Vice Enforcer

by S. A. Stovall

  “Humor me,” Rhett says, drawing me out of my musings. “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say you are who I think you are. Some gangster lowlife. Now let’s pretend you didn’t hire a hitman to kill Shelby. Why would someone claim that you had?”

  “Hypothetically speaking?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Pretend. We’re pretending that’s reality.”

  “Then I would tell you that no one leaves a gang without consequences. And that some of my old hypothetical associates would be displeased with my current occupation and consider it traitorous. I don’t think we need to imagine what happens to traitors, right? I’d bet they’d go to great lengths to make sure I was hypothetically taken out of the picture.”

  “Some guy would be willing to go to prison to bring you in?”

  “You’d be surprised at how far certain influences go. It’s always nice to have a middleman in prison—lots of gangbangers there need goods to push. Think of it more like a sideways promotion.”

  “Is our prison system really that bad?” Rhett asks, half to himself and half to me.

  I chuckle. “It holds individuals well enough. Organizations are a different matter.”

  There’s a piece of me that wonders why Rhett didn’t straight up ask me, but I don’t press him for the details. If he wants to ask me odd, roundabout questions, I’m not going to stop him.

  “Why are you and Miles together?” he asks, continuing his parade of bizarre inquiries. “And I’m not asking about how you met or why you’re together now. I mean, why stay together at all? He’s not like you.”

  “I ask myself the same damn question,” I murmur as I stare out the window. The rain comes and goes, like the clouds can’t make up their minds. “But I think Miles feels he owes me. I helped him get his brother out of a street gang, and we’ve been together ever since.”

  “A street gang?”

  “The Cobras. You’d know if you saw his shoulder. The kid got a snake inked there like a fucking idiot.”

  “Oh, he’s an idiot, is he?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

  “Let me guess, you’re infinitely smarter. That’s why you got ink on your forearm instead.”

  I grab at my arm and pull it close. I guess it doesn’t matter that he’s seen my tattoo, but I’ve come to loathe the thing.

  “No,” I drawl, staring at it. “I’m just as stupid.”

  We cross the Joliet city limit, and the drizzle continues steady until we get into town. Rhett takes every corner sharp, speeds through yellow lights, and only slows for stop signs. That’s cop driving for you.

  “This isn’t how I imagined arresting you,” Rhett says. This guy has an odd train of thought.

  “Tell me,” I say. “How did all your arrest fantasies play out in your head?”

  He purses his lips as he turns the car into the suburbs. “They aren’t fantasies.”

  I stifle a chuckle. His buttons are easy to push. “I know you wanted me to lose it. That’s it, right? You’d kick my ass?”

  “I imagined you’d be more resistant.”

  “I’d hate to rough you up in front of Miles. He thinks highly of you.”

  “He does?” Rhett asks, a hint of surprise in his tone.

  “Tsk.”

  “Well, he wasn’t there when I arrested you in the hotel,” Rhett replies, ignoring my dismissal. “No reason to hold back then.”

  I relax and stare up at the car ceiling, my one eye strained from the low lighting. “Sometimes a man has to follow through with his duty. You carried out yours, and I’m carrying out mine.”

  Maybe I don’t owe Miles anything, but I feel like I need to do right by him.

  We pull up into the driveway of my house, Rhett deep in thought. There aren’t any cars in sight. We either beat Charleston here or we’re far too late to do anything about the evidence.

  I step out of the vehicle and hobble over to the front door. Locked. I don’t have my keys. Instead I walk around to the back, open the gate, and shuffle over to the back door. We never lock it. Probably not a good habit, considering our questionable neighborhood, but it’s not like we have much to steal, either.

  With a forceful shove, I open the back door and walk inside. The darkness is still. Rain runs the length of the windows.

  I walk to our room and switch on the light. The first thing that strikes me is that fact that someone has been in the room—someone not Miles or myself. My old case files from Shelby’s office are open and scattered across the floor. Fuck, did they actually beat us here?

  I kneel down and pick up the first file. The moment I catch sight of the name, I freeze.

  McMillian.

  The other files are closed and mostly undisturbed, but McMillian’s is open with the police report clear as day, not to mention the terrible witness statement I took from Ms. Timo. Who would break into my room to read this?

  I turn around and check the closet. Shelby’s hard evidence waits under the floor, just where I left it. My breath goes short when I realize what must’ve happened.

  Shannon got in here and rummaged around through my files. It had to be her. Who else would be so curious? But, then, if she read this, what happened?

  I grab Shelby’s evidence and throw it on the bed.

  “Miles?” I hear someone call out.

  With stiff movements I exit my room and walk to the back door. Rhett and Jayden are standing a few feet into the house. Jayden whips his attention over to me and then looks around.

  “Where’s Miles?” he asks.

  I glare at the kid. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Shannon and Lacy. They ran off. They’re gone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “EXPLAIN,” I command.

  “They came over here to get something,” Jayden says, the speed of his speech twice as fast and frantic. “And then Shannon ran off! Lacy came back and told us, but we couldn’t find Shannon anywhere. And then, uh, Lacy disappeared, and—”

  “How long ago?”

  “I dunno. A couple of hours? It wasn’t long after you and Miles left.”

  “And what have you been doing this entire time?” I shout as I take a step closer. Jayden cringes away.

  “We called the p-police,” he stammers. “They sent two officers. They’ve been out looking.”

  I catch my breath; dread replaces all other feeling in my body. “You called the cops?”

  “Yeah. Ms. Timo did.”

  “Two officers showed up?” Rhett asks.

  Jayden turns to him, confused, and then glances back at me. I motion for him to answer Rhett. Jayden inhales and says, “Yeah. They showed up quick.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter aloud.

  There’s a real possibility that these two overzealous cops are getting Worldwide Decurion paychecks, which means they might find the girls, bring them in, and report they found nothing at all. This is a terrible neighborhood; maybe they think they can get away with it. What the fuck am I going to do if that’s the case?

  I head for the front door, and Rhett grabs my arm, stopping me midway and hurting my shoulder. I turn on my heel and glower. “What?” I snap.

  “Where’re you going?” he asks.

  “To look for the kids, obviously.”

  “I need that paperwork.”

  “It’s in my bedroom,” I state, ripping my arm from his grasp no matter the pain it causes me. “It’s on the bed. Take what you want.”

  He doesn’t attempt to stop me a second time, and I storm out of the house—well, storm out as well as I can with a stiff leg. I enter the rain fueled by anxiety. Lacy and Shannon are young and no match for fully trained, fully grown police officers. Hell, I’m sure Lacy and Shannon would run into their arms, especially Lacy. They’re “safe” and there to “protect” them. Proper authority.

  I hope to God those two officers are just concerned men with nothing else on their plates.

  “You’re gonna walk around in the rain?”

  I stop and turn, un
willing to glance over my shoulder. Jayden jogs after me. He comes to a halt at my side and wipes the water from his face with the back of his arm.

  “You look fucked-up, man,” he mutters.

  I don’t answer him. Instead I continue on my way, straight down the street, staring into the darkness with one eye, trying to catch sight of movement. There’s a park a few blocks down—a terrible, seedy location for drug dealers and hobos—but they’ve got play equipment, trees, and shrubs. I imagine if I were eleven or twelve, I might head there to escape the rain.

  Jayden shadows my trek, his shivering audible above the downpour.

  “Lacy!” I call out as I lurch along. “Shannon!”

  “They aren’t gonna hear you through the weather,” Jayden says.

  “They might.”

  “We should go back.”

  “You go back.”

  I cross the final street to the park and sigh. The place seems larger in the dark of the night. I can’t even see the play equipment from the sidewalk. Jayden runs around in front of me and I stop.

  “This place is crawling with druggies. You never know what they’ll do.”

  “All the more reason I need to find Lacy and Shannon,” I say.

  “We should let the cops do this.”

  I grit my teeth and take a breath. “Did you even look for them?”

  Jayden shakes his head. “It’s been raining. The cops said they’d handle it.”

  “Lacy is your goddamn sister and you never bothered to look? Your self-absorbed attitude never ceases to amaze me.”

  “You’re one to talk.” He steps forward and shoves me. I slip on the muddy grass, but I catch myself before falling. I clench my fists, more than willing to kick this kid’s ass. Miles wouldn’t like that, though, and I pull myself from the edge with a quick breath.

  Jayden continues, “You can’t lecture me about caring when you don’t give a shit about Lacy! Or Miles, for that matter!”

  Goddammit. Everyone wants a piece of me tonight. Every. Single. Fucking. Person. Either they’re here to arrest me, torture me, kill me—berate me—it doesn’t matter what, they think they’ve got something to drill into my skin.

  I grab Jayden by the collar of his T-shirt and yank him close. “What the fuck is your problem?” I growl. “Get it out right now.”

  He leans away, all his posturing gone. I wait, because this is the only moment I’ll give him, and I’m eventually rewarded with his ragged inhale of chill air.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  Wow. Profound. Was I really expecting anything different?

  “You’re everything from our old life,” Jayden continues through short breaths, slow to get his confidence but quick to raise his voice. “In rehab they told us we had to separate ourselves from bad influences, or else we’d never get clean. You’re like our father and our brother, Lawrence. Taking advantage of Miles. Using him. Only caring about what happens to you.”

  “I don’t give a shit about what happens to me,” I say, my volume matching his. “I thought I made myself clear, but obviously you’re dense enough not to have picked up on it. I only care about Miles. But—and it’s a big but—he cares about you and your sister, which means every time you fuck up, I’ll be there to drag your ass back. And if your sister is missing, I’m gonna drag her ass back too. Understand?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Really? You think I’m out here, arguing in the rain, because it’s good for me? You think my master plan to screw you is to live in a tiny suburban house, sharing quarters with children, training to get a midrange-paying job? Fuck, kid—you must have a pretty damn low opinion of me. I’m not your shitty father and brother. I could do a lot worse if my goal was to fuck you all over and cut out at the last possible moment.”

  “Yeah, well….” He flusters a bit but frowns and continues regardless. “You’re gettin’ into fights, draggin’ Miles around. I just….”

  I shake him once, and he wipes away the water to get a better look at me. “I don’t control your brother,” I say. “He does what he wants, sometimes against my wishes. But as long as I’m still kickin’, I’ll take the bullet for him. Got it? He deserves that much.”

  “You’d…?”

  “What the fuck do you care, anyway?”

  Jayden doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t even have the words to articulate what he’s feeling. I remember him hating Miles for attempting to change him, for attempting to get him out of a gang. Perhaps Jayden has come to the realization—although maybe subconsciously—that Miles really is looking out for him, and he should do the same in return.

  He’s not a clever kid, but at least it looks like he might be trying to turn himself around.

  “Get back to the house,” I tell him as I release his shirt. “If something happened to you too, Miles would be upset.”

  Jayden wipes himself off and laughs. “Wow, you really are Miles’s bitch, aren’t you?”

  Jesus Christ. The Pope himself would be tempted to kick this kid’s ass. I swear he has the situational awareness of a cucumber. Just when I thought I might not hate his guts….

  Jayden narrows his eyes, and in a voice low enough that it’s almost lost to the rain, he asks, “Do you love him?”

  “Get out of here!” I bark. “You’re wasting my time!”

  He jumps away and shuffles off. Once or twice he looks over his shoulder at me, but I ignore him. Kid needs to mind his own damn business.

  I trudge forward into the park. There’s a small piece of me that wants to spot someone milling about under a tree, someone with a puffy jacket capable of carrying plenty of supplies. I could ask if they have any prescription drugs for sale—OxyContin was popular not too long ago, and everyone knows it dulls pain like sleep dulls consciousness—but I don’t want to deal with the chance of getting mugged. Plus, with the cops scooping people up and never bringing them back, I bet it’s harder to find someone right now. I continue on.

  The play equipment, soaked and dirty, already has multiple occupants. Three men and a woman have a makeshift tent set up under the grating. I wander up to them, and they give me questioning and apprehensive glances. I laugh to myself. I guess I look odd, everything considered.

  “Have you four seen two kids lately?” I ask.

  They shake their heads. I nod and walk by, unconcerned with pleasantries.

  The picnic tables don’t yield anything better. Nor do bikes paths or tennis courts. I stop at the swings to lean against the metal posts. It’s only now that I realize how very drained I am. Anxiety isn’t a long-lasting fuel source. And the more I look, the more convinced I am they aren’t here. Where else is there to look? The tiny shrubs soaked in dog piss? No kid, especially two eleven-year-old girls, would want to subject themselves to that for any length of time. And Shannon was pretty good at hiding when she avoided her grandmother.

  From the shadows of the storm, a man approaches me. I muster the energy to stand straight, if only to appear capable and not on the verge of a coma, but I relax the moment I realize it’s Miles. The sight of him puts me at ease.

  “Pierce?” he asks as he steps close to me. “What happened?”

  “Ms. Timo lost the girls.”

  “Not that. What happened to you?”

  “Eh. Some cops and thugs tried to rough me up.”

  “I think they succeeded.”

  Miles moves to my side and grabs my arm to sling it over his shoulders.

  “Stop,” I hiss. “Not that arm. The other arm.”

  He walks to the opposite side and takes most of my weight. I lean onto him, surprised by how warm he is, but I suppose it makes sense, considering I’m soaked in freezing water. We walk together out of the park and onto the street. I focus my attention on Miles.

  He’s quiet and doesn’t look at me as we walk.

  There’s not much to say as we trek through the neighborhood and reach our house. Still, I wonder. He’s not normally so distant.

  We enter ou
r house. Jayden paces the living room, and Rhett is at the kitchen table, sitting in a plastic lawn chair. Well, the new kitchen table—a flimsy fold-out thing—brings the whole place together in a unifying ghetto aesthetic.

  Miles guides me to the couch. I lie back, soaking the cushions, and he unbuttons my shirt. Still, he says nothing, and I don’t protest his actions. He takes my wet piece of clothing, walks into the bathroom, and returns with a towel.

  “You’re bothered,” I say as Miles drapes the towel over my body. The room-temperature cloth is a pleasant change of pace.

  “I’m worried about Lacy.”

  “Hm.”

  “Why’d you leave?” Miles asks as he tilts my head to the side and examines my busted eye.

  “The gala?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Rhett came to arrest me.”

  Miles furrows his brow. “What?”

  “Someone tried to arrest you?” Jayden says, cutting into the conversation. “This guy?” He motions to Rhett. “Is that why he’s here?”

  Rhett stops leafing through paperwork and looks up.

  “Pierce didn’t do it,” Jayden continues. “Whatever it is. He’s been watching Lacy and Shannon. I know. I’d vouch for him. He’s been busy every minute of every day.”

  “Now isn’t the time for explanation,” Rhett says. “But I appreciate how forthcoming you are with information.”

  “You can’t arrest him.”

  “I have a warrant. But again, now isn’t the time.”

  After his declaration, no one else speaks. Miles gives him a quick glance before returning his attention to me.

  “Why?” he asks under his breath, keeping our conversation private.

  I dry my hair off with my good arm. With the same volume, I reply, “Some asshole from the Vice family killed Shelby and pinned me as the one who hired him.”

  “So Jeremy can get you in jail? Is that it?”

  “That’s what I suspect.”

  He takes the towel from me and inspects the bruise across my gut. Deputy Chief Charleston did a number on me, for sure. I grimace as Miles grazes his fingers over the injury. For some reason, the feather touch hurts more than standing around did.