No Stopping

by Nolon King

  She considered ignoring Gloria’s call, but her boss was the persistent breed of pain in the ass that would surely show up at her door. Mal didn’t want Gloria seeing her like this — strung out on pills, yet again.

  “Morning,” she answered, though it was one in the afternoon.

  “I’m downstairs in the restaurant. We need to talk.”

  Downstairs? Fuck.

  “You couldn’t call first?”

  “I’ve been calling all morning.”

  “I need to shower. Give me fifteen minutes?”

  “See you then.”

  Mal found Gloria sitting alone in a corner booth of the hotel’s restaurant. She was sipping on a soda but not eating. Her shades were large and dark, probably to hide the circles under her eyes, and her hair was pulled back tight into a bun. She greeted Mal with a sarcastic, “Good morning.”

  Mal sat with all the enthusiasm of a student called to the principal’s office for a proper scolding. She hated feeling like a two-legged disappointment.

  The server, an older woman named Roberta, came over to take her order.

  She smiled. “Hey, Mallory. What can I get you today?”

  “You want some coffee?” Gloria asked.

  She knows I’m high or hung over. Or both.

  “No, I’ll take a Coke.” Mal wasn’t hungry, but she was also afraid pills on an empty stomach might make her sick, so she ordered a piece of cinnamon cake, one of the restaurant’s specialties, and something she could pick at without getting any more nauseated.

  “So, how are you?” Gloria asked once the server had left.

  “Okay. How are you?”

  Gloria removed the shades, revealing her exhausted eyes and worried expression. Something was off. “Have you seen the news?”

  Mal’s first instinct was to worry someone had discovered what she’d done to the rapist. She didn’t think he told the cops what happened, but …

  Maybe he’s dead?

  She didn’t want another death on her hands. Paul Dodd was one thing — that man was a murderer. But so far as she knew, Eddie hadn’t killed anyone. Why hadn’t she checked the news? She braced for the worse and tried for a nonchalant expression and tone. “No. What’s up?”

  Gloria slid her phone across the table.

  The screen displayed Cameron Ford’s blog, Creek County Confidential, and a post with the title, Where Are Calum Kozack and Brianna Gilchrest? A Tale of Incompetence at Creek County Sheriff’s Office.

  Mal skimmed the article — a hit piece based on Oliver Kozack’s wanting to know where his missing son and the other girl were.

  Gloria looked around. You could never be too careful in public. “Did your friend have anything to do with their disappearances?”

  My ‘friend,’ Jasper.

  Fuck.

  Gloria knew he was alive, and that Jasper was the prime, though unnamed, suspect for Wes Richards’s murder. She’d never said anything yet about liking him for Calum and Brianna’s disappearances, but Mal’s boss had been an excellent deputy before becoming Sheriff. She would eventually stitch two and two together.

  Following Jordyn Parish’s death, her father had complained to the sheriff’s office about how Calum Kozack was responsible for his daughter’s suicide. He wanted an investigation, but the District Attorney’s office never pressed charges. Jasper was obviously a suspect, but he wasn’t on anyone else’s radar because nobody knew he was alive. He’d faked his death long before Calum or Brianna disappeared.

  “I don’t know. It’s not like he ever volunteered information to me.”

  “Where are you on locating him?” Gloria asked.

  Shit. Shit.

  She looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to be listening in, or worse, recording their conversation. “He was in Mexico.”

  “What? Did you tell the Feds?”

  “No,” Mal said.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because it doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Paul Dodd killed him.”

  “What?”

  “He died saving me. I left him out of it because, well, it would’ve needlessly complicated things.”

  “God damn it. It wasn’t your call to make, Mal.”

  “I’d say it’s for the best. It would be clusterfuck if word got out about him. Right now, they’re frustrated, but they don’t have any suspects.”

  Gloria breathed a long sigh. “How sure are you he’s dead?”

  Mal wanted to say one hundred percent, but if Jasper showed up later, Gloria would know that she’d lied to her face.

  “I don’t remember much, Gloria. I was pretty out of it. One of the people there said he was among the dead, but I dunno. I don’t think you need to worry about him popping up out of nowhere.”

  “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right. Otherwise, our old boss will bury us all.”

  “They’ve got nothing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “A druggie loser and his girl took off, so far as anyone knows. Happens all the time. He was into some super shady shit.”

  “Yeah, but—” Gloria looked around again. “What if someone finds them?”

  Finds their bodies.

  “I want you on the case,” Gloria finished.

  “What?”

  “I want you to work it. Meet with the man.” She was careful not to use Oliver Kozack’s name out loud. ”Meet him, work him, let him know he’s being heard.”

  “And what happens when I can’t solve the case? He’ll still be pissed.”

  “It’s optics. Right now, you’re the golden child. They can come after me, but you just saved Jessi Price. Again. You survived the unimaginable. Twice. Coming after you will only make them look awful.”

  “Ford was releasing videos of me just a couple of weeks ago, talking about what a damned train wreck I was. Did you forget or think it’s gonna stop?”

  “What you’ve been through, it’s bought you time.”

  Mal shook her head. “How do you do this?”

  “What?”

  “Swim in these political waters so easily? Playing the game, manipulating perceptions? Don’t you … don’t you feel dirty?”

  “The game is the game, Mal. I don’t make the rules. But I have to believe the good I can do is worth playing by their rules, whether I like them or not. What’s the alternative? Give up and let a corrupt piece of shit back in power? You remember what it was like under him. How he and his cronies treated you, treated all women. And people of color.”

  Mal nodded.

  Things were hell under the former sheriff. Barry was corrupt, crime was rampant, and he was complicit in a lot of shit. Not to mention the abusive deputies operating under his watch. Creek County was one more innocent black man being beaten or shot away from a riot. Gloria had cleaned things up. The crime rate was down and scads of innocents weren’t fearing for their lives. Things were better for everyone, except for some of the corrupt players that had to shift their dirty deeds out of the area. Barry’s reelection would make things bad for those who already had them worst.

  Even still, the politics always made Mal feel sick to her stomach. “Why’s this getting press when Victor Forbes is still walking free?”

  “The feds talked to him and cleared him. So far as anyone knows, Anders was behind it all.”

  “His second in charge had me and Jessi Price kidnapped and was working with an organized pedophile and sex trafficking ring — you think Victor’s clean?”

  “It’s not my case,” Gloria said. “It’s out of my hands. And I’m sure if there’s something on him, justice will be served.”

  “Ha. Justice.”

  “Listen, Mal, I know this has been rough on you. And if you’re not ready, fine. But I could use a favor here.”

  Mal shook her head. “I’m … I’m not sure I’m ready to come back yet.”

  “Are you using again?” Gloria asked, pursing her lips.

  Something abou
t the weight of that question got tears welling up in Mal’s eyes.

  “They drugged me, Gloria. Heroin. I was clean. I’d kicked it, but … between that and the nightmares and everything that happened, it’s been hard.”

  Gloria was quiet for a long moment. Mal wasn’t sure if her boss was sad for her, disappointed, or angry that Mal had relapsed.

  “I’m sorry you went through all that,” Gloria said. “And I understand.”

  “Have Mike handle it. People love him. And he’s untouchable.”

  Her partner was a good man, the kind of guy born to do this job. He’d started as a beat cop where all the old ladies loved him, then went on to school resource officer where all the moms, dads, and teachers sang his praises, then eventually detective where he had an excellent closure rate. Hell, Mike could run for sheriff if he wasn’t even more averse to politicking than Mal.

  Gloria gathered her bag and left cash on the table. “Well, thank you, Mal. Please, take care. We need you better.” She slipped on her shades and left in a hurry. Maybe Gloria was close to breaking down with all this bullshit. Or maybe she was pissed Mal had made a mess of herself yet again.

  Mal looked down at her barely touched cake and sighed, feeling even worse than when she’d woken up. Not only was she suffering from a migraine, she was a big disappointment who couldn’t even help her boss.

  Fucking addict.

  She was ready to burst. She needed someone to talk to but didn’t want to burden Mike. Didn’t want to talk to the therapist the sheriff’s office suggested, at least not right now. She didn’t even have friends anymore. Could probably call Tim Brentwood, the narcotics officer and her one-night stand in Jacksonville. He’d been leaving messages for a while. He was kind and not like most of the other cops she knew. But the last thing she wanted was awkward conversation about why she’d not called back. Or worse, awkward sex.

  Mal was all alone.

  She needed to get to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.

  Sobriety was a lonely battle, and sometimes it felt good just to be in a room with other people struggling — even if those people were oftentimes more ruined than her. Something about being in a group would help her right now. It would help her feel less alone.

  She wanted to go to her home group, where she’d known a few people, but it was in town, and now that Mal was back in the news, she didn’t want to deal with the stares. Or risk someone recording her there.

  So Mal would have to find a meeting out of town.

  Chapter 4 - Victor Forbes

  Victor’s arms were shaking as he raised the weights over his chest and let them clang safely back onto the rack.

  Exhausted, he trudged from the bench in his home gym to the rowing machine then grabbed his phone off the seat to see if his sister had responded to his encrypted message yet.

  But still no word from Veronica.

  Had they already gotten to her? Taken her somewhere until this all blew over, to ensure he obeyed his masters?

  Or was his sister already dead?

  He shook the thought from his mind while walking from the gym to his bathroom. After disrobing, he stepped into the shower. Left the water ice cold, as usual, then began to soap up.

  Veronica was all they had left to hold over him. There was always torture, of course, but his capacity for pain was legendary. At least when it came to the physical stuff.

  He cursed himself for not being better prepared. Since childhood, he’d always been ready for the worst. At first, he’d trained his mind and body to deal with bullies until they were scared of him. Then he prepped for military service — denying himself creature comforts while exposing himself to harsh conditions, pain, and starvation … anything to make him stronger than the enemy.

  Once he’d realized his days were numbered as an enlisted man, Victor set his mind to becoming the shrewdest of entrepreneurs. He got close to the right people, found a way in with BlackBriar, then rose up the ranks to CEO.

  But Victor now realized he’d stagnated in his job, grown too comfortable. He’d stopped preparing for the worst. Yes, he had money, weapons, and a few safe houses, but he’d foolishly not thought ahead to secure his mother or sister.

  The people he worked for had no qualms when it came to killing innocents. Victor had overseen enough missions to know that all enemies, and their families, were the fairest of game. And he knew enough about the most powerful men and women in this country, and others, that he’d become a threat to them and the power structure that held them aloft.

  If he couldn’t contain the threat, then Victor became The Enemy as well.

  Enemies of BlackBriar, and the group behind it, were never allowed to exist for long. And no enemy was too powerful to put down. King or soldier, capo or warlord, there was nobody they couldn’t get to.

  Even if Victor could do what they wanted and secure the information before it got out, would they allow him to live?

  He had to figure something out.

  Victor got out of the shower. As he dressed, a call came through on his encrypted line.

  “Check your Pentz accounts,” said The Raven.

  Panic swelled in his chest as Victor logged in. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but knew it couldn’t be good.

  He logged in on his phone and stared at the zero balance, stifling a scream, trying to maintain his composure.

  Was this their attempt to make sure he didn’t leave?

  Were they going to use the money to keep him in line? Another insurance policy in case he didn’t give a fuck about his sister?

  He drew the deepest of breaths. If Victor lost his shit in front of The Raven, the man would know just how close to the edge he actually was.

  “Where’s my money?”

  “You might want to ask him,” The Raven said.

  “Who?”

  His messenger buzzed.

  Victor looked down at an incoming photo, a man in a ski mask, roughly the same size and build of the irritant who had dismantled the Mexico operation.

  “What is this?”

  “The man who just robbed your accountant. Before killing him.”

  “What?” Victor asked.

  “I’m following him.” The Raven hung up.

  With the line dead, Victor finally screamed.

  Chapter 5 - Jasper Parish

  Jasper pulled up to the two-story tenement in the Butler projects just after midnight.

  No surprise, there were still people awake, loitering in the parking lot, smoking, drinking, and probably selling drugs. Loud bass shook the ground. He could feel it in his bones, coming from a lowrider with purple neon glowing underneath it.

  I really wish she’d move from this damned place.

  He got out of his car and felt all the angry stares. Mostly men, but also a few women casting their raging gazes on him. No visible weapons, but most of the crowd was probably packing.

  A trio of men stopped him as he approaching the front doors of the apartment complex. Two were buff, in sleeveless tees with lots of ink. The third, walking between them, looked barely eighteen. He was a pipsqueak, around five-six, and wore thick black-framed glasses, a hoodie the color of a bruise, black cargos, and yellow Nikes with a bright purple stripe.

  “You come ’round here a lot,” said the little guy, “yet I don’t know who you are.”

  Jasper met the young man’s eyes with a nod. “Just visiting a friend.”

  The man leaned forward and sniffed the air. “You smell like cop.”

  “Yeah, it’s a new cologne I got, le Bacon,” Jasper said, mimicking a French accent. “It helps me get out of speeding tickets.”

  The man didn’t smile. Nor did his buddies.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked one of the big dudes, lifting his shirt to show his holster and the weapon inside it.

  Jasper considered his options. This could escalate fast. He could take a few of them out, but doing so would surely get him killed, or at the very least, he’d have so many cops descending on
this place that Spider’s activities would likely be discovered.

  Best to keep things quiet, play respectful to this little corner kingpin.

  Jasper held up his palms to show he meant no harm. “I’m a friend of Spider’s. Just passing through.”

  “Yo, Logic, he’s cool,” said a young man emerging from the entrance — Tyrell, the same young man in the tight black tee and skull cap who’d greeted him on his earlier visits.

  “Yo, Professor Xavier.” Tyrell greeted Jasper with a smile. “Spider’s expecting you.”

  Jasper turned to Logic. “We good?”

  Logic looked him up and down. “Yeah, we good.” He and his guys backed off, as Jasper and Jordyn followed Tyrell into the building.

  “What’s his deal?” Jasper asked.

  “That’s Logic. You do not want to fuck with him. He’s a’ight if you cool, though. Just protective of this place like he should be.”

  They took the stairs, following Tyrell to Spider’s apartment.

  Three quick knocks followed by two spaced apart, then another three fast ones. The door buzzed, then Tyrell waved them through. As the door closed behind them, he stayed in the hall, either standing guard or simply waiting to escort Jasper to his car.

  Kim, one of Spider’s friends and part of her security team, was in the living room. She was small, a twenty-three-year-old mixed-race girl, part Thai and part black. Her hair looked like cotton candy, dyed in shades of bright pink and blue, and she wore a pink-and-white track suit. She was seated at a table rolling a joint, her pistol at the ready.

  She nodded. “Hey, Professor, how’s life treatin’ you?”

  “Good. And yourself?”

  She licked the joint then lit it. “All good. She’s in the back, waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.” Jasper walked toward the computer-filled room. The door was ajar, and he could see Spider inside, seated in her wheelchair, typing at a laptop.

  “Be with you in a sec,” she said, click-clacking even faster than Jordyn texted on her phone.

  Spider finished whatever she was doing, drank from her large flask, then smiled. “Hey, Professor. What’s up?”