Vice Enforcer

by S. A. Stovall

  “We’re whittling,” Shannon says as she throws her long braid over her shoulder. “My dad showed me how to do it. You take a knife and you cut away from your body until you make a shape. I made a bird once.”

  Although Miles seems uncertain, he eventually nods. “All right. Be careful.”

  Shannon claps once and then scoots closer to Lacy. “This is going to be awesome, you’ll see. And once my mom and dad get back, I’m sure they can show us all sorts of cool tricks. My dad made a bear with a fish in its mouth. It’s beautiful.”

  I turn back to Ms. Timo. “Remind me again—which one of us is blinded by sentimentality?”

  “This is different,” she replies. “Shannon is happy right now.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Miles takes a moment to get a drink and mess with his radio. I watch as he splashes water over his face and his thick black hair, though I don’t make any comments or draw attention to my staring. Ms. Timo notices, on the other hand.

  “He’s a good-lookin’ boy,” she comments.

  I nod.

  “He might be more comfortable working in all this heat if he weren’t wearing a shirt.”

  I turn my attention back to her. She’s staring just as hard as I was. “He’s mine,” I state. I guess it’s only natural women would be interested in him. Still. Since when did lecherous old hags become a thing?

  “Pish posh,” Ms. Timo says. “Do you really think your handsome young friend would elope with a soggy old biscuit like myself? Let an old lady have her fun.”

  Heh. Her straightforward request strikes a chord with me. With a quick chuckle I concede her point. Miles hasn’t expressed an interest in elderly women. Fine.

  “Miles,” I call out to him. “Give me your shirt. I need it.”

  He looks at me in confusion, but he complies with my demand regardless. He’s always been willing to please—it’s one of those traits I like about him—and he throws me his shirt without question. He sure does look good in the midafternoon sun. The grooves of his muscles are an appetizing sight.

  I toss the shirt to the ground and go back to my gardening. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Miles staring, like he’s bewildered by the transaction. After mulling it over, he returns to his work, flushed from embarrassment or sunlight, I don’t know which.

  Then he turns back around. “Uh, Ms. Timo? Would you be willing to watch Lacy and Jayden Friday night? It’s my twenty-first birthday, and I expect Pierce and I will be out late.”

  Ms. Timo smiles and nods. “I would be happy to.”

  I can hear the two girls’ excited whispers all the way from across the yard. I never had a sleepover as a child, but the way those two talk about it, I missed out on the most enriching experience of my life.

  The news on the radio catches my interest the moment I hear words like “Noimore” and “crime rates.”

  “—the Noimore Police official statement is that the commotion within the New Grounds Construction Site was the result of gang infighting,” the woman on the radio announces. “Deputy Chief Charleston further added that the quick response time was due, in part, to attentive citizens who contacted police after witnessing suspicious activity. Calling the police is—”

  Miles switches the station to one with music.

  “Was that you guys?” Jayden asks.

  Everyone in the backyard stops what they’re doing. After a moment, Miles returns to tapping his hammer against a half-buried nail. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Were you the guys who stopped that stuff in the construction yard? Wasn’t that the day you were both messed up? That’s why Pierce has all those bullet holes in his jacket.”

  I grit my teeth. Does that kid never learn? I swear he’s secretly asking for me to beat his ass.

  “Are you two detectives?” Shannon asks with a gasp. “I knew you must be working with the cops somehow!”

  “I’m a student at a police academy,” Miles replies, keeping his focus on his work. “And Pierce is a private investigator. We’re not with the police, and we weren’t at the construction site.”

  Shannon leaps away from the picnic table, leaving her whittling knife and woodblock with Lacy. In a few short bounds, she’s by my side, her eyes wide and her energy visible in the way she shakes. “So you’re the private detective on my parents’ case, right? That’s why you came to my house?”

  “Look,” I begin. “I’m not—”

  “Are my mom and dad okay?” she asks. “When are they coming home?”

  “Speak with your grandmother.”

  Ms. Timo regards me with the same deep frown as earlier. Shannon obviously doesn’t like this answer. She throws her hands down in balled fists.

  “I’m old enough to know,” she yells.

  I don’t reply. Is it even my place to say? Seems like I should avoid getting involved at all costs. Ms. Timo must think the same damn thing because she clams up. Shannon switches her gaze from me to her grandmother, back to me.

  “Tell me!”

  “Your grandmother will tell you when she’s damn good and ready,” I snap, my voice louder than hers and no doubt carrying to the backyards of our surrounding neighbors.

  Shannon gets misty-eyed. She turns and runs back to her house, never even bothering to confront her grandmother. Lacy gets off the table and chases after, but not before giving me a dirty look, like she’s implying that this is somehow all my fault. What the hell did I do? It’s Shannon’s grandmother who can’t handle the truth.

  “I’ll go talk with her,” Ms. Timo says. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  “You gonna tell her everything?”

  The old bag doesn’t answer, which basically means no.

  The moment me, Jayden, and Miles are alone in the backyard, Miles turns to his brother. “Hey. Don’t ask us where we’ve been in front of Lacy. Got it?”

  Jayden brings his phone back up, a weaselly little smirk etched into his face. “Heh. I knew it was you guys. I knew it.”

  “Got it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll keep it to myself.”

  “Good.”

  “YOU THINK they’ll be okay?” Miles asks.

  “Jayden and Lacy? Yeah. Of course.”

  It’s not like Castor got a good look at Lacy or Jayden. Even if he was driving around our neighborhood, he wouldn’t find anything he’s looking for—not our car, not us. I know Miles worries, but it’s not him or his siblings I’m concerned about.

  Once Jeremy knows I’m alive, it’ll be me he wants to deal with.

  “How is the contact lens?”

  I rub at my eye. “I’m blind, but I guess it does the trick.”

  “It’s meant to cover an eye with cataract.”

  “Tsk. Perfect.” I suppose, since a cataract will cloud the iris, the only way to hide it would be to blind someone, but it’s weird to me that anyone would pick vanity over sight. Then again, I guess I don’t have room to talk. I’m wearing it right now.

  Oh, well. It’s irritating and I dislike it, but I guess it’s better than wearing sunglasses at all times. Miles keeps his gaze on the road as he drives deeper into Joliet. He clenches his jaw, however, and I know he isn’t satisfied with the outcome.

  “Maybe you should go through with a corrective surgery,” he says.

  “Tsk.”

  “Oh, uh, this is the place.”

  Miles parks the vehicle outside of some standard middle-class home. It’s yellow, an odd color, but the same shade as all the other houses in both directions of the street, like they were all duplicated from the same photograph. I guess the designs of the houses are slightly different, but only slightly. It’s pleasant enough, in a creepy way, and I hold back my commentary.

  “This is Logan’s house,” Miles says.

  “Logan?”

  “He’s a guy I go to the police academy with.”

  I groan. “This is where you wanted to go for your twenty-first birthday? To another suburb? Don’t most kids your age want to get w
asted?”

  “I drink already,” Miles says. “And getting wasted has never been my ideal way to pass the time.”

  “So what’re we doing here?”

  “They’re having a barbecue. I figured I could introduce you to my academy friends.”

  Ah. Now it all makes sense. No wonder he didn’t tell me where we were going beforehand. I’ve been avoiding his academy life like the plague—I don’t trust cops. How many times do I have to tell him that?

  “It’ll be fun,” he says.

  I let out a long exhale. I’ve been to parties before, but I doubt this party will be anything like the mobster strip clubs and gambling houses I’m used to. Now those were insane parties. A good deal of drugs will make anything a form of entertainment, and there was enough sex to meet the definition of an orgy three times over.

  What’re we going to do here? Stand around and make small talk while we all slowly die of boredom? I guess that’s the price I’ll have to pay for a normal life.

  “Fine,” I say. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I go to exit the car when Miles puts his hand on my leg. I stop and face him, but I have to turn my head all the way thanks to my blinded left eye. It’s going to take some getting used to.

  “We can go someplace else if you want to,” he says. “We don’t have to stay here if it’ll upset you.”

  “It’s your birthday. You decide what we do.”

  Miles smirks. “Well, we’re already going to do what I want later tonight. I was hoping you wouldn’t be in a foul mood up until then.”

  “Heh,” I mutter. “Is that what you’re worried about? Forget it. I’m not a birthday kinda guy.”

  “When is your birthday, by the way? You’ve never told me.”

  “It was last month. The eighteenth.”

  “Seriously?” Miles asks, a hint of anger in his tone. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I’m not into birthdays. I haven’t celebrated mine since I was fifteen.”

  “So, you’re thirty-seven now?”

  “Yeah. What’s it matter?”

  Miles grips my pants leg. I get anxious when I’m not entirely sure what’s going through his head. Is he upset? No man stops the march of time—I’m going to get older each year—and I’m not sure what he wants from me.

  He takes a breath and lets out a strained exhale. “You should tell me these kinds of things. I want to know them.”

  “All right,” I drawl. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Thank you.”

  We both exit the car and walk up to the solid wood door of Logan’s house. The sounds of people emanate from the backyard, and I hear a steady beat of music playing from an overworked speaker. The door swings open before Miles can even knock, and the moment I see who it is, I once again get on edge.

  I swear I can’t escape Rhett’s smug face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “MILES,” RHETT says. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Miles smiles. “Rhett. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “I didn’t think I’d have time, but my schedule cleared up. Come on in. Logan is in the kitchen getting the rest of the food prepared.”

  The house is filled with the sweet and savory aromas only a chef can bring. I didn’t think I was hungry, but now it’s the only thing on my mind. The house itself is well-loved, with worn-in furniture, a million pictures covering the walls and end tables, and small toys for children tucked in the corners. The mismatched color scheme tells me the owners aren’t rich—they pieced this place together when they had the funds to do so.

  “Hello!” a man calls out from the kitchen. Before anyone can respond, he walks out into the living room wearing an apron that reads “Don’t be afraid to take whisks.”

  I guess it fits, because the man is fairly hefty. He sports a handlebar mustache too, which is odd, but I’ve seen crazier things from druggies who think they’re also hairdressers when the moon is full.

  The man walks right up to me. I get nervous and tense—I don’t know this asshole—but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

  “I’m Logan,” he says. “You must be a friend of Miles?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Logan,” Miles interjects. “This is my boyfriend, Pierce.”

  Logan lifts his mini handlebar mustache eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, really! Bring it in, then! It’s so good to finally meet you!”

  I hold out my hand, but Logan pushes it aside.

  “I’m a hugger,” he declares as he wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace.

  Gah—what is this fruit loop doing?—I remain stiff until he releases me, and then I take a step back and sneer. “Good to meet you.” The man’s embrace reminds me about the bruises left over from my fight and car accident. I should have brought some painkillers.

  “There’s a barbecue in the backyard,” Logan says as he motions to the back door beyond the kitchen. “And I’m almost done with my home-style beans and bacon. Get out there and mingle! Everyone’s been waitin’ for you!”

  “Thank you,” Miles says.

  He walks through the kitchen, and I go to follow, but Rhett holds me back. I give him a warning glance, but he maintains his hold.

  “Miles,” Rhett says. “We’ll be out in a second.”

  Miles gives me a brief look before nodding. He walks to the backyard, and I hear a chorus of greetings. I guess I’m glad I missed out on that. I don’t want to meet any more huggers.

  I walk with Rhett to the front living room and wait for him to say something. He wouldn’t try to provoke me in the middle of this party, would he? Seems low class for him, but I guess I don’t know him that well.

  He mulls over his own thoughts for a moment, and I’m forced to wait. The guy sure did dress up nice for the occasion—black slacks, a form-fitting button-up. He takes care of himself, that’s for sure.

  Rhett finally turns his full attention to me, a look of intensity most reserve for fighting. “Are you actually trying to dig up evidence against these traffickers?”

  His question takes me by surprise. “Why?” I ask, not trusting his intentions.

  “I need to know.”

  “What else would I be doing?” I ask, sarcasm in each syllable.

  “Helping them.”

  I snort back a laugh. “You think I’m helping them?” I bet Castor wouldn’t think I was helping him, that’s for sure.

  “You said you’d do whatever you were paid to do. And, given what I suspect about your past, I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility that you’re aiding them.”

  I glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen. I doubt Logan can hear us, but I lower my voice anyway, hoping Rhett will take the hint. “Yeah, I do things for money. But I have standards.” Even when I worked for the Vice family I wouldn’t engage in scumbag behavior. And Big Man Vice hated traffickers with a passion. We didn’t do any of that shit.

  “What about Shelby?”

  “What about him?”

  “I have reason to believe he’s working with these traffickers. Lots of reasons, actually. Hard evidence.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Rhett narrows his eyes. “You know something?”

  “I know Shelby’s kid got murdered, and that’s why the man has a vendetta the size of Illinois. I doubt he’d be helping his own kid’s murderers do anything outside of finding a quick grave.”

  “His kid?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “His son got taken a few decades back. I don’t know where you got your evidence, but it’s questionable at best.”

  “It’s legitimate,” Rhett intones. “But maybe there’s a reason for it all.” He gives me a long stare before continuing. “What if I paid you to help me with this? To ask Shelby a few things and record them?”

  “Can you do that?” I ask with a chuckle. “Pay me to cooperate?”

  “I thought you didn’t ask questions when money was involved?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Ho
w much?”

  “Five hundred.”

  Tsk. Small-time. But I guess asking an old man about his sources isn’t that risky either. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “You have something to record him with?”

  “Phones do everything these days.”

  Rhett reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He plucks five hundred-dollar bills and hands the stack over. I offer him a one-sided smile and push the money back.

  “You don’t do this very often,” I state with a hint of amusement. “Pay me after the job is done.”

  “Given your lengthy track record, I figured there was nothing to worry about.”

  I glare at the man. “I’m pretty sure the police don’t have a track record for Percy Adams.”

  Rhett laughs and places his hands on his hips. “Look. I’m surprised you didn’t skip town the moment I confronted you, I really am. But it’s only a matter of time. Your new car, eye, and clothes aren’t enough to hide what I already know about you. And men like you eventually slip up. Always.”

  “Making threats after we just struck a deal?” I ask. “You really don’t do this very often, do you?”

  “I’m trying to be frank. You seem like the kind of guy who appreciates facts over posturing. And I don’t want you to get the impression that we’re business buddies. This is a onetime occurrence.”

  “Fine. We done here?”

  Rhett stares at the back door and then turns back to me, a pensive expression about him, like he’s just thought of something interesting. “Actually, there’s one other deal I’d like to strike with you.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “What’s your price to stay away from Miles?”

  I ball my hands into fists and glower. “Fuck you.” I turn to leave, but Rhett once again grabs my arm. I’m ready to throw a punch in his direction, but I grit my teeth and hold myself back as I turn to face him.

  “You’re gonna slip up,” Rhett repeats, his voice low and threatening. “And I don’t want to see Miles go down with you.”