by Nolon King
She was a cop, sworn to uphold, not break the law. This went against everything she was supposed to believe in, everything she’d dedicated most of her adult life to. Upholding the legal code and doing the right thing had always meant so much to her, enough that she’d missed many of Ashley’s recitals and important moments. No first boyfriend or job, going off to college, or getting married and having a child of her own.
Her life had been stolen by Dodd. To uphold the law, she’d traded away so much of the only time she’d ever had with Ashley, and for what? Only to go full-on Death Wish?
Mal had affronted Ashley’s memory and felt disgusted with herself.
Her tears fell harder.
Just take some pills and make the pain go away!
You sure as hell have enough of them!
An explosion of thunder made her jump with memories of Dodd, the gunshot, and a rising panic inside her. She could see his eyes as clear as if she were looking into them now — the way he stared at her like she was his possession. Looked at Jessi in the same exact way.
Like Tommy’s eyes when he threatened Maggie.
Fuck you, Tommy. You don’t own her.
She mopped at her tears, like the wipers on her windshield clearing the rain.
Mal could barely see through the window it was raining so hard.
Then it hit her — she could barely see out her window.
She finally had enough cover to plant the drugs in Tommy’s car.
Rain pounded as she climbed out of her car, heart racing and adrenaline pumping as she went to work.
She’d parked next to Tommy’s Camaro so she didn’t have far to go. It was easy to unlock with a slim Jim. He didn’t even have an alarm. She opened his door and pressed her finger on the switch to keep his light from turning on.
Mal wasn’t sure how long she had, so she hid the drugs behind the glove compartment, one of the first places cops would look, one Tommy wasn’t likely to check.
She closed the compartment, used a rag to wipe the rainwater off the seat and the door. When it became obvious she couldn’t get it all, she lowered the window an inch to explain the water.
Mal closed his door, peered over the Camaro to make sure nobody was looking, then got in her car. She drove away, laughing to herself.
Finally, something worked out!
The next day she would pay one of her old informants to place an anonymous call to the Jacksonville Crime Stoppers tip line to rat him out. A concerned mother who saw him dealing at a playground, maybe even say she’s reported him to park officials and nobody had done shit so she was thinking about going to the news. That should light a fire under their asses.
With any luck, Tommy would be in jail by the end of the day.
Sure, Mal had violated her principles, and maybe tainted Ashley’s memory, but the sacrifice meant Maggie and her daughter might stand a fighting chance.
Chapter 30 - Spider
Spider was finding it hard to work. Her finger was throbbing even more than yesterday, and she was still trying to abstain from Clark’s painkillers.
She had collected six so far and hoped that would be enough to make him pass out. She would have had two more, but half an hour ago, just after a late dinner, she’d finally surrendered and swallowed a pair of them.
Now she was feeling fuzzy.
Clark was sitting beside her, looking over the code she’d written for a script to route brute-force attempts to the registrar from multiple IP addresses. BlackBriar had access to a bot network that could get the job done, but it wasn’t a sure bet. Any number of things could go wrong. Even if they somehow managed to get login info for the domain she was trying to access, it still might not be the right one.
Victor would probably take another finger, or worse, if they botched this.
Clark looked over the code as she checked a fresh batch of email, on yet another account, searching for anything that might lead to the domain.
He sighed as he closed his eyes and squeezed his temples. It was the first sign of exhaustion, or any cracks, since Victor lopped off the end of her finger.
“You okay?”
“Just a headache.” He unscrewed his thermos, refilled with coffee ten minutes earlier.
“Why don’t you take one of your pills?”
“Nah, it’ll be okay.” He took a swig then returned to his monitor.
Clark looked so serious. For some reason, that made her start to giggle.
“What?” His brow furrowed.
“Nothing.”
“What?” Clark repeated.
“Just … I dunno, you look soooo serious. You remind me of my Dad this one time when I was four or five and I said the F-word for the first time. He was mad at me, but then Mom started laughing and couldn’t stop. They both tried to put on such serious faces, even though it was hilarious.”
“You’re high.” He stared at Spider with barely any expression, sounding almost disappointed.
“You should try some, they’ll help your headache. They’re really good.”
He rolled his eyes and ignored her, which only made her laugh harder. The left corner of his mouth twitched, ever so slightly, creating a dimple.
“Oh, my God, you have such cute dimples.”
Clark ignored her, staring at the screen.
She reached up and went to touch his dimple to see if it would be hard or squishy.
He turned, eyes intense, and grabbed her wrist hard, scaring her. “Don’t touch me!”
Spider pulled her hand away, feeling hurt. And scared. Suddenly, she was crying, way more than she should be. The pills were making her too damned emotional. “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at the table. “It’s okay.”
She wiped at her tears, embarrassed and hopeless. As she reached for the Sprite, an idea came to her. So she fumbled with the bottle then spilled it all over the table and her lap.
Clark leapt from his seat, checking to make sure the laptops were still dry. “Be careful!”
Spider cried again, or rather faked it. Time to set her plan in motion. “I’m sorry, I’m just … just feeling woozy. I … I need to puke.” She rolled her wheelchair to the bathroom. After slammed the door behind her, she pretended to retch then flushed the toilet to disguise the lack of vomit hitting the water.
She kept making noises as she grabbed the pills from her pocket, wrapped in a piece of foil from one of Clark’s muffins. She placed the foil on the toilet seat, then reached into her other pocket and grabbed the spoon she’d taken, mashing the pills and grinding the spoon back and forth on the foil as she kept pretending to vomit.
Clark came to the door after a few minutes. “You okay in there?”
Spider froze, hoping he wouldn’t open the door and catch her grinding the pills to a powder.
“Yeah,” she said, making herself sound as pathetic as possible.
She flushed again, then checked the powder, pressing her fingers into the foil to make sure they were ground to dust. Then she carefully folded the foil and slipped it into her pocket before tucking the spoon into her other one.
Spider went to the sink, splashed water over her eyes and face, then rolled to the door. She opened it to find Clark looking at her with either concern or suspicion.
Her heart raced. If he reached into her pocket and found the powder, he’d probably kill her himself. He’d warned her there would be no more warnings. And though he wasn’t as cruel as Victor, the man clearly meant business.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I … think I probably took one pill too many.”
“It’s okay. We’ll just give you one at a time.”
She made a disgusted face. “Now all I taste is vomit. Can I get another Sprite?”
He studied her again.
He’s on to you. He’s gonna call bullshit then search you!
You are SO fucked, kid.
“You want something for your stomach?”
“If there’s any bread?”
“I
’ll check.”
Spider only needed two more things to happen for her plan to work. For him to leave his thermos with her and for him to drink from it again when he returned — without tasting the medicine.
If any of those prerequisites went wrong, she was fucked.
Clark headed toward the door then paused in front of his seat.
Don’t grab it. Don’t grab it.
“Hey,” she said, drawing his attention.
He looked at her, his expression still rattling her nerves. “Yes?”
“Can you see if they have that banana walnut bread?” Spider looked down as if her question was shameful, as if she was pushing her luck.
He almost smiled. “Okay.”
And then he walked out the door, leaving his thermos behind.
Yes!
Spider waited for the door to swing shut then rolled to the table. She grabbed the foil packet and was transferring it to the other hand when it fell.
Fuck!
She reached down, but it had fallen under her wheelchair. Spider rolled back until she saw it beneath her but an angle that required her to adjust the chair before she could reach it. As she was leaning over, the door opened behind her.
Fuck, fuck!
Spider turned and looked up, feeling like she’d been caught red-handed, fully expecting to find Clark staring at her and the foil packet.
But it wasn’t him.
It was one of the men whose names she didn’t know. A young blond with frightening eyes.
“Where is Clark?” he asked in a thick German accent.
“Um,” Spider was speechless, every word failing her.
The man stared into her deception, as if he could see the scheming all over her lying face.
“Um, he went to get a drink,” Spider said, relieved that her tongue finally decided to obey.
He looked at her like she was stupid, shook his head, then left, letting the door close behind him.
She grabbed the foil packet, then reached for the thermos. She didn’t have much time, especially if the German wanted Clark to do something for him now. Sometimes the men came to him about their phone and laptop tech issues, stupid shit that anybody with half a brain could figure out on their own.
Spider unscrewed the thermos then poured the powder in, hoping it would be enough to knock him out without killing him. She wouldn’t mind Victor taking an eternal nap, but Clark had shown enough kindness to keep her from wanting him dead.
She stirred the still warm coffee, hoping its heat wouldn’t destroy the efficacy of the pills — assuming they would do what she needed them to.
She twisted the thermos cap back on and put it back where she found it.
Just as Spider was slipping the spoon into her pocket, the door opened behind her.
She turned to see Clark carrying something wrapped in foil and another bottle of Sprite.
“Thank you.” She smiled as he set them in front of her.
She saw a splash of coffee on the desk as she reached for them, then placed the foil-wrapped food on top of it, hoping he hadn’t seen the coffee. She took the Sprite, opened the bottle, then drank nervously.
Clark sat next to where the coffee spot was hidden by the food.
She hoped he wouldn’t move it or open it for her.
He returned to work instead. Spider sipped, waiting for him to take a swallow of coffee.
“You gonna eat?” Clark finally asked.
“Just waiting to make sure I’m not gonna puke again.”
He reached for his thermos. “Okay.”
Her heart went into overdrive as he unscrewed the cap and raised it to his mouth.
Oh, God, he’s gonna smell it or taste it and he’s gonna know. He’ll say, “You tried to poison me after I got you banana walnut bread?” Then he’ll pull out his gun and kill me.
Because they really don’t need me now, do they?
He swallowed and winced.
Shit, shit, shit.
Then he looked at her, his eyes still suspicious.
“Did the German dude find you?”
He set the thermos down. “Yeah.”
She went back to work, the next several minutes feeling like an eternity while waiting for him to either drink more coffee, pass out, or call her on the deception.
Clark cleared his throat. “Well, if you don’t want this.” He reached for the banana walnut bread.
Her hand shot out. She covered the splash with her sleeve then pressed hard against the table as she pulled her arm back, hoping to mop the coffee with her sleeve.
He opened the bread, tore off a small piece, then ate it. He smiled and passed the rest of it back to her.
“Thank you.” She took a piece and put it in her mouth.
Spider could hardly taste anything over the metallic taste of fear on her tongue.
“Mm, this is good,” he said. “Mind?”
She passed the bread back to him to have another bite.
He washed that bite down with more coffee.
Yes, buddy, drink up.
Spider kept working, waiting for something to happen.
After another forty minutes, she noticed that Clark was slumped over. She leaned toward him, making sure he was still breathing. He was, but it didn’t seem like he’d be opening his eyes any time soon.
She could finally contact her hacker friends and ask for help.
But gunshots exploded outside before she could.
Chapter 31 - Jasper Parish
Jasper waited in the dark woods with Jordyn and four of Logic’s soldiers for hire.
Four teams of five were stationed around the compound, waiting for the order to GO from the man next to Jasper. His name was Larry Coombs, ex-Army. He was in his forties, tall and thin, wiry yet athletic. His afro was short and graying. Wire-rimmed glasses gave him a professorial look.
“So,” Jasper said as Larry waited on one of his men to report back to him, “how many of these guys have your kind of experience?”
Larry shook his head. “About six of ’em I brought in from around the state, a couple from Georgia. Rest are from the streets. Good with guns, but they don’t necessarily have practice with shit like this.”
Jasper was glad, and slightly surprised, to hear that there were six capable men ready and willing to take on a job like this with him, but he was concerned about the less skilled players. “I want to be sure they don’t go in there guns blazing and get Spider killed.”
“My guy sent a drone into the AC ducts and located her in the rear west bedroom on the bottom floor. We’ll keep firefights to a minimum and try not to engage until we’ve secured the target. You and me will go in on the west flank after Carl and Jack take out the closest two guards.”
Larry got on the radio with one of his men while Jordyn pulled Jasper aside. She looked pale, almost ghostly, especially under the icy moonlight.
“I have a bad feeling.”
“What is it?” Jasper asked.
“Remember how I said the dominoes would fall and there’d be nothing we could do? I think this is it.” Jordyn pulled her purple hoodie tighter then cradled herself. “Please be careful, Daddy.”
She rarely added the dy to Dad. Only when feeling vulnerable. It reminded him of the times when Jordyn was little and she’d come to her parents’ bedroom during a bad storm or after a nightmare. On one hand, he was overwhelmed by nostalgia when she called him “Daddy,” but on the other, he hated to hear the fear in her voice.
“Don’t worry, Jordyn, it’ll all work out.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, but I do know shit isn’t predestined. We can always change our fate. It’s when we give up, when we don’t fight — that’s when fate wins. I refuse to give in and do nothing.”
Jordyn shook her head then looked down, signaling that she was done discussing it.
She would sulk, instead. And as much as he loved his daughter and wanted to hug her and promise everything would be okay, they didn’t
have time for him to comfort her anxiety.
Larry was walking toward him.
“It’s time,” he said.
Chapter 32 - Mallory Black
Mal sat in the NA meeting room curled into a ball in her seat, wearing blue jeans, a black shirt, and a green Army-styled jacket that went perfectly with her hat. She couldn’t focus on a thing people were saying. She felt underwater as she waited for the door to open and for Maggie to step through it.
The meeting seemed to go on forever. By the end, Maggie still hadn’t showed.
Mal ignored every attempt at small talk then traded the meeting room for the parking lot.
Headlights doused her. She looked up to see Tommy’s Camaro.
The passenger side door opened, then Maggie got out.
Mal was confused as Maggie approached, eyes puffy and red.
“Tommy wants to talk to you.”
Shit. This can’t be good.
Mal glanced toward the car but couldn’t see him beyond the glare from obnoxiously bright Xenons that practically blinded her.
“Wants to talk to both of us,” Maggie added.
“Okay, have him step out of the car.”
“He wants to talk somewhere more private, in the car.”
He found the drugs.
Mal followed her to the car.
Maggie offered the front seat, but Mal insisted on sitting in back, so she could reach for her piece if Tommy tried anything.
She climbed into the back of the car.
“Where’s Emma?” Mal asked as Maggie got in.
“Don’t worry about her. My daughter ain’t none of your concern.” Tommy turned and glared at her, his eyes venomous, then past her as he peeled out of the lot.
Mal buckled her seatbelt and adjusted her jacket, putting her gun in easier reach.
Tommy glanced at her in the rearview. “I found your little present behind the glove compartment.”
Fuck.
“So, thank you for that.”
Mal stayed silent. No point in denying or arguing. She’d wait and see where the conversation was going.
“My only question is did my wife know what you were trying to do?”
