cops and have them handle it, however.
The door opens, snapping me from my morbid musings. The same sunbaked woman stands before me—a good foot shorter than I am, probably five two, if I had to give a guess—and she glares up at me with squinted eyes.
For a moment we’re both silent. She doesn’t say hello, and I sneer.
“Finally need help with that garden?” she asks, a slight smile on the corner of her mouth.
“No,” I state. “I’m here on behalf of Shelby Private Investigations, a PI firm located in town. You’re a witness in the case of People vs. McMillian, and I’ve come to get your statement.”
She glances over her shoulder before shuffling out the door and closing it behind her. I lift an eyebrow, curious about the odd turn of events, but I don’t say anything. It’s not like this lady will try to shiv me or anything—or if she does, I’m confident I can handle myself.
“So you’re a private dick?” she asks. “I wondered what you did for a living, but I guess this makes sense.”
I hold back a laugh. Was she trying to make a joke? Maybe I underestimated the woman. “Look, uh—” I stare down at the file until I find her name. “—Patricia Timo, I need to get your statement in regards to McMillian’s voluntary manslaughter.”
“Would you mind keeping your voice down?” she asks in a calm manner. “And you can call me Grammy, or Ms. Timo, but not Patricia.”
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