by Amy Lane
“Joey, you’re gonna beat that thing to death,” Jackson said as they entered, and Joey’s dolly shot out from under the van so fast, Jackson had to jump out of the way.
“Rivers!” he cried, hopping to his feet and going in for a hug. “Good to see you!” And then, in a fluid shifting of English to Spanish, he added, “Are you hitting me up for an encore? It’s been two years, but I’m still single and you’re still hot!”
Jackson shook his head. “Sadly, I’m taken,” he said, “but it’s nice of you to remember.”
Joey shot Henry a hard look. “If this is the guy, you’ll melt his brain in a week. Come back to me, baby. I am waiting for you and you alone!”
Jackson snorted. Joey had played the field as much as Jackson used to—it’s what had made them so awesome in bed. It was easy to be adventurous when neither of you planned to stick around much longer than it took to peel the condom off and make toast.
“This kid? I’ve got better taste. He’s still trying to find his ass with both hands. No—me and a guy from the law firm are living together. He puts up with my cat, I put up with his fussing—it’s a match made in heaven. Anyway,” he said, switching to English, “this is a business call, not a social one. I could really use a favor.”
Joey looked at the youngster he’d been working with, a blond, blue-eyed twinkie with “Callum” on his name tag, who was listening to their conversation wistfully, with no indication at all that he could speak Spanish.
“Cal, could you take over working on Matilda here? Me and Jackson have to have some words.”
Callum nodded, crestfallen, but he slid back under the van like a kid who knew what he was doing, and Jackson had a moment to wish the kid the best. He seemed to have it bad for Joey, but Joey wasn’t great at being pinned down.
Joey led the way through neatly boxed kits containing cleaning supplies, including gloves and face masks and special chemicals for the really hard-to-get places, and into a small office in the back of the warehouse. Joey had outfitted it with its own swamp cooler and two giant fans, because he was a creature of comfort. Jackson respected that about him.
“So, what can I do you for?” Joey said with a leer.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “For starters, you can stop hitting on me. I’m taken, and that kid’s heart is gonna explode if he has to watch you flirt with someone else for another second. Stop taunting him—that’s cruel.”
Joey blinked, surprised. “Callum? He’s not even bi—”
Henry snorted, and Jackson sent him a hard look.
“And fuck,” Joey muttered. “I like that kid. He’s super smart, he works hard, and he’s a college student so he’s got flexible hours!”
“There’s no law that says you can’t keep him!” Jackson said with a laugh. “Just don’t sleep with him! Or if you do, don’t toy with him.” Jackson’s voice softened. “You were always the nicest guy in the world, Joey. Treat that kid like his heart’s fragile. And teach him some Spanish—I think he’d like to know what you’re saying.”
Joey cocked his head. “Jesus, Rivers, I’d forgotten how spooky you were about that. You knew my sister was getting married before I did. It was weird.”
Jackson shrugged. “How’s she doing, by the way?” Sandra had been just as sweet as Joey—without the inclination to bang all the things.
“I can’t decide what she’s whining about more—turning thirty or being pregnant. It’s her first, but you’d think she’d have popped out seven of them by now.”
“Is she still teaching English?”
“You know it.” Joey made a face. “For that alone I guess I should forgive her for whining, right?” He sobered. “So, this is a business call—let’s talk business.”
If only they could sit down with a beer and discuss the old days, when Jackson had been recovering from the sniper shot that ended his career and in school getting his BA in criminal justice. He and Joey had met in an English class, and in spite of Joey being about four years younger than he was, they’d hit it off. Joey had been one of the first people he’d bedded to keep the monsters at bay, and maybe if they’d made a habit of it, he wouldn’t have needed quite so many other people. But you don’t know what a real relationship looks like when you’re young and pissed and hurting, and Joey hadn’t been ready to stop fucking everything that moved.
But in the end, he’d found a good friend—and, yeah, a sometimes bedmate—but mostly, a good friend.
“Well, I’m investigating one of your clients, and I was hoping you could help.”
Joey grimaced. “Aw, man, Jackson, we’re bonded! I’ve got paperwork and shit, and we can’t have evidence disappearing or anything like that. It’ll ruin me!”
“Look, you can hire us, if you want, and put us on probation. And I swear, anything we find, we’ll report to the police. This guy’s a piece of work, Joey. We’re looking for evidence that he killed his own son because the kid didn’t want to distribute anymore for him. I’ll take pictures and send them to the police. It’ll all be above board.”
“What if you get caught!” Joey asked, and then grimaced. “I’m sorry. That sounds selfish. But—”
“But this is your business. I get it.” Jackson sighed. “Look, I’ve got the address here. If I just happen to see when you’ll be in the guy’s house, we can show up and sneak in. If anyone asks, you’ve never seen us and we were never there.”
Joey let out a snort. “Sure. Never there. I hear you.”
“I appreciate it, man. I’m looking for Robert Sampson—”
Joey rattled off the address that Jackson had read on Crystal’s financial forms that morning, and Jackson was impressed. “Yeah, you know this because…?”
“Because nobody replaces a six-thousand-dollar area rug twice in the same year because they suddenly got tired of the same color blue.”
Jackson held his hand to his chest, not sure if the murmur the doctor had assured him he’d picked up finally decided to appear, or if he was just excited. Because hey! They might actually have a break in this fucking case.
“So, uh, these rugs—do you know where they went?”
Joey nodded. “We’re going there after we do our rounds. Why?”
“Because we need to see Sampson’s house, man, but we really need to see that rug.”
Joey blew out a breath. “I don’t suppose you both have fingerprints on file?”
“I’m a PI, Joey—I know you know that. I’m actually bonded myself.”
Joey perked up. “And your buddy?”
“Ex-military,” Henry said hopefully, and Joey blew out a breath.
“I’ll take it. It might at least help me keep my business if this all goes south. I don’t suppose you brought work shirts with you?”
Jackson grinned. “Brown like yours?”
Joey was barely twenty-seven, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck made him look like a much older man. “Yes, Jackson. Brown, just like mine.”
“We have some in the car.” Jackson smiled with all his teeth to indicate this was not a coincidence.
“Augh!”
Jackson grabbed Henry and trotted toward the Lexus, wanting nothing more than to skip and cheer.
“So,” Henry said dubiously, “we’re going to clean houses?”
“Well, yeah! Do you think we’d get this chance to break and enter without doing some of the work?”
HALF AN hour later they were heading out in “Matilda,” whose engine was now purring like a kitten. “My office assistant, Sylvie, she makes out a list and a map for us every day. I’ve got two stops on the way to Sampson’s place. You guys are welcome to sit in the van and wank off if you like, but it’s cooler in the house, and the more you work, the faster we go, right?”
“Funny thing about being monogamous,” Jackson taunted. “Don’t need to wank off as much.”
“Has said no married man ever!” Joey chortled.
“’Cause he hasn’t been married to me,” Jackson returned, and his chest—
still a little tight after the excitement of the lead—gave a throb. He’d fuck Ellery until his eyeballs bled. He’d march into the bedroom every night, cock erect like a good soldier, if he knew Ellery would be his until death-do-us-part. The irony, maybe the true irony, of the flight of the expensive paperweight was Ellery thinking Jackson had to “take one for the team.” Imagining a happily ever after with Ellery was the most cherished dream Jackson had never given voice to. Not to Ellery, and barely to himself.
“You should be so lucky,” Henry muttered. “If Ellery Cramer ever asks to marry you, I suggest you jump on that horse and ride it into the fucking sunset.”
“Yeah, I know it. He’s out of my league.” Which was why it was a dream, right?
Joey snorted. “Shows how much you know, Major Mopey. Anyone who actually lands Jackson Rivers must have a genie in his lamp—or in his pocket. Either one is good.”
“And that’s a little personal—” Jackson protested, but Joey laughed and held up his hand.
“I’m just saying, Rivers. You’re hot, you’re funny, you’re a decent guy. I’m not sure what makes Ellery Cramer walk on water, but you could at least meet him halfway. Did Jackson ever tell you how he kept my sister out of jail?” he asked Henry.
Jackson grunted. “Please don’t. It’s not even like that—”
“So, Sandra was at a party, right? And she wasn’t doing anything, but she was passing the joint down the road. And the cops arrive, and suddenly she’s arrested like every other kid at the rave, and they get the blanket ‘Call your public defender’s office, here’s how you do cash bail’ speech. I’m in tears, right, because she’s my sister, and she’s a by-the-book sort of woman, and she’s freaking out because she’s wanted to be a teacher her entire life and having a conviction on your record makes that hard. So this boy, he researches law firms, right? And then he takes half the money from the settlement he earned by almost dying and walks us into the law offices of—fuck. Like Pflooey, Hammerstein, Whoever-the-hell, and Languish, and he lays out the case for them. He starts with how she was never drug tested, she was never seen actually holding any pot, she has no prior history, and he’s got statements—I didn’t even know he did this—where he went to six of the kids at the party, even some of the ones who’d been arrested and copped a plea, who all said that Sandra didn’t do that shit and were prepared to do extra time for it. And the douche—what was his name?”
Jackson smirked. “Carlyle Langdon,” he said, remembering the guy who had been his main contact at the firm until Ellery had pretty much dragged Jackson into his office and said, “Here, he will be mine and nobody else shall use him as a PI unless they clear it through me.”
“Anyway—that asshole. He looks at Rivers and says, ‘We need a PI. Are you certified yet?’ And Rivers goes, ‘I got three more months.’ And Languish, he says, ‘We’ll take the case if you take the job.’”
God. Not even Ellery knew that story. “Yeah. Well, your sister got off, and I got a job.”
“You still working for them?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, uh, me and Jade turned in our resignation letters after they let Ellery go.”
Henry chortled. “Oh my God! Now I’ve got a Rivers story, because I’ve seen their resignation letters, and it’s the funniest goddamned thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Henry launched into a lengthy, comic—and accurate—description of the picture of Jackson’s and Jade’s epic “I quit” notices, and Joey laughed like he was supposed to. But when he was done, he gave Jackson a sideways glance.
“So why did you do that again? And he keeps calling you scrawny. What in the hell, man. I saw you after a year in the hospital and you looked better than now.”
“They let Ellery go because he did the right thing,” Jackson said. “It wasn’t fair. Langdon said me and Jade could stay, but we didn’t want to.”
“So who are you working for now?”
“My lawyer,” Henry answered. “Ellery Cramer. But I get the impression it’s more of a partnership.”
Jackson shrugged. His name was on the business lease—but not on the doors, because he didn’t want to work without Ellery. “We’re good together,” he said, taking a deep breath. He was suddenly tired, which was weird. He’d slept well, gotten up, gone running with Ellery. He’d even had breakfast. Another deep breath. It didn’t matter. They had work to do, and Joey was right. The quicker they got done with the next house, the sooner they could move on to the “disposal” place Joey was using to clean and repurpose the rugs. Jackson had asked if Joey had noticed a giant bloodstain on the rug they’d taken to his cousin’s place two days ago, and Joey had rolled his eyes.
“No, but somebody had done a shitty job cleaning it and had ruined the pattern. I didn’t think blood—I thought wine. Until you, Rivers, until you.”
Jackson was reasonably certain that a good forensic team could find blood on a badly cleaned rug—but he needed more than that.
He needed proof of motive. What had led to Martin Sampson being thrown in a dumpster, and why frame Henry Worrall for it?
If nothing else, he was curious as hell.
He’d sunk into a slightly brooding silence when his phone rang. “Rivers.”
“Yeah, Jackson, this is Kryzynski. I got some shit for you. You got anything for me?”
Jackson grunted. “I might. Following a lead right now. I’ll tell you if it pans out. What do you have?”
Kryzynski grunted back. “You are legitimately the most closed-mouth motherfucker I have ever met. Jesus God, grow a spine and a set of lungs and join the rest of us in the evolution, cave boy!”
For a moment, Jackson’s mouth opened in shock, and then he let loose with a guffaw that filled the van. “Wow. Just… how long have you been sitting on that one, because it was fragrant and ripe when you let loose. I am impressed!”
“I live to flip your switch,” Kryzynski muttered. “Seriously, what’s it take?”
Jackson closed his eyes and realized that this time around, Kryzynski had been square with him. “Look, we don’t have proof of anything, but you need to do a deep dive into Ash Carver’s financials. Because all activity stops as of last year, and nobody’s heard from the guy since his son died.”
Kryzynski sucked in a breath. “And this has to do with Sampson’s death how?”
“For one thing, it establishes a pattern by Daddy Dearest. For another, I think all the doctors were in on a drug scam to fund their practice, which was failing because they were all a bunch of boneheads. Sampson went up the creek for possession a year and a half ago. He got out, and Daddy no longer thinks he walks on water. Then suddenly he’s dealing oxy and Ritalin—do you see where this is going?”
“Sort of. Anything else you’ve got that can make me want to throw up my dinner?”
“Yeah. Candy Cormier wanted Daddy’s business—his product and his distribution. I’m not sure if that was impetus for the murder or maybe just for the cover-up. If Sampson is up the river, no candy for Candy, you know?”
Kryzynski made a sound. “Okay, that brings me to what I was calling for.”
Jackson nodded as Joey turned right onto an absurdly small road off Fair Oaks Boulevard. He knew there were some nice houses back here, but he didn’t expect to go from happy suburb land to riverfront property quite so quickly.
“You need to hurry, Kryzynski. I’m about to go clean someone’s house.”
“Sampson’s?”
“Cool your jets. I’m helping a friend.”
He rolled his eyes when Joey flipped him off.
“Look, whatever you’re doing, be careful. Sternberg died in the hospital two nights ago….”
“Cock Cheese?” Jackson had been busy with flying paperweights. Yikes—busy week! “Couldn’t have happened to sweeter smegma.”
“Nice. But he died, and Ralph Gordon was found in a dumpster the next day. They just identified him this morning. Oh, and remember Herbert Dalton?”
Jackson ha
d to close his eyes. “The guy who broke into the porn kids’ house?”
“That’s our scumbag. Anyway, he got shanked in jail last night. He’s in the hospital, but it’s touch and go.”
Jackson closed his eyes hard and opened them and was disappointed when the view hadn’t changed.
“Candy Cormier does not like botched operations,” he muttered.
“Yeah, Rivers, and weirdly enough, your name has come up twice in those botchings. So half the department is getting ready to issue an arrest warrant on your guy, and the other half is scrambling to connect the dots between Martin Sampson and Candy Cormier. It’s a great time to be alive, but not for long!”
Jackson took a deep breath and tried to order his thoughts. “Okay. Let me know if they get the arrest warrant out. And I’ll let you know when we’ve got definitive proof that Robert Sampson is the missing link between Martin and Cormier. Are we good for trade here?”
“Yeah. We’re good. Are you tired or something? You sound out of breath.”
“I’m great,” Jackson said shortly. “Oh!” And Jesus, how could this be the last thing he’d thought about? “Do you have a guard detail on Ellery?” If Jackson’s name came up as a thorn in Cormier’s side, then Ellery’s would have too.
“We do now. Do you want me to tell him?”
“I’ll text him. But let us both know the minute that warrant is issued.”
“Will you tell us where you are then, so we can come get him?”
“Ouch!”
“What!” To his credit, Kryzynski sounded legitimately worried.
“I just rolled my eyes so hard, they popped out of my head!”
“Rivers….”
“Look, if we’re a heartbeat away from finding the goddamned proof that he’s innocent, I’m gonna find the proof that he’s innocent. Otherwise, we’ll talk. He’s innocent. You know it. I know it. Putting him in jail with the same guy who shanked Herbert the Pervert is not justice. Let’s do what we can to keep him out.”
