Heading back into the living room, she wasn’t surprised to hear he wasn’t convinced. “You think you’ve got it all worked out, but you don’t even have a plan.”
“I will,” she said, sitting down on the couch and bending to tuck her shoes under it.
He appeared at the end of the couch. “You don’t even have a change of clothes. What do you plan to do? Wage war in a cocktail dress?”
Glancing at her apparel, she hadn’t thought of logistics. “Clothes are the least of my problems. I’ll buy some.”
“From where? With what? If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been out of work for three months… What happened to your apartment?”
“Movers packed everything,” she said, “it’s all boxed up in my parents’ basement.”
After inhaling, he breathed out slowly, which she hoped meant he’d made his peace that this was happening whether he supported it or not. “We’ll take a trip there tomorrow, grab what you need. I have to be at work on Monday.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere until this is done. If I go back to my parents, they’ll try to counsel and cajole me. No. I’m staying right here in the city…” His brow rose. “You did say I could crash here, right?”
Another deep breath. Clyde swung around to head into another room and came back a minute later with a blanket and pillow.
“What about Floyd’s?” he said, putting the bedding on the back of the couch.
The place that Ryske had said she’d sleep for the rest of her life? He hadn’t been right about that either. The idea of going to the bar was better than the reality of it. Harlow could still remember how nervous she had been walking in there after not seeing Ryske for a month.
Given what had happened the last time she’d been there, she was in no rush to confront that particular demon.
Not only that, but the guys hadn’t tried to contact her, just as she hadn’t reached out to them. Her relationship with Ryske’s crew was going to be a complicated fix to say the least.
Confessing another shame was disheartening. “I… I don’t know if the guys are ready to see me… I abandoned them. I didn’t even call.”
“You… you don’t know?” he asked. An odd kind of shock grabbed him. “Oh my God, Harlow, I thought you knew.”
The way he rushed around the couch and sat beside her didn’t fill Harlow with confidence. “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” she asked, struggling to understand. “Who’s gone? What do you mean gone?”
“I mean I went over there a couple of days after the shooting to ask if they’d heard from you or knew how to contact you since I had no way to do it…”
He trailed off. His look of trepidation filled her with dread. Was he worried she’d lose her temper? Wouldn’t be the first time she’d snapped at him for being the messenger.
Harlow’s mind was working. Hagan had said Ryske’s crew had faded away. At the time, she’d taken that to mean that none of the guys had pursued him. Except, she didn’t know how much Hagan knew about the men Ryske worked with.
“And?” she prompted, eager to the point of desperate to know what her friend was angling at. “Well, what is it?”
“The place was boarded up. Chains and padlocks on the doors, Floyd’s has been abandoned.”
Trying to think about what that meant and where the crew could be, her gaze drifted around the room. Her unblinking eyes probably betrayed the panic that was beginning to build. The guys had been so devastated by the loss of their comrade that they’d abandoned their home.
Something had provoked them to flee. Were they together or had losing Ryske made them turn on each other? Could it be they’d had different ideas of what to do after he was gone? Without Ryske’s guiding hand, she could believe that the rest of them couldn’t agree on a plan.
Ryske didn’t only have the ability to charm women, he could appease and mediate too. He knew how to handle each member of his crew, and they were used to his voice being in the mix.
“Oh, God,” she said, grazing her fingertips across her tattoo. “Everything fell apart… Everything he built is… gone.”
“Yeah,” Clyde said, putting an arm around her and guiding them into a slump against the back of the couch. “I figured they probably needed some time out.”
Twisting, she peeked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure if you knew,” he said, rubbing her arm, comforting her. “I didn’t want to be the one to break the news if you didn’t… You split town fast. I guessed they did the same for the same reason… or that you all had some kind of strategy for what to do if something like this happened.”
It was possible that there was a contingency plan within the crew. They must have talked about what would happen if one of them was taken out. Bale had told her the story he planned to feed the cops about Ryske’s demise. But if law enforcement hadn’t bought that, or even if they had, maybe it was the crew’s contingency to go their separate ways and keep a low profile for a set time until they were sure everything had blown over.
Bringing her tattoo to her mouth, she let her lips move against it. “Oh, Crash.”
Clyde didn’t seem to hear her silent plea. “If they took off as fast as you did, they probably left your stuff at the bar,” he said. “Unless you think the place has been ransacked.”
One thing the Floyd’s crew wouldn’t have to worry about was the building being broken into. “Anyone who knows who the bar belongs to wouldn’t touch it,” she said, sitting up, out of his embrace. “And that’s everyone.”
Clyde had got one thing right, she did need a plan, and tomorrow, she’d figure it out. Stifling a yawn, Harlow was suddenly tired. Either the liquor or the adrenaline were catching up with her.
Her friend must have noticed. He put a hand around her head and pulled her close to kiss her hairline. “Go through to the bedroom, get some sleep.”
Shaking her head, she began to sink onto her side. “Here is fine.”
“No,” he said. “I insist.”
Standing up, he took her hands and pulled her onto her feet to lead her around the couch. Taking her into the bedroom, he pulled back the bedcovers and guided her feet under them after she lay on her side.
“Clyde,” she murmured after he retreated.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“What else are friends for?” he said and disappeared from the room.
Wearing a smile, she thought about Ryske and his crew. They were supposed to be friends and they did far more than offer each other a place to sleep.
Harlow kissed the star on her wrist. “I’m going to fuck this up before I get it right,” she whispered against the ink. “If you’ve got any hints, Crash. I’m open.”
She didn’t really believe in there being anything after this life, but she wasn’t arrogant enough to think she knew it all. Maybe it was just blind optimism that drove her continued communication with a man who was no longer alive.
As sure as she was that this was the right path, Harlow knew there would be no coming back after taking this course. One way or another, getting payback was going to change her life… it could even end it.
4
Forming a plan didn’t take Harlow long. Clyde asked if she had a hangover the moment she plodded out of his bedroom around noon. Despite her foggy head, Harlow denied it; there wasn’t time to let anything slow her down.
Her friend made food that she forced herself to eat while gazing out of the window, building a strategy. Information was key. What she knew was vital; figuring out how to use it was more important.
Her ultimate conclusion was that she needed more information and she needed help. This wasn’t going to be a half-assed op. Harlow wanted to do it right.
Armed with her ideas about what she had to accomplish, she took a shower, put on last night’s clothes, and left the apartment telling Clyde she’d be back.
Cash was first on the list. Given that the only thing she valued
anymore was Ryske’s wristband, Harlow didn’t flinch at the pawn shop where she exchanged the remainder of last night’s accessories for money. A pawn shop was a new experience for her. An odd sense of accomplishment accompanied her as she left there and moved onto the hardware store.
It didn’t take long to grab what she needed and walk to Ryske’s neighborhood. The crowbar raised a few eyebrows in the tattoo parlor, but no one questioned it. Charlie, the tattoo artist, listened to what she wanted and accepted her sketch. The buzz of the gun relaxed her, it signaled that she had space to zone out and think everything through.
It was evening by the time she got onto the street again. The back of her neck was stinging, but it was a good sting. One that revitalized her sense of purpose and renewed the determination in her step.
Entering a rundown apartment block, she considered it lucky that she didn’t encounter anyone as she ascended the stairs. A dog barked in the alley and a couple on the first floor argued. The rumble of their voices accompanied her all the way up to the third, where she went to an apartment she’d visited before.
Knocking on the door, Harlow hoped the family were home. While she waited for a response the sudden sound of a dog barking in the apartment behind startled her. The animal didn’t scare her, though she did feel bad for him being trapped inside when he would probably prefer to be out the back with the other guy.
There was a click on the other side of the door she’d knocked on, drawing her attention back around. The door opened to show a short South American woman who took one look at her and started to close the door again.
“Mrs. Soto,” she said, putting a hand on the door and stepping forward to stop it moving any closer to its frame. “My name is Harlow Sweeting. I don’t know if you remember me?” Showing doubt, Martina Soto stopped trying to close the door, but eyed what Harlow was holding. Smiling, she tucked the crowbar behind her back. “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not for you… Do you, uh… do you mind if I talk to your son? Just for a second.”
“My son is a good boy.”
Martina’s accent was thick but entrancing.
“I know,” Harlow said and smiled. “He is a good boy.”
“We no need the social people no more.”
Harlow nodded. “I understand. I don’t work for them anymore. I’m here as a friend… I just need some help… I’m Dover’s friend.”
Namedropping was probably out of line given that she didn’t know the status of her friendship with Dover at that moment. But it worked. The mention of him made Martina loosen and let the door open just a fraction more.
“He is a good man.”
“He is…” Harlow said. “Can I talk to Felipe? Please?”
Martina stepped backward and called out to the boy. Harlow tried to hide her wince at the shrill sound, but smiled when Martina opened the door further. It was clear that the beauty was wondering why anyone would come to this neighborhood dressed in a silk cocktail dress and why they’d be carrying a crowbar.
Felipe appeared at the other end of the corridor inside the apartment, munching on some chips that he tossed aside as soon as he recognized her. “Nightingale!” he hollered and bolted down the corridor to run into her embrace.
She hadn’t expected such an exuberant welcome. Touched, her eyes warmed. Wrapping both arms around his head, she squeezed him tight. The youngster had heard the other guys calling her Nightingale. The crew always corrected Felipe if they heard him calling her anything other than Miss Sweeting, but she wasn’t going to correct him when it sounded so good to hear someone else using the moniker.
Felipe had always looked up to Ryske, Dover, Noon, and Maze. But he was young, and she understood their need to discourage him from identifying too closely with them. The idea was to stop the kid from getting involved in anything that could set him on the same path as his father, who was in prison.
Letting her go, Felipe backed away with his head bowed and his hand went to his face, which made her wonder if he’d been overwhelmed too. As a young teen, he wouldn’t want anyone to see him vulnerable, which was probably why he swiped so aggressively at his cheeks.
Sniffing loudly, he straightened up, putting up his impervious front. “What’s… what’s up?”
His mom was no longer in the doorway. Harlow couldn’t stop smiling at him and caressed his cheek. “I missed you, kid,” she said.
He softened a little and then shifted, shuffling his feet in a show of awkwardness. “I… I’m sorry ‘bout what happened to Mr. Ryske.”
It was difficult to force a tight smile to her lips, but she knew it was appropriate. Showing the youngster that it was difficult to hear condolences from someone who knew the man she loved wouldn’t be right or fair. That was too big a burden for someone so young. No matter how he might deny it, Felipe was just a kid.
Few people had treated her like the grieving widow. Not that she was Ryske’s widow exactly. Having fled the neighborhood as soon as he’d passed, she’d left everyone who knew this part of her life behind.
Her family and Rupert were clueless. Hagan hadn’t offered condolences and couldn’t. Even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have been genuine. By his own admission, Clyde hadn’t known Ryske. Although her friend’s face had been closely acquainted with her love’s fist.
Felipe was the closest thing to a member of the inner circle as she’d come across since that night.
“Me too,” she said, sliding an arm around him to guide him down the hallway toward the cracked window at the end. Perching them on the windowsill, she propped the crowbar between her knees. “Tell me what happened, Felipe.”
“Mr. Dover told me to run home,” he said, eyeing the tool. “He was getting in a car with Mr. Noon and Mr. Maze, he told me to run home and not to come back until I heard from him.”
That had to have been the night of the shooting, when the three of them were on their way to the hospital after Ryske had been taken away by ambulance.
“And,” she asked. “When did you next see him?”
Felipe shook his head. “I didn’t… an envelope came to our mail box, it had money in it, and a note, said the gravy train was gone and I should keep my head clear. I went to Floyd’s; it was all boarded up, the very next night.”
The boy had found himself a place to belong and lost it just as fast.
Putting an arm around him, she pulled the youngster tight against her side, and rested her head against his. “Have the gangs been after you?”
“Mr. Ryske told me a thing called consideration,” he said, making her smile. “He said I shouldn’t give anyone anything without getting something in return… And told me never take the first offer… He said, I should only run with a crew I’d die for… haven’t found one yet.”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She swept it away before it could get lost in Felipe’s hair. Turning her mouth into his locks, Harlow pressed a long kiss into him. “Listen to me,” she said, slipping off the windowsill to crouch in front of him, resting the crowbar across her thighs. “I want you to keep holding off, can you do that for me?” He blinked, his big beautiful brown eyes still displayed the innocence of a child in spite of all they’d seen. “I might have a job for you soon.”
“Mr. Ryske would want me to look after you,” he said. “You could stay here with my momma and me. Auntie Camila is going to have her baby soon.”
Poor kid was going to have a lifestyle shock when the baby arrived.
Cupping his face, Harlow rose and kissed his forehead. “You are a good boy, Felipe Soto.”
“Miss Sweeting?” he asked as she sank back down to her haunches. “What is that for?”
Felipe nodded at the crowbar laying across her thighs. Harlow picked it up. “What? This?” she asked. “Just my house key, honey… Are you going to remember what I said? Keep holding off.”
Taking his hand, she pulled him to his feet and led him to his mom’s apartment. “Do you need me to help you?” Felipe asked.
“No, honey,
” she said. “You’ve already helped.”
Having a clearer picture of when the crew had fallen apart didn’t make her feel better. From what Clyde had said, she’d assumed the guys had at least had a chance to argue and maybe make decisions. Felipe’s addition to the story made her think the idea of a pre-agreed contingency was more likely.
They knew exactly what to do if one of them died and they hadn’t wasted any time in putting the plan into action.
Urging Felipe into his apartment, she made sure his mom saw he was back and gave the kid another hug before departing. There was only one thing left for her to do that day, and she’d been anxious about it since opening her eyes that morning.
5
Striding down the sidewalk, Harlow waited for Floyd’s to come into view. The closer she got, the more her apprehension rose.
“Yep,” she whispered to herself, swinging the crowbar at her side. “This is me. Badass…” Peeking left and right, she made sure there was no one around to see her talking to herself. “Bet you’re getting a real kick out of this, Crash.” Mumbling to herself was one way of not thinking about what she’d find on arrival. Playing this scenario through, she wondered just what she’d do if she was caught breaking into the abandoned building. “Yes, Officer, I do appear to be breaking and entering. This just happens to be my boyfriend’s place… No, unfortunately, we can’t call him… I’m not a crazy stalker… No, he didn’t dump me… Well, actually, I guess he did… before he told me he loved me… No, I am not here to boil his bunny rabbit… Goddamn it.” Harlow kept picturing Ryske’s smirk and imagining him laughing at her nerves. “Fuck it. Confidence, right, baby? I’ll just blow the guy. Bet cops like head too. See how easy it is to laugh it up while you’re watching that.”
Reaching the corner, she immediately stopped and her mind blanked. There it was. Dark. Quiet. Deserted. Although she’d been a player in events the night Ryske had died, Harlow had been too out of it to take in many details. For some reason, she got an out of body flash of what the scene would’ve looked like that night. Ambulance by the curb, blue lights flashing, patrons fleeing but stopping to rubberneck.
Go It Alone (A Go Novel Book 2) Page 4
