Vice Enforcer

by S. A. Stovall

  “There were more than two hundred other students?” I ask. For some reason I thought there would be twenty or thirty, at the most. Two hundred? That makes his accomplishment much more significant.

  “Yeah,” Miles says. “It’s a large academy. They run once a year, but they have three different sessions. Morning classes, afternoon classes, and night classes. All the students are counted together in the same class.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to hear about it.”

  I don’t reply. I never asked him because I didn’t much care for the institution. But there are tons of people here, and everyone knows his name. Even if I didn’t think it was a worthwhile achievement, obviously they did.

  “I want to find Rhett,” Miles says, glancing around. “I want to tell him about the Worldwide Decurion stuff.” He leans in closer to me and lowers his voice, his hot breath on my neck. “Do you think any of those crooked police officers are here?”

  “I’m sure they are,” I drawl.

  “Who are they? Do you remember?”

  “No. I only glanced through the files to see if Rhett was one of them.” There were other names, and maybe I could remember them if I tried, but I don’t have enough giving a damn to care.

  “We should know those names by heart. If you let me see the files, I can make a list.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Miles narrows his eyes and places a hand on my knee. “Hey.”

  I lock my gaze to his.

  “Remember how I said I wanted to know more about you?” he asks, his voice still a whisper. “I want you to talk to me. What’s wrong? You’ve been weird for a while now. Getting angry, getting depressed. But it’s worse tonight. Why?”

  “I’m out of my element here.”

  It’s not a lie. It seems to placate Miles. He leans away, his face marred by concern. He turns to Barry.

  “Hey, do you know where Rhett is?”

  Barry glances over his shoulder. “Oh, uh, he’s not going to be here tonight. He’s got some sort of special assignment he’s working on. There was a homicide and everything.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah. It’s a shame. He wanted to be here to cheer us on.”

  “I had things to discuss with him, but I guess it’ll have to wait.”

  At least one thing has gone my way tonight.

  Miles keeps his hand on my leg as he and Barry engage in further conversation that I’m deaf to. The glitz and glamour of our surroundings don’t mirror my thoughts. Everything is bright from here to the stage, to the front door, to the second floor of balcony seating—but my mind stews in a dark place.

  It took me six months to find a job, and two months—maybe three, who’s keeping track?—to lose it. Miles, on the other hand, jumped into an academy after not being in school for a couple years and pushed himself to become top of his class. He’s got a career lined up, and I’m spinning my tires in the mud. I’m not who I used to be.

  And the real truth is… my association with him is a hazard. What if, in ten years, when he’s a hotshot captain, someone finds out about my past? What will Miles do then? He’ll throw away everything he’s worked for in order to help me. That’s what he does. He has a genuine altruistic streak that isn’t healthy.

  The fact of the matter is, when we first met, he needed me. He needed help and advice and guidance, and I was there to give it to him.

  Now he doesn’t need me at all. I didn’t help him become top of his class. I’m not going to be a benefit when he advances in his career. If anything, I need him. He’s the only thing I have and the only reason I even keep trying.

  I don’t have a purpose.

  The realization hits me harder than I ever thought it would.

  Even my investigation under Shelby isn’t something I can pursue. I don’t want it to harm Miles, which means fucking with major criminal organizations is out of the question.

  What am I even doing here? A real man would pick himself up and make a decision. They wouldn’t wallow in whatever I’m sinking into. Am I here for Miles? For myself? What am I going to do moving forward?

  Or… maybe I should call it quits. Move on. I’ve had a good run.

  And maybe it would be better for Miles, which, if I’m honest, really is the only reason I do anything anymore.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I DOWN my seventh glass of champagne and enjoy the buzz that courses through my system.

  The warmth of the hotel dries my clothing, but I know I look like nine miles of bad road. Wrinkled clothes. Disheveled hair. Vague, disinterested posture. I’m well fucking aware.

  Miles keeps his hand on my leg whenever possible, however, even during our three-course meal. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I imagined he would be upset—this probably isn’t the impression he wanted me to give his peers—but he never mentions it.

  The others at the table make their displeasure known. They regard me with brief glances and offhanded remarks, never actually speaking to me. That’s fine. I don’t give a shit about them either. I’d rather be anywhere else than here.

  People tink glasses, and some toasts are made. I’m sure it’s the height of civility, but I don’t listen. All these speeches praising the police force are nothing more than a glorified circle-jerk. Might as well skip the words and go straight to suckin’ each other’s cocks—at least that would be more entertaining.

  Miles listens.

  Of course he does. He’s polite and attentive, and someday he’ll need to give his own speech.

  A woman walks by our table and places a hand on Miles’s shoulder. He turns to her, and she motions toward the stage before walking off to tap someone else on the shoulder. Miles leans in closer to me and squeezes my knee.

  “I need to go up on stage,” he murmurs.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “They’re honoring the top students from the three largest academies in the area. I’m not going to talk. They just want us to be up there when they say a few words.”

  I shrug.

  “Don’t leave,” he says, and I hear an odd weakness to his voice. I glance over, and he looks at me with a furrowed brow.

  “I might step out to get some fresh air,” I say. “But I won’t leave.”

  Miles hesitates a moment before standing and then leaving alongside his classmate, Barry. The moment he disappears into the sea of people and tables, I stand and amble my way to the nearest door. I really do need to get some fresh air. All this champagne has gone to my head.

  I step out into a covered patio area, admiring the blue glow from the Olympic regulation-sized swimming pool they have for their guests. The sprinkle of water over the surface causes the inner light to shimmer. It’s pleasant enough, and I lean onto the patio railing in order to clear my thoughts.

  I’m alone. Who would want to stand around on the patio in the middle of a storm? Occasionally the rain sweeps sideways with the wind, dotting my sleeves.

  The door opens and closes. Someone’s on the patio with me, but I don’t turn around to see who.

  “You weren’t hard to find.”

  Rhett’s voice is unmistakable, despite the howl of wind and the patter of rain.

  I exhale and keep my attention on the blue of the pool. “I thought you wouldn’t be here tonight. Something about a homicide.”

  “Michael Shelby is dead.”

  The statement catches me by surprise. I stare at the water, unseeing, and for a moment, I wonder if Rhett was the one to do him in.

  No. Not him. He isn’t one of the guys working with Worldwide Decurion or the Vice mob. He’s straightlaced. Like Miles.

  “Where was he?” I ask.

  “Staying with a friend. He was shot in their living room by a man named Donny McCoy. I picked up Donny not but two hours ago. He told me a man with a messed-up eye hired him for the hit.”

  I don’t move, not while I process the information.

 
Donny McCoy? I let out a single laugh and smirk. Oh, I see where this is going. Donny is an old fling of mine—a man deep in the Vice family’s pocket. I sure as hell didn’t hire him to kill Shelby, which means he was told to say something like that after he intentionally got caught.

  Castor must have reported back about me, and maybe this is Jeremy’s attempt to get me in his grasp. If some of the cops are in league with him, it’ll be easy to find me in jail, where I’ll be behind bars and he’ll have all the power. Pretty clever. I underestimate Jeremy far too often.

  Rhett walks over to me and stops a foot away. “Why’d you do it?” he asks. “Does Shelby know all about your shady past? Is that what’s going on?”

  “Shelby had a lot of info on dirty cops,” I say. “But he didn’t know anything about me.”

  “Dirty cops? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. The guy was paranoid at the end. Knew cops were out for him. They had to silence him, which is what they did, but I guess they want to bring me down too.”

  Makes sense. Maybe Castor spoke about my attempt to bring him in to the police. Maybe they’re onto my investigation and want me to stop. Permanently.

  “You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?” Rhett asks, amusement in his voice.

  “No,” I say. “I expect you’re happy to bring me in, no matter how tenuous the connection.”

  “This Donny character seems to know you. I’m willing to bet he can identify you in all sorts of crimes.”

  “I bet he can.”

  Rhett chuckles. “I knew you were a thug, but I didn’t think you’d be this blasé about it.”

  Eh. Rhett caught me on the right night. It was bound to happen eventually. I’ve been too lax, and now I’ve got a hardline decision to make. It’s better that this happened sooner rather than later. I’ve already made up my mind in terms of Miles—there’s nothing left I can do for him besides bow out and let him continue, unburdened by my past. Me getting arrested will force the issue. I can’t mess up anything for him later.

  But I told Miles I wouldn’t leave the event, though it looks like I don’t have much of a choice. I stand up straight, face Rhett, and hold out my arms. “Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.

  Rhett, dressed in a bulletproof vest and tactical gear, takes a step back and places a hand on his sidearm. I roll my eyes, turn around, and get my arms behind my back.

  Odd he came alone to apprehend me. I figured cops brought backup to showdowns like this, but what do I know? Maybe he has a buddy with a sniper rifle in the next building over. Or maybe he’s always been brazen and figures I’m no threat.

  Rhett grabs my arm and jerks me close. I glare, and he returns the gesture. “Let’s not make a scene,” he says. “For Miles’s sake. He doesn’t need any sort of negative reputation starting his career.”

  “Am I being cooperative, or am I being cooperative?” I ask, sardonic.

  “Stay close. I have a transport team ready to take you in.”

  He leads me away from the patio and back into the main room.

  The speakers are still giving speeches—all about the great achievements of the students and the police officers who came before—but we leave the banquet hall in favor of a much narrower corridor. Rhett, attentive as ever, keeps one eye on me the whole time.

  My thoughts linger on Jeremy, however, not so much escape. What’s going to happen when I get back in that man’s company? I doubt he’ll be forgiving. I watched the man shoot his own father because he wasn’t given enough power within the syndicate fast enough. That’s not the type of person to be reasonable.

  Maybe I should struggle to get Rhett’s gun. Not because I want to fight my way out of custody, but because suicide by cop is still technically an option. An option I won’t have once Jeremy comes to collect me.

  “A word of advice,” Rhett says as we travel down the long, empty corridor. “Don’t make up bullshit about dirty cops to take the heat off yourself. Judges prefer straight-up honesty.”

  “Then me and judges have a lot in common.”

  “Don’t start. You’ve already said too much.”

  “Shelby really wanted to catch his kid’s killers. He gave me all his hard evidence on the cops. He said I should turn it in if he died. I guess there’s going to be a shitstorm in your department.”

  Rhett pulls me to a stop. “You have proof?” he asks, curt. “Physical proof?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “My house.” I offer him a one-sided smile. “You wanna take a detour on the way to the slammer, Princess? I don’t give a fuck. Either we’ll get it, or Miles will turn it in tomorrow after he hears what’s happened.”

  “Miles knows where it is?” Rhett mulls over the bit of information before pushing me back into a walk. “I’ll get it with him later tonight.”

  The statement sends a twinge of rage through my system, like he’s insinuating he’s going to do something else, but I hold it back, a little shocked at how fast I went from not feeling anything to full-blown anger.

  Rhett stops at a metal door and pushes me through. The chill of the parking garage greets me with a powerful whoosh of air rushing to get inside the hotel. Rhett keeps ahold of my arm as he steps out with me. Standing around an armored police van, dressed for an insurgency, are thirteen special-response unit officers, one of which stands six inches taller than the rest.

  “Deputy Chief Charleston,” Rhett says, his voice betraying his shock. “I… didn’t think you’d be here. How did you even—”

  “Thompson called me,” the larger man interjects, the grate of his voice deep and baritone.

  He steps forward, and I have to tilt my head back to take him all in. I recognize him, the deputy chief of police from Noimore, from all the news interviews and reports on television. The camera doesn’t capture his full imposing presence, however. I’m no drug expert, but he doesn’t take steroids—he eats them. His muscles strain against his skin, threatening to burst out if the guy flexes too hard.

  “Why didn’t you take the team to apprehend this man?” Deputy Chief Charleston asks. “If he double-crossed and murdered Shelby, he’s dangerous.”

  “I’ve worked with this PI in the past. I knew I could handle him,” Rhett responds, relaxing a bit as though in the company of friends rather than the shark tank we’re actually in. The other twelve guys fan out a bit, some with their rifles hanging on straps over their shoulder. They could heft them at any time and waste us; it wouldn’t take much effort.

  I didn’t look at the name on the police list, but I do remember Shelby mentioning Deputy Chief Charleston, the ringleader for the police force when it came to this human trafficking business. And if Thompson called the deputy chief over when Rhett came to get me—me, the PI trainee who helped Shelby, the man who has info on corrupt cops—I’m willing to bet I know what’s happening here.

  I’m not gonna make it to a jail cell.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Deputy Chief Charleston says, confirming all my suspicions. “I’m head of the task force investigation, after all. I want to be the one handling this.”

  “Of course.”

  Rhett grabs my arms and forces them behind my back. I don’t struggle as he handcuffs me, nor do I protest when he pats me down and takes my keys and cell phone. Once he’s finished, he escorts me the ten feet over to the deputy chief.

  I know a lowlife when I see one, but Deputy Chief Charleston doesn’t appreciate the way I stare. He scowls and then smiles.

  “Pieces of shit like you don’t deserve the comfort our prison system offers inmates,” he says, slow and menacing. “If it were up to me, we’d have a fast lane to the electric chair.”

  I don’t reply.

  There’s nothing to say, really. I could attempt to call out his hypocrisy, but he might actually believe I’m the scum and he’s the hero. Getting a criminal off the streets—no matter the means, be it criminal itself—could
be his end goal. Which, I guess, he’s succeeding at.

  Not to mention we’re on his turf, not mine, and he’s packing all the heat. I’m gonna keep my fucking mouth shut. It’s the smart move.

  “There’s one other thing,” Rhett says, obviously not in the same boat as me when it comes to keeping quiet. “Pierce mentioned that Shelby had some information regarding dirty cops.”

  Oh, Jesus Christ.

  I swear the parking garage gets three degrees chillier the moment Rhett finishes his sentence. Each and every one of the special-response guys gets tense, and they exchange knowing glances. Rhett isn’t in on their operation. That much I’m certain.

  And if they were willing to kill Shelby to keep him quiet….

  Rhett never should’ve admitted he knew.

  “Is that true?” Deputy Chief Charleston asks me. “You tried to disparage my fine brothers and sisters in uniform?”

  What am I going to say? Yes? No? Either way, I’m fucked. I grit my teeth and stare.

  Without warning, and much faster than I expected, Deputy Chief Charleston punches me in my undefended gut. His muscles aren’t for show—I swear I feel organs burst—and I lose my breath as I hit my knees and then fall forward, my forehead hitting his polished boot. Hot, blinding agony rips through my body.

  “Charleston!” Rhett barks. “What’re you—”

  The deputy chief chortles, eliciting similar responses from his men. “He was resisting arrest.”

  “No, he wasn’t! He’s been nothing but cooperative! It’s abuse of your authority to strike a man in custody!”

  Rhett kneels down and places a hand on my back. I attempt to stand but end up vomiting a mouthful of blood and what little dinner I ate with Miles. If I had been prepared, maybe the bone-shattering blow wouldn’t have been so bad. I’m in no condition to fight now, however.

  “Leave that filth alone,” Deputy Chief Charleston drawls. “He’s a criminal with the audacity to say we’re just like him. That’s as slimy as they come. Don’t be the chump he manipulates for pity.”

  “He said he has proof,” Rhett says as he stands. “Physical proof. I don’t think he would make up claims like that for misdirection and pity. And Shelby worked with several police departments during his tenure. I think we should take this seriously and investigate.”