Vice (Tortured Heroes Book 1)

by Jayne Blue

  He looked around the corner. When he turned back to me he stuck out his hand. I palmed a twenty into his and he slapped me on the shoulder again. He walked into the bar and I stayed put. One more drag, then I ground my cigarette out against the wall and threw the butt in the dumpster.

  It only took him five minutes to come back. So either he had a stash somewhere on the premises or somebody else did. My heart sank. I’d been hoping some car would pull up. But the shit was right fucking here. In the bar. Kinney said she wasn’t the connection, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved. I wanted to rule Devin out so badly, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Dammit.

  I made buys the next three nights. Same amount. I hinted to Kinney I was looking to score something bigger. He kept his face even but didn’t exactly blow me off. I decided to take that as progress.

  Devin was something else altogether. I kept my distance and I could tell by the hurt look in her eyes she knew something was off between us. I played it off, told her I was just trying to honor our agreement to keep things professional. If she was the distributor for her uncle, she had to know I’d reached out to Kinney. But there was still an innocence about the way she acted around me. I’m good at reading people. It’s how I’ve survived. But this girl had me completely mystified.

  At the end of the week it was time to meet with Stan Lewandowski again. He picked a coffee shop on Front Street on the other side of town. This time he didn’t come alone. My body went rigid as I stood in the doorway of the coffee shop. Stan had picked a corner booth and sat facing me. Beside him was another guy, about my age, mid-thirties. Blond hair, broad shoulders, and steel gray eyes that scanned the room. Another cop for sure. Dressed in casual street clothes. A dark blue golf shirt and khakis. But he had that telltale broad-shouldered posture. As I got closer, I saw the bulge beneath his shirt on his right hip where he had his weapon holstered.

  I didn’t like it one damn bit. The more people who knew about me and this operation, the harder it would be to keep it contained. I trusted Stan but only so far. He should have given me a heads up.

  Stan waved two fingers. I cocked my head to the side and gave him a terse nod back. Then I walked past the rows of red leather booths and sat down opposite Stan and his companion.

  “This is Detective Mitch Gates. Computer Crimes. He’s one of mine. Mitch, Jase Reddick.”

  I dropped my shoulders at the introduction. So Gates knew my real name too. I sure fucking hoped Stan’s judgment was solid on this. Gates reached across the table and shook my hand in a firm grip. He didn’t crack a smile but stared hard at me, before his eyes flicked to Stan. “Reddick?”

  I nodded and leaned back in my seat.

  “You related to Colt Reddick?” Gates asked. So far, he wasn’t doing much to put me at ease. I braced myself for another load of shit about Colt’s connections to the Great Wolves MC. But then Gates surprised me.

  “Your brother’s really started to turn things around in Lincolnshire, hasn’t he? Word I’m hearing the club’s gone legit and the waterfront area down there is really cleaned up.”

  “Yeah. Not everybody sees it that way.”

  Gates raised a brow. “It’s not easy changing people’s opinions of you, is it? Most of ’em see what they want to see.”

  I caught Stan’s eye. He was smiling and gave me a quick nod that seemed to convey “I told you so” about Mitch Gates. Okay, so he’d just said the right thing. That didn’t mean I was ready to trust him with my life.

  The waitress came by with a pot of coffee. I had her fill my cup to the brim and passed on the cream and sugar. I waved off the menu. This needed to be a short visit. The longer I was out in public with the Chief of Police, the greater the risk. I was taking a fat lot on faith today from Stan.

  “I trust Mitch,” Stan said, sensing everything swirling in my mind. “You can too. We’re going to need his help with this. I’ve filled him in on the outlines of what’s going on. You got anything new to add?”

  I scratched my chin with my thumb and took a shallow sip of the steaming coffee. It was good and strong and my fourth cup of the morning. I brought Stan and now Mitch up to speed on the last week and a half. A question hung in the air between us. Stan stirred his coffee with a fork then set it down on the table with a clang.

  “You think the girl’s the distributor?”

  His question landed over my shoulders with a thud. I hated even thinking it, but I knew it had to be dealt with. “I don’t know. That’s the God’s honest truth. But I gotta tell you, my gut says no. She’s smart. Hard working. Everything about her just seems legit. She’s trying to put a solid business together the right way. Her running an operation for her uncle, I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me. When I asked Anthony Kinney about her, he steered me away from her as quick as he could. That counts for something.”

  I didn’t like the look that passed between Gates and Stan. In fact, I kind of wanted to punch Gates in the face just then. It must have shown on my face because Gates smiled and held up his hands in surrender. In that moment, I started to like him a little better. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t have still punched him in the face.

  Mitch leaned back in his seat. “Look, I don’t know you like Stan does. But we know the uncle’s the supplier. We know he’s moving a lot of product through that bar. Chief brought me in for a couple of reasons. One of them being a fresh set of ears. You mind running me through what you have other than your gut feeling and one offhanded comment from a low-level dealer?”

  The urge to punch him outweighed the growing respect just then. “They’re protective of her,” I said. I hadn’t preplanned it, but the instant the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d hit on a big piece of why my gut told me what it did about her. “The bartender, Kinney. The one who’s been hooking me up. Whenever anything remotely shady’s about to go down, he gets her the hell out of the way. And it’s not just him. The rest of them too. And I’ve never seen any secretive conversations between them. It’s all been straight. Just about regular bar business.”

  Gates nodded and another look passed between him and Stan. “That’s one of the other main reasons I wanted Gates in on this,” Stan said. “I think maybe it’s time to come at this from more than one direction.”

  Gates reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small black plastic square. A flash drive with a small silver data port sticking out of one corner. He slid it across the table to me. My heart twisted knowing full damn well what they wanted from me. I knew it was the job, but it was starting to feel like a betrayal. As much as I hated to admit it, it meant Stan was right about bringing in a new set of ears.

  “You want a phone dump?” I said, picking up the small device.

  Gates and Stan nodded in unison. “If you can,” Stan said. “Don’t do anything risky, Jase. No unnecessary chances. I mean it.”

  “For Devin.” I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat.

  Gates took the drive back from me and pointed to the data port. “You just stick this in her phone. Hit the execute button when it pops up on the screen. Shouldn’t take more than a minute for the data transfer. That’s it. Should be a piece of cake.”

  “Sure,” I said, feeling like a first-class asshole. “Piece of cake.”

  “Look,” Stan said. “We’re all grownups here. I get it, Jase. You like this girl. Hell, I like this girl. That bar is one of the reasons the Old North End isn’t the shithole it used to be. The neighborhood is changing back. Businesses are looking to invest down there for the first time in a generation. It sickens me to think what we’re doing might bring all that crashing back down. But that’s only in the short term. Long term, cleaning up down there, putting Cy Fucking Marsh out of business and behind bars for good is the only way Northpointe is going to survive. And I hope you’re right. I hope Devin’s clean. Hell, I’m praying for it.”

  Gates put his hand on Stan’s forearm to quiet him. The old guy was starting to raise his voice and pretty soon we’d dr
aw stares. “It’s not conclusive,” Gates said. “Her phone might come back clean even if she is the one moving product. But this information might help put your mind at ease about her. If she’s really in the dark about all of this, this will be one way to help prove that and clear her.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  Stan frowned and ran his beefy fingers across his brow. “If it doesn’t, then we’ll bring her in. She knows what’s good for her, she rolls on the uncle. If she doesn’t, then she can have the fucking jail cell right next to his.”

  My heart thundered in my chest. He was right. I hated that he was right. But I had to know the truth about Devin, once and for all.

  Chapter Nine

  Devin

  Once a month, Uncle Cy had me over for dinner. He cooked exactly one thing but he did it better than anyone. Spaghetti with meatballs. I brought the garlic bread. Growing up, it had been a much larger affair. My father. Mandy. Even my mother. Though my grandparents were long gone, every once in a while a great aunt or uncle would show up as well.

  These monthly Sunday dinners at Cy’s house were among the few consistent memories I had of my mother growing up. In my preschooler mind, I remember her wearing fancy, colorful dresses and I sat on the floor looking up at her in awe as she carefully applied lipstick and false eyelashes for the occasion. She was beautiful, my mother, with dark hair like mine and high cheekbones. She looked like a movie star or a model in my eyes. Cy owned the only photograph I knew of her and he kept it in a frame on the baby grand piano in his living room that no one ever played. It was my parents’ wedding portrait. She was tall and lithe in a silk sheath dress, resting her head on my father’s shoulder. He was looking down at her with an expression of love and wonder, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

  But now it was just the two of us, though Cy still cooked enough to feed a small army. He usually made me take home the leftovers. Most of the time, I’d bring them into The Dive the next day and let the staff feast on it during their breaks. Cy sent a car for me even though I told him Uber would have been fine. I found him in the kitchen pouring the pasta into a shining silver colander. Just in time. I gave him a quick hug.

  “Have a seat,” he said over his shoulder. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Always.” I busied myself setting out the forks and knives as he carried the rest of the food out.

  He took a seat at the head of his long dining room table and I sat at his left. He heaped pasta on my plate as I reached for the sauce. Like every month, I couldn’t help looking at the empty chairs around us. I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a breath. I didn’t want to start the evening asking about Mandy again. He’d told me more than once he’d let me know if there was any news, good or bad.

  I must have done a shitty job hiding my expression, because Cy sat with his chin resting on his steepled fingers and his eyes hard when I looked up.

  “Sorry,” I said and raised a palm. “I promised I wouldn’t bring it up.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t apologize. I know how tough the last year has been for you. And I more than anyone know what it’s like to love someone only to have them let you down time after time.”

  A knot twisted in my gut. He was talking about every member of my immediate family. Each and every one of them had let me down in the same way. And each and every one of them was gone.

  “The trail’s cold, Devin,” he said, his tone grim and final. The air left my lungs. I hadn’t asked. Maybe some part of me never wanted to know.

  “What are you saying?”

  He twirled the pasta on his fork and dipped it in the sauce. “I mean, there’s nothing more I can do. My man has run down every lead he can. Mandy’s gone, Devin. Time we both started to accept that.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  He smiled. “That’s all I mean. Gone. Doesn’t want to be found. Your father did the same thing more times than I can count when we were younger. I thought it would be better when he married Aurora. It was for a while. Then she started to disappear. At least your dad stuck around after that. Who knows though. If he hadn’t gotten the cancer, maybe he would have started taking off again. Either way, I think you and I would probably be sitting right where we are now. So my advice to you, honey, is to say the hell with it. Mandy is Mandy. Don’t waste your life waiting on her.”

  I moved the food around on my plate and forced a smile. I knew what this meant. If I kept asking about her, or pressed the issue of him using any more resources to try and track her, things would sour between us. You took Uncle Cy on his terms or not at all.

  I nodded, wanting desperately to change the subject. I told him about the great night we had with The Malcontents. Cy smiled though it didn’t reach his eyes. Again, he dealt in absolutes and bottom lines. If the end-of-the-month receipts were up, then he’d be impressed. Not before.

  A comfortable silence rose between us as I ate until I felt like I’d burst. Uncle Cy punctuated his meal the same way as always with a heavy sigh and a firm pat on his rounded belly. Then he pushed his chair away from the table.

  “Everything was delicious as always,” I said. “Thanks. I hope you don’t mind if I cut it short tonight. I wanted to stop by the bar and do some last-minute prep for tomorrow.” This was part of our ritual too. Uncle Cy kept his life regimented and compartmentalized, even when it came to me, the only family he had left. He wasn’t inclined to hang out and socialize much beyond our meal. That suited me fine too.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about the other favor you had me do?”

  I froze half bent over the table as I rose to leave. Slowly, I sank back into my chair. My mouth went dry. Jase. He’d done what I asked and kept his distance after that night in my apartment. I both respected and hated it. And I’d kind of hoped Uncle Cy had forgotten all about him. He’d certainly forgotten the character of our conversation. I didn’t ask him to check into Jase’s background. He’d insisted. I felt equally shitty and curious. But anything Cy did at this point felt like an invasion of Jase’s privacy. Never mind the rest of it, he was a solid and dependable employee.

  “Oh. That. You know, you can just kind of forget that. He’s really doing a good job for us. That’s really all that matters to me right now.”

  I figured if I told myself that enough times, maybe I’d start to believe it. Jase handled things for me the other night. Dale and his idiot friends brought drugs into my bar. I knew only too well what could have happened if Dale had collapsed like Bella did. The headlines in the local news the next day would have been all about it. Northpointe is a small town. One picture of my place under that kind of news and I’d never be able to turn that particular PR train around.

  Cy slammed a fist against the table. “You’re smarter than that, Devin. And you’ve been around me long enough to know I’m never going to take a guy’s word for something. Not when I don’t know him.”

  “Well, I know him. Or at least, I’m getting to. You can trust that I’m a decent judge of character.”

  He looked at me with wide eyes and his chin pointed down. Paternal and condescending. He also knew it was the exact kind of look that would get my temper up.

  “Okay. So did your guy find something out about Jase you think I should know? You’ve got that look on your face. You’re pissed about something.”

  Cy immediately softened his face and gave me a smile that wasn’t quite genuine. “Actually everything he put on that application you made him fill out checks out.”

  “Good!” I started to rise again. “Then we can be done talking about it.”

  “Not quite, honey. The only thing my guy was able to find on him was exactly what he put on that application. That’s my point. Nothing further back than five years ago.”

  I felt like I’d swallowed a ball of acid. “So what does that mean?”

  Cy shrugged. “Maybe nothing, maybe everything. He doesn’t have a record. No lawsuits. No restraining orders.”

  “Then what’s the problem?�
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  Uncle Cy ran the tip of his thumb along his bottom lip as he worked out what to say to me. I felt overly protective of Jase and wasn’t sure I liked it. Was my need to be independent of my uncle clouding my judgment? Was lust?

  “I wanna know more about this guy. That’s all.”

  “Why? Uncle Cy. He’s a dishwasher. I’m not asking him to do my taxes. Boomer has a record, for God’s sake. Did you forget about that? Petty theft and one of his ex-girlfriends took out a restraining order on him. He’d never get a job anywhere else.”

  “I’ve known Boomer since he was five years old!” Cy shouted at me and my blood ran cold. My uncle had a hair-trigger temper and I’d somehow just set it off.

  He let out a hard sigh and sat back in his chair, tossing his napkin into the middle of his plate. Then he fixed his laser stare on me. The same one I knew he used to intimidate contractors and other business associates when he was closing a deal. I refused to let it work on me and held my ground. Finally, a twinkle came into his eye and he smiled. He held his hands up in mock surrender. I wasn’t naïve enough to think he meant it.

  “What do you want, Uncle Cy? Seriously.”

  “I don’t trust the guy. That’s what I’m saying. It’s just not a good time to be bringing in new people. That’s all.”

  “What do you mean? Profits are up. I’m finally able to afford a full staff. Help me understand.”

  “Why do you have to question every single thing!” The fire came back into his eyes, but I still wouldn’t back down. I sensed we’d reached a critical juncture in our business relationship. It wasn’t about Jase anymore. God, I mean … of course it was. But if I gave Uncle Cy an inch now, it would be that much harder to get out from under him once and for all. So I refused to raise my voice to match his. He got loud, I got quiet.

  “The Dive is my bar. That’s our agreement. I have a plan in place to pay back your capital investment within six months. That’s a year ahead of schedule. I let you look into Jase’s background. You have. Unless you’ve got something solid to share to convince me why he’s a bad hire, I’m inclined to let his work speak for itself. I appreciate your concern. Truly. But I think we’re done talking about this.”