by T Gephart
“There’s a price on her head.” It was a statement, not a question and the look in Jimmy’s eyes gave me all the confirmation I needed. The large stack of bills he was offering suddenly not so big. “Who?”
“Take your pick.” He waved his hand dismissively, his poker face slipping slightly as he eyed the other men in the room. Our audience had wisely remained tight-lipped, but I was sure this hadn’t been the first time they were hearing it. “She’s a cop and she has very few friends in this world. There are some who will do it for free. Which is why you are here.”
Great.
She was a cop.
Nothing could chill a room a few degrees more than the mention of law enforcement. Especially when her father’s rap sheet looked like a Pablo Escobar’s greatest hits. And let’s not forget that every asshole in Chicago would probably be out looking for her. Wanting to either collect the cash or the notoriety of putting her in the ground. Jimmy’s kid and a cop—fuck, that alone would be worth seven figures.
“How do you know I’m not going to flip and kill her myself?” Considering what I was up against, it would make sense. Bigger pay out, less hassle and we’d already established my need to please was non-existent.
“Because, despite all that you are, you have never flipped. It’s why you’re in such high demand in a city full of shady individuals.” Jimmy smiled in appreciation, the respect I’d earned a result of years of keeping my word. “But just to be sure, I’m going to give you more than just the money.”
“What?” I laughed, wondering what the bastard could offer me that would be worth more than money.
“Your mother’s identity.” The words fired out of his mouth like a double-barreled shotgun. The name of the whore who’d spawned me obviously housed in the envelope he’d been fingering since I’d walked in.
It was no secret that my lack of give-a-fuck had evolved by my less than stellar upbringing. Dumped at a hospital a few hours old, barely hanging on to life. No fucking clue as to who my parents were, and if not for a couple of nuns who thought saving me might earn them a higher place in heaven, I’d have been six feet under before my nightmare began.
For years I’d wished they let me die. Because, unless you were in a Hollywood movie, orphans didn’t get a happy ending. Thrown into the system that farmed out kids to fucktards who shouldn’t be trusted with a dog, much less a kid. And boo-fucking-hoo, poor me ended up a punching bag for a piece of shit drunk who liked to sneak into my bedroom while “mommy” worked nights. No, he didn’t fuck me. The limped-dick asshole couldn’t have got it up even if he tried, so instead he used my back as an ashtray, holding lit cigarettes against my skin until I screamed.
He was the first man I’d killed.
I had already left. Running away from home when I was fourteen, much to everyone’s delight, only to return a couple of years later and slit his throat while he slept. The police investigation was inconclusive, his murder chalked up to a botched robbery, and for the first time in my miserable existence I’d felt empowered. I no longer gave a fuck who my parents were or what cards I’d been dealt. That light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t coming unless I climbed down there and lit the fucking thing myself.
Which is what I did.
Self-made asshole, at your service.
“You think I give a shit about some crack-infested slut dumb enough to get pregnant?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s just make it two hundred, and you can keep your bedtime story to yourself.”
While I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about my family ties, for an extra hundred K I’d take care of his problem. Especially if it meant we could stop talking.
“She wasn’t on drugs, or a slut. Quite the opposite actually. She was young though and not from around here.” He leaned forward in his chair, baiting me.
“Still don’t give a fuck.” I answered with no more interest than when we’d first started talking. “We agreeing on the price or what?”
“Fine, two hundred.” He consented with a complete lack of surprise, his initial offer obviously being a low-ball opener he’d expected me to counter. “And I’ll give you this as well.” He slid the envelope across the desk.
“Unless they are the details of where your daughter is and an accompanying photo, I’m not interested.” My hands repelled, the contents and the information no longer needed in my life.
“I really thought you were smarter, Michael.” Jimmy eyed me up and down. “You should never turn down information, especially when it’s about you. You never know when you are going to need it.”
It was exactly the sort of rhetoric that would make most men flinch, the handshake with one hand while a knife hovered at your neck with the other. But I didn’t play in anyone else’s sandbox, so they didn’t get to make up the rules. And what I knew or needed to know was on the list of shit no one else got a say in.
“I’m not here for a pep talk, and considering what you are asking me to do, you might want to keep your unsolicited advice to yourself.” My voice didn’t waver; neither did the eyeball I’d shot him across his desk, which I hoped got my point across. He might own the town, but I didn’t come with that bill of sale. My attitude frowned upon as his hired guns twitched at my side.
“Easy boys, Michael just forgot his manners.” Jimmy smiled; his narrow lips uncovered a row of yellowed and crooked teeth. The years hadn’t been kind and Amaro wouldn’t be winning any awards for being good looking. I shuddered to think what his kid would look like. His three boys had been sent off years ago, earning their stripes on Wall Street or some shit, so I had no point of reference. And the thought of a female Jimmy was enough to turn me off sex for a while.
“Yeah, whatever. Details?” The sooner I got out of here and gone, the better for everyone, including the emphysemic asshole seated across from me.
“Details are here.” He pulled out another envelope from a locked drawer and rested it on the first I’d refused to take. He really was pushing the issue.
“Thanks.” I reached across the desk and retrieved the envelope sitting on top. The beefed-up heavies flinched, making sure my hands didn’t breach an undisclosed and invisible line. Their eyes followed my hands as I moved them back into the safety of my own personal space.
They were edgy and trigger-happy but that was typical of Jimmy’s men, and while I understood the paranoia, I could only handle it in small doses.
“Cash.” I stood up and shoved the envelope under my arm. “The regular account.” I didn’t bother with the extended goodbye, a tip of my chin the only see you later Jimmy was getting.
There were few men he would have tolerated leaving before being dismissed, but we’d already established I wasn’t one of his lap dogs. He may not like my lack of etiquette, but in my time I’d earned some concessions. Leaving without being waved off was one of them. Besides, his daughter was in the wind like a sitting duck, and the sooner I got to her, the less chance she’d end up in tomorrow’s obituaries.
“As you wish.” Jimmy nodded as he watched me turn around. “I’ll let you know if things change.”
“Agreed,” I called back over my shoulder, my exit being shadowed by the two dudes who’d been standing by the door. My escort out, the one point Jimmy wasn’t willing to bend.
“Good luck.” Sal’s mouth spread into a grin; our journey coming to an end as we reached the populated part of the bar. “You’re gonna need it.”
It was hard to tell where Sal sat on the welfare of Jimmy’s kid. It wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t secretly hoping she’d end up in a box. The things she probably knew, it would make all their lives easier. Regardless of whether the words were sincere, he wasn’t calling the shots. And if daddy dearest wanted to pay me to keep her safe, then chances of her ending up in a dumpster were diminished.
I’d never failed to deliver and I wasn’t about to start now.
“I don’t believe in luck.”
The reason why I was so good at what I did was because I was smart ab
out it. There was no smash-and-grab. I went in clean, always knowing my exit route and always with a fucking plan. Of course I’d never had to grab a cop before and hoped some lowlife wasn’t hiding in the bushes ready to put a bullet in her head. Or mine. Lowlifes rarely cared about collateral damage and my newfound assignment put a target on my back.
Sofia Amaro had not only turned her back on her family, but also their money it seemed. While her big bros were living large in NYC, she had definitely gotten the short straw.
The modest bungalow downtown she was occupying belonged to someone else, the rental agreement rubber stamped and legit. Her home security was also laughable. Her ADT system requiring nothing more than a few well-placed cuts in wires and it would give anyone access to her house and by virtue, her. All of it genuinely surprised me; I expected more for someone who shared Jimmy’s DNA.
I should have asked for more money.
I’d scoped out the place for an hour and not so much as a light had been turned on. So she was either down for the night, or still putting in hours downtown. My hand eased on the doorknob, the action met with locked resistance. I hadn’t expected it to be open; that would have been rolling out the welcome mat a little too much. Still, the door wasn’t too solid, and other than making sure any neighbors didn’t poke their noses where they didn’t belong, I didn’t anticipate having any issues getting in.
That was until the door I’d been planning to kick in swung open and a nine millimeter was pointed at my chest. Her hazel eyes narrowed showing no fear as she stood in the doorway. “Put your hands where I can see them, slowly.” The words so leveled and practiced I’d assumed she’d said them a million times before.
In my line of work, I wasn’t surprised very often. I made it my business to work out as many variables as possible so I didn’t get “oh fuck” moments. But standing in front of me was the opposite of everything I’d been expecting.
Sure, I’d seen a photo of her, but it hadn’t done her justice. She had looked like every other dolled-up daddy’s girl, face covered in too much shit and hair pulled way too tight. Pathetic. But this Sofia was beautiful.
Not in the way you saw in whorehouses or strip joints, but unpolished and completely knock-you-down stunning. Her dark hair was messily pulled back from her face, her skin clear without any makeup. Her body curved in all the right places, the T-shirt and sweatpants doing little to hide what was underneath. She’d looked different from her photo, fiercer and less vulnerable. Her arms were steady as she held her gun. Like she’d be just as comfortable firing it as she would answering the phone. And I didn’t believe it had anything to do with being on the force.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” I showed her my hands but purposely kept them close to my side. A grab for a gun would take a second, and whether or not I got my hand around it before she fired was all down to how good of a shot she was. I was willing to bet she was better than most.
“No?” Her eyes moved restlessly over my body, looking for the bulge of a weapon. Either that or she was sizing me up for a suit. “You think you’re the first thug to come to my door?”
There was an edge to her voice that I couldn’t help but enjoy. That she wasn’t the helpless weeping mess I’d expected to find made me hard.
And that was rare.
Not that a woman turned me on, but that this woman turned me on. The one who was essentially my meal ticket, at least for the next few weeks.
“You look smart, so why don’t you lower your weapon and invite me inside.” My head tilted toward the doorway she was still standing in.
“You’re right, I am smart which is why my gun is staying right where it is.” She didn’t even flinch; the business end of her Smith and Wesson M&P 9 aimed at my chest.
“I’m here to protect you. You need to get out of town because the next person who knocks on your door isn’t going to be so friendly.” My head did a whip around to survey the surroundings. Every second we were out in the open could mean exposure—for me and for her—so it was either bag her and GTFO, or talk her down. And fuck me, did I hate talking.
“Do I look like I need protecting?” If she was scared, she sure as shit wasn’t showing it. Little did she know that I wasn’t the problem. Of course, if she didn’t comply in the next minute or two, she would be.
“I was wrong about you. You’re fucking stupid if you think one person is going to stop the rainstorm of shit that is about to land on your doorstep.”
“You threatening me? I’m a cop.”
No shit and yet the clock was still ticking.
“I know who you are. Your father sent me.”
It was the first time the cool exterior she’d been wearing cracked. Her eyes widening as her mouth dropped open. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice. The gun in her hand lowered too, not intentionally, but it was no longer rock steady as it had been.
“I don’t speak to my father.”
“I really don’t care.”
It was as long as I was going to wait. I raised my jacket slowly, careful not to spook her and risk ending up full of holes, as I showed her my weapon. Her eyes dropping to my flank where my loaded forty-five was chilling.
“I can grab my gun and we can have a showdown on your lawn. Or you can invite me in and we both will probably make it through the night. But I’m not standing out here a second longer with my ass flapping in the breeze. So make your fucking choice, and make it now.”
“So you think you’re just going to turn up on my doorstep in the middle of the night and I’m just going to take your word? Now who’s stupid?”
“Sofia.” It was the first time I’d used her name as I moved closer to her. “Don’t think for a second just because I have given you the illusion of choice that you actually have one.”
My feet continued to move forward, and despite having no good reason to trust me, I wasn’t filled with lead either. Whether she wanted to admit it to me or not, she knew she was in danger. I could see it in her eyes. The way her pupils dilated as they tried to stay on me and scan the periphery.
“Invite me in.”
It was the last time I was going to ask.
“Fine, but keep your hands where I can see them and move slowly.” She backed away from the door, facing me as she reentered her home. Her gun and eyes stayed on me as she made her backward journey inside.
“If I was going to shoot you, I would have done it already.” I followed her in, my arms relaxed by my sides. “You need to pack. Make it quick and drop the gun; it’s starting to piss me off.” My hand pulled the door closed behind us.
“You are in my house, I have no idea who you are or even what your name is. And you accuse me of pissing you off? You must be a friend of my father’s; only someone who consorts with him could be so arrogant and abrasive.”
“I’m not your father’s friend. I’m here because he paid me to do so. And trust me, if he paid me to walk out the door right now even though I know you’d probably be dead by morning, I’d leave just as easily. So don’t think this is personal, sweetheart, your feelings aren’t high on my list of give-a-shit.”
My words were sobering. Both to me and to her. I didn’t give a fuck about her feelings—that part was true. But if she wasn’t a job, I wouldn’t necessarily walk out the door either. She was interesting, the kind that makes your pants tight in your crotch, which would definitely warrant a moment or two consideration before giving her a see-ya.
“What makes you so sure I’d be dead by morning? I’m still the one holding the gun.” She tilted her head to the nine still in her hands in case I’d suddenly developed blindness and missed it.
“If you were so sure of that, you wouldn’t have let me in your house and you would have fired already. Don’t insult us both by wasting time and crafting bullshit we both know isn’t true.”
While my knowledge on Jimmy’s daughter might have been limited to what I’d been given in the file, I was quick in getting a read on a person. The streets will do that. All t
hose years with nothing but gut instinct and bravado will sharpen the senses of even the dumbest asshole. Either that or be killed. Watching men die has also contributed to my education; they let go of the mask and you see who they really are.
Which is why, no matter what was coming out of Sofia’s mouth, she had to be at the very least concerned that I was telling the truth. And the enemies she’d attracted weren’t the ones who left unfinished business. If her family were lucky there would be a corpse, but most likely no one would ever really know what happened.
“Why now?” She lowered the gun. My eyes followed its path as she brought it down by her side. It was the first time since we’d met that she’d put herself in a position of vulnerability.
“Lots of reasons. Poking your nose in places where it doesn’t belong would be my first choice, and the fact that despite your family name you seem hell bent on being the thorn in your father’s side.”
“Do you know what he does?” She looked at me incredulously, like I could have no possible idea of the inner workings of the family business. “I’m sure you’re a criminal of some sort, but whatever you’ve done is small potatoes compared to him. I saw it. Grew up around it. Felt its shame on my soul.” Her eyes narrowed, either disgust or anger making her face harden. “There are consequences for everything and for me the only redemption was trying to stop him. Bring justice for those who have suffered.”
Great.
Redemption.
Because we weren’t dealing with enough bad shit tonight. She had to bring up that we were in this mess simply because she was trying to balance out karma. Like it was a real thing, and there really was someone upstairs who listened to all the miserable crap people prayed for.
Ha. Well I knew better.
“There is no soul, sweetheart. You’re just a shell like the rest of us, and bad shit happens all the time. Best you can do is get out of its way when it comes. Which is why I’m here. Pack a bag, we’re done talking.”
