by Amy Lane
“Yeah. Promise. I’ll probably just sit out here and do work on my phone.” Jackson had started plowing through his emails from home after Ellery had gone back to work, and he’d even taken one or two low-level computer search cases from the firm, things that didn’t involve a lot of physical work.
But now he was back full-time and he had to keep his house in order. It was a relief, finally, to be useful again.
“You could always play games,” Ellery said, dimpling. They’d started playing silly games on their phones while on the plane to Ellery’s family’s house over Thanksgiving—and hadn’t stopped. Words with Friends, Word Cookies, Plants vs. Zombies, Angry Birds—name a dumb phone game, they’d held a pitched battle with each other while using it.
It was such a small way of communicating, but Jackson had come to cherish seeing a challenge from Ellery on his phone every morning.
Just one more way to reassure Jackson that the words they’d said in November weren’t going away.
“Fine,” Jackson said, sighing. “Now go. You’re going to be late, and then you’re going to blame me, and we’ll have to go for another year because I made you late.”
Ellery shook his head. “Your view of religion is really warped. Seriously.” But he walked inside anyway, putting his yarmulke on as he went.
Jackson felt a little bit of relief as the door closed behind him. He sank down onto the bench in the front, pulling his coat a little tighter around his shoulders and checking the sky to see if he needed the hood.
No rain, not yet, so he pulled out his phone, gave his surroundings a brief, practiced once-over for any occupational hazards—strangers, guns, suspicious activity—and hit the button to play Words with Friends. He and Ellery had seven or eight games going, and it was Jackson’s turn.
He smelled tobacco and heard the footsteps before he saw the guy, and he was grateful for it too. He didn’t startle when a midsized man in his forties, with a few silver hairs in his beard and peeking out from under his rainbow-colored yarmulke, emerged from a little strip of nothing that existed between the synagogue and the bushes on the side.
Jackson eyed the guy with amusement. He was wearing jeans and a sport coat and looked as surprised to see Jackson as Jackson had been to hear him.
“You’re not going in?” the man said.
“Waiting for my boyfriend,” Jackson told him. The guy didn’t bat an eyelash, so Jackson figured Ellery was safe in there, but he had a lot to answer for in the clothing department, because Jackson could too have worn jeans.
“It’s warm in there,” the man said, smiling winningly. “There’s cookies at the end, I guarantee it.”
Jackson inclined his head in appreciation. “That’s nice of you, but I think I can guilt Ellery into Starbucks afterward. We’re good.”
“Hm….” Jackson’s companion tilted his head, regarding Jackson steadily. “Why wouldn’t you eat free cookies? I’m curious.”
Oh Lord. Quite literally. Jackson swallowed. “There’s no such thing as free cookies,” he said, keeping his voice mild.
“Who taught you that?” The man’s voice was nothing but kind.
A memory swamped him so quickly he barely had time to brace for it. Back when he was a kid, before he’d become friends with Jade and Kaden Cameron and their mother had stepped in, taking over his raising. When Celia had spent their check on drugs—per usual—and they’d had no heat and no food. She’d dragged him to a shelter, and for a whole minute, he’d gotten food and a place to curl up and get warm, and he’d been grateful.
Then he’d had to sit in a room while a guy with a loud voice and furrows on his forehead had told him and a bunch of other people dressed in rags that they needed to repent and earn their cookies.
Those probably hadn’t been his exact words, but Jackson remembered that moment—when all his gratitude had flown into the winter rain and he’d been left with a big stinking pile of resentment instead.
“General lesson,” he said with a shrug. “You’re going to be late, aren’t you?”
“The first ten minutes are silent reflection anyway.” The man shrugged back. “I’m not missing much.”
“A good time to sneak a smoke,” Jackson noted drily.
His companion’s laugh was deep and unapologetic. “Busted! Don’t tell?”
“Nobody to tell.” Jackson gestured around them. “See? Secret’s safe.”
“Fair enough. You’re a mensch. Do you know what that means?”
Jackson had seen enough movies to figure it out. “A buddy or a pal—a good guy.” He shrugged. “I do what I can.”
“But you don’t go into the synagogue?”
“Sir, I’m not Jewish. I’m not even Christian. I just told my boyfriend I’d come to support him, but I don’t belong there.”
“Why did your boyfriend come?” Damn, this guy was not going to let this go. “And scoot over. I can sit with you for a moment.”
Jackson made room. “He… well, he felt like he sort of owed God. See, I got… I had a really bad day or two. And I almost died. And he… I guess he made a deal, in his head, you know? If I got through that, he’d go to temple. And I told him….” Oh, how embarrassing. But this nice middle-aged guy with the laugh lines at the corners of his brown eyes invited confidence.
“What?”
“Well, I’m not a fan of God, mostly. But… with him….” He couldn’t say this out loud. Not to a stranger.
“You see God in your lover’s eyes,” the man said, but gently, so it didn’t sound corny.
“Yeah.” Jackson looked away. “Anyway, he still felt like he had a debt. And I get that. I mean, there’s shit I can’t pay back either. So if he’s here, I’m here. I just… I don’t belong in there with those nice people, you know?”
“No. What makes you not belong there? And don’t say you’re not Jewish, because anybody is welcome here. I’m curious.”
Jackson shrugged, not wanting to think about his mother, or how he seemed to miss her less after her murder than he’d missed her when she’d been alive. Or the things he’d done—and had done to him—the day he’d seen her corpse on the slab. He didn’t want to think about his time as a cop and the betrayal that ended the career. All the willing bodies in the dark.
“God really doesn’t give a crap about me,” Jackson said after a moment. “But… but he seems to watch out for Ellery okay. I don’t want to fu… screw that up. So I’m here.”
“What do you do for a living, young man?”
Jackson let a skeptical eyebrow arch. “You’re not that much older than I am,” he said and was glad to see the guy dimple under his beard.
“Occupational hazard. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a PI for a legal defense firm.” Ellery was their young up-and-comer. They’d managed to avoid each other for years before they’d been forced to work together—and Ellery had staked his claim.
“So you defend the innocent?”
Jackson shrugged. “We try to. You know, make sure they don’t get hammered too bad, even if they’re a little guilty. Everyone should get a second chance.” Jackson couldn’t keep looking at this nice man—it was embarrassing. He started scanning the road in front of them. The parking lot. The little white-bricked store with bars on the windows across the street.
But his companion was still engaged in the conversation. “That’s pretty noble, isn’t it?”
Another shrug. “Seriously—aren’t you going to be late?”
“Humor me.”
“Sometimes we defend scumbags,” Jackson told him bluntly, narrowing his eyes at the kid coming out of the store. He was ducking his head and looking both ways as he ran through the crosswalk, toward the parking lot for the synagogue. “And I dig up dirt on their accusers, same as I do with the innocent ones. But yeah. We try to make it noble. Don’t know if we succeed, but we try.”
“That’s the best a man can do. You know, there’s a saying—it’s part of our faith, actually. That he
who saves one soul saves the world. Have you heard that?”
Jackson thought about it, angling his body a little. He could see some of the cars still in the line of sight past the building. “No. But I like it.” He stood up, still watching to see where the boy had gone while he talked to his new shadow.
“Me too. Maybe, you know, next time you come with your boyfriend, you remember the last time you tried to save the world and you’ll feel more like coming in.”
Jackson watched the kid pause at Ellery’s horribly ostentatious silver Lexus—his many-times-repaired baby, which he insisted on driving everywhere. Jackson was still without a car after his had been destroyed in November, and Ellery insisted on driving. He was crap at it too, and Jackson felt like he was eating in somebody’s guest room whenever they stopped for takeout.
“You’re not in there,” Jackson said absently. “If it’s so awesome inside, why are you still out here with me?” And the kid was looking at his hand and looking at Ellery’s license plate.
“Holy wow,” the guy on the bench said. “I mean seriously. Oy gevalt. You are not getting this.”
“What is that kid doing?” Jackson mumbled to himself. He remembered he was having a conversation and looked behind him. “Which is probably why I’m better off on the bench. Could you excuse me a sec? This does not look kosher.”
He took a few steps toward the parking lot, his dress shoes ringing on the concrete walkway, and the kid—scruffy, wearing Army surplus, with dirty brown hair and pale, grubby skin—popped up from his half crouch by the driver’s side door and looked around like a meerkat.
“Oh no you don’t, you little vandal,” Jackson muttered, taking off on a capture mission before the kid could do something irrevocable to the paint job. He was halfway to the vehicle before he realized just how wrong it was to leave a conversation this way. No wonder he didn’t belong at the synagogue—seriously!
Losing Balance
ELLERY OPENED the door just in time to see Jackson disappear around the corner and the congregation’s missing rabbi stand up in surprise.
“Rabbi Watson?”
“Mr. Cramer! So nice to see you again!” Ellery had visited before deciding to attend. He was a lawyer—research was his specialty.
“Everybody’s, uh, waiting for—where’d Jackson go?”
“Your young man?”
Rabbi Watson was in his midforties, but maybe it helped to be a confidant and community leader if you assumed more age than you actually had. “Yes, sir, he was waiting for me and—”
From around the corner, they could both hear Jackson’s breathless voice raised in triumph. “Ha! You little bastard—I gotcha! What were you doing to our car?”
“Nothing! I swear! Not a damned thing! I was just—give that back!”
Rabbi Watson’s eyes got huge, and Ellery’s heart expanded to his stomach. “I don’t even believe this,” he muttered, walking past the rabbi so he could look around the corner.
Where Jackson stood, his slacks and coat looking scuffed at the knees and elbows, holding a young man with one arm behind his back.
“Jackson?”
Jackson had that boyish look of triumph he wore when he’d brought in a particularly tough informant. “Someone was trying to break into your car,” he said, eyes sparkling.
“I was not!”
“You were too! I saw you!”
“I wasn’t supposed to break into it!” the boy said, honestly indignant. “I was trying to put that thing on it! They said they’d pay me if I put the thing on the bottom—that’s all I was doin’, I swear!”
Jackson scowled and looked around, catching Ellery’s eye. “Ellery—c’mere and look at this thing. It’s damned hinky.”
“I’m sorry, Rabbi. I should really see what that’s—”
“Not a problem.” Rabbi Watson waved his hand airily. “I’ll see you next week, Ellery?”
“Yes, sir—”
“Good. Maybe next week we’ll get your young man to come inside.” Rabbi Watson waved bemusedly at Jackson. “You have fun doing—” His hand made a few passes. “—whatever it is you do. I’ll see you both later.”
Ellery was already hustling over to where Jackson stood, one hand still pinning the boy in place, the other holding out a small plastic bag and shaking it imperiously. “Yeah—sorry, Rabbi—”
But the leader of the congregation was already inside, and Ellery was left with Jackson and his squirming charge.
“What is that?” he asked without preamble, taking the small plastic package from his hand. Jackson used the freedom to secure the boy’s wrists again.
“I don’t know. Kid, what is that?”
“I don’t know!” the kid complained. “I have no idea. But that guy—the one in the liquor store—he gave it to me and told me to put it under your car. Showed me a twenty, said I could have it if I just… popped it on.” The kid suddenly went limp. “Should have known it was too good to be—hey!”
Jackson dropped him like a hot rock and snapped, “Ellery, you get him!” before taking off for the liquor store.
Ellery and the boy stared at each other for a long minute.
Curly dark blond hair, dirty white face, maybe twelve years old, with sort of a delicate beauty in the cheekbones and bright blue eyes with thick lashes around them.
For a moment—the barest second—Ellery thought about Jackson as a child, and the kid’s eyes widened like he spotted an opportunity.
Shit. Ellery wasn’t going to wrestle this urchin like Jackson had, and Jackson would kill him if he let the kid go.
“I’ll pay you,” he blurted.
The kid recoiled, and he looked appalled. “I’m not a fuckin’ whore!”
Oh hell no. “Not for that. Just to stay put until he gets back. Seriously—he wants to ask you some questions.”
“Oh.” Little shit didn’t look embarrassed in the least. “How much?”
“Am I going to pay you?” Well, geez—what was the going rate for not looking like a schmuck in front of your action-hero boyfriend?
“Yeah. The guy over there said he’d give me a twenty if I put the thing on your car. How much you gonna pay me for not doing it?”
Ellery shrugged. “Forty, I guess.”
A wily look of triumph crossed the kid’s pointed features, and he practically danced on his toes. “Ha! I woulda took twenty-five!”
Fucking hell. “Lucky you. You get forty. What’re you gonna spend it on?”
“Hunh.” Oh Jesus—it was Jackson’s word, right down to that weird intonation Ellery hated because it hinted at so much more than just the one syllable. “I never had that much money before. I don’t know. Maybe….” The kid bit his lip, showing a vulnerability that tugged at Ellery’s heart. “Maybe some clothes?” He looked down at himself, and Ellery took in the battered sneakers with bare feet showing through, the jeans that were too short, and the Army surplus jacket that was too big and threadbare. “I’m fuckin’ cold.”
Ellery winced. “Kid? I’ll give you fifty if you pretend you’re not a grown-up and don’t swear in front of us. I know you know those words, probably knew them in the cradle, but just, for me, pretend like you live in a world where you didn’t hear those words unless they were in the movies, okay?”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Easiest fu… oh, fifty dollars I ever earned. Stand still and shut up. I’m gold.” The kid looked at Ellery for a moment and fidgeted. “Fu… uh, da… uh…. Geez, mister, what’s taking the other guy so long?”
A quick glance up to the liquor store revealed nothing, but as they watched, Jackson came out, the grim set of his shoulders unmistakable. He was on the phone, talking even as he crossed the street.
“Yeah, Kryzynski, I’m not shitting around. We’ll be across from the synagogue on El Camino. Yeah, Ellery too. At the liquor store—but don’t come in guns blazing, sirens on overdrive. Because it’ll put the kid in more danger, that’s why. No, I got no idea why him. No, I don’t know how they knew w
e were here either. No, I don’t know who’s behind it. I know that me catching the little shit was probably the luckiest thing to happen to him in his entire life. Now get your asses over here and try not to interrupt the service. Because the rabbi’s a nice guy, that’s why. I’m not, but Ellery is. Spare me. Are you fucking coming or fucking not?” Jackson looked up and rolled his eyes at Ellery, letting Ellery know fully what he thought of the young, newly promoted police detective who had hitched his wagon to Jackson and Ellery’s star more than once in the past year and gotten a boost up the ranks when things panned out.
“What’s up?” Ellery asked, concerned. Jackson didn’t like help, and he didn’t like cops—but he knew their usefulness and the consequences when he didn’t call them when they were needed legally. For him to call Kryzynski in, things were pretty dire.
Jackson gave him a “not yet” nod and turned to the kid.
“Kid, you got a name?”
“Anthony Cooper,” the kid replied promptly.
“Good name.”
“I like it. Why do you need to know?”
“You got folks, Anthony? Mom, Dad, whatever?”
Anthony looked uncomfortable. “Got a foster family.”
“They okay?” Jackson was good with this kid—matter-of-fact, not full of pity. But then, he would have been lucky to have a foster family at this kid’s age, so maybe he should work with all the juvenile delinquents.
“They’re all right.” He shrugged. “Three meals, they give a crap when I get home. Try to keep me clean.”
Jackson gave the kid a skeptical once-over.
“Didn’t say it worked,” the kid snapped. “I’m like their service to God. God can service me on his own time.”
Jackson’s snort probably echoed in the synagogue. “I’m sure he’s all for that, kid.” Then he sobered. “Look—this is really important. The guy who asked you to put the thing on the car—tell me how that went down.”
Anthony looked at him strangely—and so did Ellery. Jackson’s jaw was clenched, and his green eyes were snapping bright and tense. And the police were coming.
