by Hamel, B. B.
I rang again. Inside, I heard what sounded like breaking glass and a muffled curse.
“I’m coming,” someone yelled. “I’m fucking coming. Hold on.”
More muffled cursing. I stood back from the door, my eyes wide, my heart pounding. What the heck was going on?
Finally, he opened the door.
I stood there staring at him, my mouth open. His shirt was unbuttoned and his pants were hanging loosely from his hips. His defined chest was covered in tattoos, and I watched as they snaked down around his cut hips. My eyes came back up and stared at his square jaw, the stubble on his chin, the red under his piercing eyes, and his tousled hair.
Instantly I felt my heart begin to beat faster, and a slight heat spread itself between my legs. He looked incredible, like he had just woken up.
“It’s you,” he grunted. “You’re early.”
“Susan told me ten,” I managed to say.
He kept staring at me for a second. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said finally, and he moved back from the door. “Come in and sit.”
I followed him inside and he pointed at the chairs in front of his desk.
“Uh, did I come at a bad time?” I asked.
“You’re fine. Just give me a second.” He disappeared into the back and I heard more muffled cursing.
This was the famous FBI agent? The front room was pretty sparse, with his degrees and credentials hanging on the walls and a big filing cabinet pushed against the wall. He had a laptop on his desk but nothing else, no pictures, no personal items, not even a pen.
It was a little strange, actually. I craned my neck to get a peek in the back room and caught sight of a coffee table with a half-empty whisky bottle in the center just before he blocked my view.
“Welcome to work,” he said.
I stood up. “Thanks for having me. If this is a bad time, I can come back later.”
“It’s fine. Sit back down.”
His pants were fastened and his shirt was buttoned and tucked in. It looked like he had run his fingers through his hair but hadn’t bothered with much more. He looked tired, and I thought I smelled alcohol, but despite that he looked pretty incredible.
“So, Laney,” he said. “What experience do you have?”
I watched as he sat down at the desk and leaned back in his chair.
“Well,” I said, “not much if I’m honest. I’m a criminal justice major back at school, and Susan thought I could help out around the office.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And did Susan say why she thought that?”
I paused. “Probably because you need some?”
He laughed. “If you should know anything about my mom, it’s that she doesn’t do anything that doesn’t benefit her.”
“Okay. What does that have to do with us?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
He was silent while he looked at me, and something clicked.
“You didn’t want me, did you?” I asked suddenly.
He looked a little surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious.”
A little cocky smile played at his lips. “Go ahead and explain then.”
“Well, you’re clearly hungover, and I probably woke you up. No, let me keep going,” I said quickly as he tried to protest. His cocky grin got bigger, but he didn’t interrupt. “You didn’t seem interested when we ran into each other yesterday. I know your mom is a big shot, and I suspect she doesn’t love her son working as a private detective. You left the FBI for some mysterious reason, probably making the relationship with your mom even more strained. So I suspect she’s forcing this on you, especially based on what you just said.” His grin was huge by the time I was finished talking. “How close am I?”
He stared at me and slowly started to shake his head. “You ever been on a stakeout before, Laney?”
“Excuse me?”
He stood up. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a pistol tucked into a holster. He pushed the holster down the back of his pants and walked over to a coat rack, grabbing a light jacket.
I stared at him the whole time. I had just been really brazen in saying all that, and I mostly expected him to throw me out. He should have been pissed, and honestly I wanted him to be. I was annoyed that he wasn’t taking me seriously, annoyed that he had answered the door looking the way he did, annoyed that he was hungover.
Instead, he was acting like nothing had happened.
“Come on,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s go.”
He disappeared outside. I quickly stood up and followed him. “Hold on!” I said, catching up. “Wait a second. What are you talking about, a stakeout?”
“You know what that is, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen movies. Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.” He paused at the stairwell entrance. “Scared?” he asked teasingly.
I bit my lip. “I thought this was an office job.”
“It’s whatever I want it to be.”
I took a sharp breath. I realized he was testing me, seeing how far I was willing to go.
And there was something about him. True, he was gruff and rude, but also he seemed completely in control. I could feel myself getting swept up.
“Okay, fine,” I said.
I followed him down the stairs. I had no clue what we were doing or where we were going, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to find out what this guy’s deal was. I wanted to know him, even if he was already totally on my nerves.
“First rule of being a private detective,” Easton said, “is never do anything fucking stupid.”
He made a sharp right and I gripped the door handle like my life depended on it. Easton drove like a psycho.
“Okay,” I said.
“Second rule is, do exactly what I say.”
“Seems like a bad rule for most private detectives.”
He laughed. “These are just for you.”
“Okay, fine. Are you going to teach me anything useful?”
“Maybe. But for now, you do nothing but listen to me. Got it?”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
“This isn’t like your CJ classes at school. This is the real world, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid. We’re almost the same age.”
“How about I call you sis, then?”
“Not much better,” I mumbled.
“Third rule is,” he said, not missing a beat, “if you think you’re in trouble, run the fuck away and call the cops.”
“Really think that’s going to happen?”
“I have no fucking clue what’s going to happen,” he said, suddenly pulling over to the curb. “That’s why this is so much fun.”
He killed the engine and I looked around. We were at a boring, normal corner across from a bank. There was a shopping center to our left, across the street, and an apartment building catty-corner. Up ahead and to the right was a little park and playground area.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Watching,” he said.
He reached across me. I felt his closeness suddenly, could practically smell him. He popped open the glove box and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He moved back slowly, and I wanted to lean into him. Or maybe I wanted to slap him away. I wasn’t exactly sure.
“Okay,” I said. “Who are we watching?”
“Landlord,” he said.
I sighed, frustrated. “Are you going to actually tell me anything?”
He looked through the binoculars. “When you need to know, sure.”
I rolled my eyes, annoyed. I sat back and turned on the radio, idly flipping through the channels while he looked out through his binoculars.
Ten minutes passed. Easton barely moved, just kept watching the front of the building. It felt like time had slowed down to a crawl, but that was just because I was stuck in a car with a mute asshole.
Suddenly, he perked up.
“See something?” I a
sked.
He brought the binoculars up to his eyes, watched for a second, and then sat back in his seat. “Nah. Nothing.”
“Is this what a stakeout is like?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“It’s boring as hell.”
“Welcome to the life of a private eye, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid. We’re basically the same age.”
He gave me a sideways grin. “Maybe, but you’re practically a toddler compared to me.”
“Why, because you’re some hotshot FBI agent?”
“Not anymore,” he mumbled.
“Really, what makes you think you’re so much better than me?”
He stared at me for a second. “You really want to know?”
“Go ahead.” I was so annoyed at how full of himself he was being.
“You may be about my age, but I’ve seen way more than you can even imagine.”
“You don’t even know me.”
He laughed ruefully. “Maybe not, but let me give it a shot. You did well in high school, had some close friends, but didn’t get into any trouble. Then, as soon as you could, you got the fuck out of Mishawaka. Went to some city school, learned a thing or two about life. You probably work hard to pay your bills, but you still take cash from daddy every month.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Am I close?”
I clenched my fists. “I don’t take his money.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still sheltered.” He looked back out toward the building. “I’ve seen some shit, kid, shit you better hope you never have to see.”
I sighed and tried not to curse him out. He was being obnoxious on purpose, I could tell. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to test me or if he just wanted to push my buttons, but I wasn’t going to let him get the best of me.
“Does this have to do with why you got kicked out of the bureau?” I asked him acidly.
He flinched slightly but didn’t look at me. “Yeah, it does.”
“And why is that?”
He didn’t answer, just kept watching the building. After a few minutes, I got the hint that he didn’t plan on answering, and so I went back to fiddling with the radio.
What an obnoxious jerk. He came at me out of nowhere, just because I wasn’t prepared to be sitting around in a stinky car all day with him. He didn’t even bother to explain to me what we were doing. He just expected me to follow and obey without question.
But then again, he had been incredibly close in his analysis of me. I didn’t feel like I lived in a bubble, but I hadn’t really experienced any difficult hardships in my life. Sure, I worked hard to support myself, but other than losing my mom, that was it.
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, eyes glued to the binoculars.
“Another false alarm?” I asked.
“Not this time.”
I tried to see what he was watching, but there was too much traffic in the area. He stared out the window, slowly tracking someone or something across the street.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“Our target, flying the coop.”
“Are we following him?”
“Not this time. Just wait.”
Another minute of silence. He handed me the binoculars and started the engine. We pulled back out into traffic and crossed the street, doing a U-turn in front of the apartment building. We parked and he climbed out.
“Camera in the glove,” he said.
I opened it and found a professional-looking camera, though it wasn’t very large. I opened the door and climbed out, holding it up.
“This one?” I asked.
“That’s my girl.” He reached for it, but I held it out of his reach.
“Tell me what we’re doing here,” I said.
He smirked. “You want to play this game?” he asked.
I wasn’t backing down. “Tell me.”
Suddenly he lunged forward, pressing against my body, pushing my back against the car. I gasped as his body crushed mine, his muscles moving against my breasts. He pinned my one arm against the car and plucked the camera out of my other hand.
His face was inches from mine, and I was breathing hard, shocked at how quickly he had moved. I couldn’t believe he was touching me as if it weren’t completely inappropriate. He was my boss and also my stepbrother. He shouldn’t be pushing me against the car.
“Don’t play games,” he said softly. “This is serious shit.”
“I just want to know what’s going on,” I replied.
“We’re staking out the landlord,” he said, moving away from me. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
“Okay. Why?”
“I was approached by one of the tenements, Mrs. Suarez. She says he hasn’t been doing his jobs, been leaving things broken, trash out, shit like that.”
“What are we going to do about that?”
He hefted the camera. “Document it and then shake him down.”
I stared at him for a second. “Shake him down?”
“Yeah. I’ll show him the pictures, threaten legal action unless he starts being less of a fucking twat.”
“That’s crazy.”
He shrugged. “Easier than actually hiring a lawyer. They’re fucking expensive.” He began walking toward the building. “And I’m fucking cheap,” he said softly.
I hurried to keep up as we walked the perimeter of the building. Nothing seemed out of place, no garbage left out, no broken windows, nothing. Finally, we stopped at the front of the building again and stood out near the front door.
“What now?” I asked.
“Just wait.”
I stood there trying not to be annoyed as we watched people walk by on the sidewalk. Eventually, someone went to go into the building, and Easton quickly moved to follow. He gave the guy a disarming smile, but the man barely noticed as he opened the doors and let us through.
He paused near the stairwell. “Easy,” he said.
“I can’t believe that guy just let us in.”
“You’d be surprised how much you can get away with if you’re confident enough.”
“If you’re working for someone that lives here, why not just get them to let you in?”
He grinned hugely. “Because that’s not fun.” He turned and walked up the staircase, causing me to chase after him yet again.
For the next half hour, we wandered around the building. Easton didn’t say much, just kept taking pictures of various things. He photographed some stains in the halls, water-damaged ceilings, broken washers and dryers, dirty trash chutes, and more. That was just the stuff in the main areas, too. Who knew what was happening inside each apartment.
Finally, we made it to the top floor. He jostled the door that opened out onto the roof, but it wouldn’t open.
“Hold this,” he said, handing me the camera.
I watched as he took out a small black case and slipped out two shiny silver tools. He inserted them into the lock and began to careful jiggle the one tool while slowly turning with the other.
“Are you picking that lock?” I asked, incredulous. “Isn’t this illegal?”
“Shah,” he said.
Finally, the door clicked and swung open. He didn’t even pause. He just slipped the tools back into his pocket and walked out onto the roof.
“Did they teach you that in the FBI?” I asked.
“Yeah, actually,” he said, distracted.
The roof looked pretty normal. There were industrial-sized heaters and coolers up there, but nothing unusual. He walked around to the right and then stopped in his tracks.
“Pay dirt,” he said.
Up ahead was a large pile of black trash bags. I took a step closer, but the smell was almost overwhelming.
“What the hell?” I said.
“Take pictures.”
I brought the camera up to my eye and began to snap away.
“Get closer,” he said.
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “It stinks.”
He sighed
and grabbed the camera and walked right up to the pile. He took pictures the whole time, and eventually he even ripped one open, exposing disgusting, putrid garbage.
“Why is this up here?” I asked.
“Landlord is probably too cheap to pay for pickup.”
“Doesn’t the county just do that?”
“Not for industrial-sized loads like this, they don’t. He’s supposed to take care of it himself.”
“He just leaves it up here?”
“Probably has guys come and grab it once a month to save money.”
Just as I went to reply, I caught sight of the biggest rat I had ever seen in my life nuzzling its way through the trash pile. I kept myself from screaming by turning and walking away as fast as I could.
I heard the sound of his laughter and of his camera as I waited for him in the stairwell.
Five minutes later, he was ready to go.
“No big deal,” he said.
“Now what?” I asked as we walked back downstairs.
“Now, we develop these.”
“Think it’ll work? Threatening him, I mean.”
“Probably. Those trash bags up there are a huge health code violation. It could shut him down completely.”
As we made our way down the steps, we moved over to one side as two older Hispanic women began to climb up. Easton suddenly stopped talking and looked uncomfortable.
One of the two women noticed him and smiled hugely.
“Mister Wright!” she exclaimed.
“Easton,” he mumbled.
“What are you doing here?”
“Working your case,” he said.
She replied in Spanish, and he frowned, glancing at me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.
“Please, I insist.” She turned to me. “Mister Easton is a good man. He’s helping us for very little. The least I can do is offer you lunch.”
I glanced at him, surprised. He looked incredibly uncomfortable with the whole encounter, but I didn’t know why.
What surprised me even more was that he was apparently working for cheap. Easton didn’t seem like the charity kind of guy, let alone the type to help old Hispanic ladies with their problems.
“That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Suarez, but we have to get going,” he said.
