by K. S. Adkins
K.S. Adkins
Copyright © 2014 K.S. ADKINS
Published by K.S. Adkins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Published: K.S. Adkins 2014
Other works by K.S. Adkins:
The Detroit After Dark Series: Available now!
Brutal
Brawler
Berserk
Ballistic
Dedicated to Jane
‘Some girls dream of being a princess and some girls just want to raise hell with a dress on.’
~Anonymous
Fuck death.
Fuck how loss makes you feel.
Fuck the hole in your heart and the emptiness that spreads through you like poison. Fuck everyone who says you’ll be okay, that time heals all wounds. Yeah, just fuck…
All my life I strived to please one man. I owed him everything. Even with death banging on his door he worried for me. Leaning in to kiss him one last time, I pressed my cheek to his like I did everyday growing up. When his breathing began to shallow, coming in small bursts, I wanted to breathe for him. I knew he was leaving me, was warned of how it would be, but I wanted more time. There was no preparing for this goodbye; no fucking words from my mouth could fix this. Crawling onto his bed and latching onto him, I buried my face in his neck and inhaled him. He’s worn Old Spice since I could remember and it was home for me. The only home I’d ever known and it was being stolen from me.
“We’re a team, Senior” I whisper, clutching him tight so he knows it’s safe to let go. “Always have been, always will be. I’ll be okay. I love you, Dad.” Waiting for a breath that never came, just like that, he was gone.
In that moment I was lost and homeless.
That day was the second time in my life I’ve called him Dad out loud. Since I was little, he was Senior and I was Junior. We were a team, unstoppable. I was named after him and from the time I could walk and talk, I did everything in my power to be just like him. In most things I succeeded. Which is why today after his funeral, I was back here in his office carrying on his legacy instead of celebrating his life with the people that adored him.
He would want me here, I would bet on it.
Senior was the most stubborn man I’ve ever known, but cancer took him hard and it took him fast. So fast that by the time we figured it out, he was half way gone. Wiping the tears away, I remind myself that I was fortunate enough to care for him and say goodbye, to tell him I loved him and hold him when his last breath was taken. Next to me, this business meant everything to him. But this business meant everything to me too. I loved it because he loved it. His favorite quote; “If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.
While the crew assembled to get lit up in his honor, I came here and with a heavy heart, combed through every receipt, every deposit and every entry in his ledger. He didn’t believe in computers or accountants. He was old school like that. Senior believed in handling your own business so people couldn’t steal pieces of what you’ve worked for. He didn’t trust the government, but I couldn’t trust what I was seeing. When the reality of the situation set in, there was only word to describe the feeling I had right now: Betrayal.
My mind couldn’t understand it. My broken heart couldn’t take it. He never said anything, not a god damn word. We never kept secrets from each other; there was no point in it. But he did keep a secret from me, a big one.
Senior was broke.
The business was broke.
Therefore, I was broke.
When daylight shot through the window, I rubbed my eyes utterly bewildered. Based on his entries, the debt outstanding to the business itself was close to one hundred thousand dollars. The thing about Senior was he was too damn nice for his own good. As in all things, I took after him in this. Just like my dad, life often bit me in the ass. Senior was generous, kind and forgiving. He understood loss, starting over and second chances.
After all, that’s what I was and that’s what I came home for.
He loved my mother fiercely and deeply. When he found out they were going to have me he promised to go straight. Well, as straight as he could, I suppose. When she died birthing me, he gave me his name, raised me the only way he knew how and I turned out just fine. He told me my mother saved him, gave him a shot at starting over and we had been his second chance at doing something good.
But my dad wasn’t always a good man.
I didn’t care about the man he used to be. The man that raised me was the best role model a girl could ask for. Maybe not to some, but to most, and especially to me. See, he came from a long line of gamblers. Betting was in his blood. He was known as the king of long shots. Staring at the piles of bills and debts he hadn’t collected on, I think of all he’d sacrificed for me, knowing that I needed to make this right for him now. He didn’t tell me for a reason and I needed to respect that and do what needed to be done.
Because betting was in my blood too, and in the betting world, I was a force to be reckoned with.
My name is Rion Reynolds (no relation) and I’m your bookie.
‘If it's natural to kill, how come men have to go into training to learn how?’
~Joan Baez
If I could just fucking sleep.
Every new noise has me jumping up from the floor to investigate a possible threat. Waiting for an enemy in every shadow, I’m disappointed when one doesn’t exist. Every drip from the faucet causes me to gnash my teeth and clench my fists. It’s just too fucking quiet here. No bomb blasts, no gun fire, no orders just domesticity. War I understood, but civilian life? I wasn’t adjusting to it as my doctor promised I would. But even through his declarations, I knew he was full of shit. There’s no getting used to this. I wanted to kill something, needed to kill something. Seventeen years of service, tour after tour and my final weeks of hell, I came home on the government’s orders and I came back wrong. According to them, I’m no longer fit to fight. My own government kicked me to the curb so here I am squatting in my brother’s home, only he isn’t here.
His phone was disconnected, his electricity was shut off and the place was mostly cleaned out minus some junk. Not only is he MIA leaving me no way to contact him, I’m facing a situation worse than any op I’ve been on. With no orders and no back up, I got no place to go.
My brother and I never had a chance to know each other due to shitty circumstances and because of that we hated each other. What little I did know, I didn’t like. He was carefree and I believed in order. He couldn’t keep a job or a home obviously, yet here I was willing to give him another shot only to end up disappointed as usual. He was my only family and I couldn’t even count on him to help me out.
I could have days, maybe a few weeks here but based on the notices on the door the clock is ticking. I have no job skills unless you want me to kill someone for you and never filled out a resume. Since my last op no one would hire so
meone with my background and I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t hire me either. I’m not right in the head and I knew I couldn’t be trusted. Fuck, I didn’t even trust myself.
There’s no happiness in me anymore, if there ever was. The world I live in isn’t Pleasantville. Good things don’t happen to good people. Everyone is out for #1 and they will crush you to get ahead. I gave up on the dream that people can be decent and selfless. In my world it’s a fucking myth, a lie. My career wasn’t sitting behind a desk it was on the front line, in a jungle or even a sprawling mansion. The things I’ve seen, the ops I’ve run, ruined what little humanity I had left.
I grew up in a small town in Missouri. This isn’t a small town, this is fucking Detroit. The very last place I wanted to be. I have no family, no friends and no direction. I also just left one war zone for another only here I had no weapons to defend myself. I had no skills, no future. I had nothing.
I just needed a god damn chance.
My name is Loyal Hart and I’m one step away from being homeless.
‘You've got to work hard for your success and you've got to have a steady presence. That's the secret.’
~Kid Rock
“What is it, Rio?” I groan, squeezing the bridge of nose willing this headache to vacate the premises. I’ve been here for days trying to fix this, get ahead or, at the very least, figure out a way to break even. For every bill I find there’s four more screaming at me. Senior has roughly one hundred thousand in debt owed to the business alone. Considering the average bet, that is literally years of not collecting. Bookies collect. It’s what we do, Senior knew that, enforced that. So why in the hell didn’t he do something about it? Though we own the building free and clear, it looks like we owe or rather, I now owe, almost two hundred thousand dollars total now for about a thousand different reasons.
Unpaid taxes, personal loans, business loans and enforcer bank roll adds up quickly. Add to that the about face he did years ago forcing me into college, yet not bothering to stay current on the loans for said college. He swore they were paid and refused my money as contribution to my education. No matter which angle I take, I can’t fathom how he let it go this far for this long or why he lied about it.
“Got a note that came due,” Rio says throwing the paper down interrupting my pity party. “Failure to pay, Junior. He put his house up as collateral and now we can collect before the bank takes it.”
“Call Kelly and see what it’s worth,” I say. As the head enforcer he keeps an eye on the other enforcers making sure everything is legit. Right now though, enforcer’s means three total including Rio. I can’t afford to hire more. My job is to get referrals, place bets and their job is to collect on those debts. I make money, they make money. Rio is short for Ricardo and if you call him that, he’ll hit you. The day we met him he told us both he only answers to Rio, period. He’s been my best friend since I was a kid and he’s a big man. A gigantic man who is meaner than a shark but sweeter than a doe if that’s possible. He also had my father’s back when I was ‘getting educated’. He’s also an ex-con which makes him handy in certain situations too. “Did you know?” I ask him. “You knew we were broke, didn’t you?”
“No,” he says, looking pained. “I didn’t know. He never said a word. But you need to know, the house we’re taking back belonged to Henry’s old man.” Wow, I hadn’t heard that name in an age. The moment I did, a few memories surfaced but that’s all there was. I knew his old man was an asshole and a horrible gambler. Last I heard he’d passed on too. I was never allowed near his old man, for some reason Senior strongly disliked him, so I never got to know him. If Senior didn’t like someone, he had good reason. Senior could find the good in anybody.
“Make this tonight’s last stop, change the locks and secure the premises. I want these accounts paid up yesterday, Rio. We can’t let this type of shit go any longer. Send the rookie’s, but make sure the house is vacant and doesn’t have any squatters. I don’t want anyone getting hurt over this. Also, remind them they aren’t cops anymore. They don’t follow that code any longer and bail money isn’t in the budget.”
“If anyone can save this place it’s you, Junior. He knew that. He wanted more for you but this is where you belong, you know it as well as I do.” He says, kissing me on the forehead on his way out. “Welcome home, babe.”
“Rio?” I ask stopping him from leaving. “I quit my job,” I confess. “I missed this. Every day. I’m going to give this one hundred percent but, if I can’t make it work---”
“If Junior can fix it, it ain’t a problem,” he smiles, quoting my father. “Senior used to drive me nuts with that shit, putting so much pressure on you. But it’s true. You’re home. You’ll fix things. Hell, maybe we can even get you fixed in the process.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll report back later.”
“Rio!” I called out but he had already closed the door on me. Dammit, I don’t need to be fixed. Do I?
Doesn’t matter if I did. I have bigger problems right now. Like how do I continue to pay a crew with no escrow? If I’m being realistic, I know most of our clients use ‘beards’, someone they know that bets on their behalf so they remain anonymous. Trying to collect on those will be tricky. Not impossible, just… tricky.
People move, people forget and here? People are broke. Just like that, my mood went in the shitter again. What we do is on the hush, hush. Of course people know we do it. It’s like a secret that everyone is in on but knows better than to talk about. We’ve got politicians, law enforcement, doctors, house wives and every other type of person you can think of betting with us. Bottom line was, if people think they can bet and not pay, which I think is the case, then I’m in deep shit. I can’t run a business like that. We’ll never survive. Shit, we’re not surviving now. Deep breathes, I tell myself. We’ll start with taking the house back. That’s step one.
Step two is selling everything I own.
Baby steps, it’s all about baby steps.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I know I can fucking do this.
‘If it looks good, you'll see it. If it sounds good, you'll hear it. If it’s marketed right, you'll buy it. But... If it’s real... you'll feel it.’
~Kid Rock
Falling asleep here is nearly impossible. I made a roll out on the second floor closest to the stairs so I can have the advantage in the event anyone tries to break in like I did. The moment my lids starts to close I’m assailed with memories. Not memories of my last tour, but of her. The whore that put me in the position I’m in right now. I didn’t have to take the last job. I took it because she swore we needed the money and since saying no to her only ends with me having heartburn and her having her way, I went.
I met her in high school. I played football, she was a cheerleader. Small towns left you with few options. Her parents had some money, more than my foster family did, and she was the only daughter, therefore spoiled. Football players dated cheerleaders, period. She said she loved me, was proud and that she would wait for me. In the beginning she did all of those things. At one point I even thought I loved her too and when she said she was pregnant, I did the right thing and married her.
She wasn’t pregnant and she didn’t love me. Now I had a wife to take care of and since our apartment wasn’t enough, I sent her almost all of my money to buy a home and put her through school. She got her degree in Accounting, she got the house she wanted and when I came home a shell of a man from my final tour, I was greeted with her getting fucked from behind on my god damned bed. A bed I’d bought but never even slept in. At that point, I didn’t even have it in me to beat the guy’s naked ass. I didn’t love her. Hell, I didn’t even like her, so I picked up my bag, caught a flight with the cash in my pocket, tracked my brother down and here I am.
Thing is, I didn’t like the house, the overpriced shit in it, or the neighborhood it sat in. It wasn’t about the house itself. I just needed a place to regroup. Ta
king a deep breathe, I decided this vacant house isn’t any better or worse than the conditions I’ve endured before and said fuck it. For now, this place was as good as any.
I probably slept about two hours when I heard it.
The front door being pried opened, followed by voices. These idiots weren’t even trying to be quiet. Getting dressed I make my way toward the steps to wait. There were two of them, young and stupid. They were in the kitchen making a huge racket. I didn’t know what their game was, but as far as I was concerned, they were a threat.
I approached them silently and they don’t notice me until I’m on them. Taking the biggest one out was easy. One hit to the back of the head and he went down. The second one tried telling me no one was supposed to be there, but I shut him up too. Now they’re both unconscious and I’m going through their pockets to clean them out. In one I found a business card, in the other I found foreclosure papers and some notice from the bank that made no sense to me.
But the business card that said “Rion Reynolds, Sr.” with an address on it, did.
Taking everything with me, I grab my boots and decided to pay this asshole a visit today.
In person.
‘I am the result of the good choices I've made and the bad choices.’
~Madonna
Last night I finished setting up the new database we’d be using and I hope I never have to do that again. My dad didn’t trust computers and getting this office updated was crucial and time consuming. Catching a whiff of something foul reminded me it’s been days since I’ve seen a shower. It smelled stale in here, was it me? Probably, okay yes it was me. Dry shampoo and deodorant wouldn’t work forever and I knew it. But hygiene could wait, the business could not. Sitting down in my dad’s chair that still smells of him, I made a mental note to sleep. If I’ve slept five hours since the funeral, I’d be amazed. There’s just so much to do, so many loose ends to tie up and I hadn’t even grieved yet. Weeks ago, my friend Lina sent me two ex-cops who needed work badly and were cool with the shit pay as long as they didn’t have to hustle on the streets. Lina along with her friends, turned the Detroit Police Department inside out when she took out an attorney who was threatening cops to do his dirty work. My two newest recruits were the result of that and they were still learning the ropes.
