by Lisa Ladew
Mossberg returned to the stove then came back one more time with his own bowl and sat down next to Jeanette. He picked up his spoon and pointed it at Bronx. "So what the fuck are you doing here, rich boy? Why'd you steal this job from someone who actually needed the money?"
Wade shuffled in his chair and shook his head. Curry threw his head up in indignation and looked ready to throw down with Moss, but Bronx held up his hands. He wanted to answer. He wanted to get over this.
"I've wanted to be part of the SFFD since I was five years old."
"So you want to be a hero then? That shit's dangerous," Moss spat out.
Bronx shook his head. "No, no hero. Let me explain something to you. My dad is rich now, but he wasn't always that way. When we were growing up we struggled financially just like anybody else. He was a colonel in the army until I was twelve. Then he retired and started his business, which didn't start making money till I was sixteen or seventeen. My brother started a business a few years later and his made money too. But I don't own either. This job is my only income right now."
Bronx kept his voice level and even. He wanted to explain, not alienate. Mossberg grunted and started shoveling chunks of meat into his angry mouth.
Jeanette took a dainty sip off of her spoon, then spoke, her voice laced with evil knowledge. "Ask him how much he made last year helping his brother."
Aw fuck. Bronx watched her, wondering what her angle was. And knowing this was not going to be good.
"How much?" Mossberg wanted to know.
"Nine hundred thousand dollars and some change."
Bronx winced. His taxes showed a little more, but that was accurate enough to cement rich boy on his forehead in the eyes of these people who probably averaged a tenth of that.
Curry whistled and Wade looked away. Mossberg dropped his spoon into his bowl and made a noise like he was too disgusted to eat anymore.
Jeanette's voice was softer when she spoke again. "Now ask him how much he gave to Inner City Youth Street Services last year."
Bronx gripped his spoon tightly, wishing he hadn't stayed for dinner. Wishing he'd known better than to think these people would accept him as one of their own.
No one spoke so Jeanette answered her own question. "Eight hundred and fifty two thousand dollars."
Bronx knew better than to think that was going to save him. He had a nice house. A big truck. All the clothes he could want. He wasn't living hand to fist, paycheck to paycheck. He could have given away more. The fact that all of his money went to the same place was a tidbit he was frequently criticized for in the society pages, not that he gave a fuck. He liked Inner City. They needed the money. They needed him—
"All of it?" Curry whispered from beside him, his black hair framing his face and making his incredulity seem bigger somehow. "You gave all of it away except for fifty thousand dollars?"
Bronx shifted in his chair. "Well, I had to eat."
Curry broke out into laughter and clapped Bronx on the back as the tension leaked out of the room. "He had to eat!" Curry called to the table in general, grasping Bronx by the nape of the neck and shaking him back and forth in his chair, like an older brother would do to a younger when he was proud of him.
Jeanette smirked and Wade smiled. Mossberg wouldn't be charmed, but he did pick up his spoon and continue his meal.
***
Two hours later, Bronx headed out into the crisp night air to go home. He knew if he stayed any longer they'd get a call and he'd be jealous watching them go out without him, so he pushed himself out the door, even though he had nowhere special to go. He looked at his watch. Too late to head over to Inner City. He'd go tomorrow.
Curry ran to catch up to him and walked him out to the truck. "Hey man, don't mind Mossberg. He's a bit hard around the edges, but he'll warm up to you."
"That's cool," Bronx said. He could deal with one guy out of four not liking him. Mossberg didn't seem to like anyone actually. But Wade and Jeanette and Curry had been friendly enough to make up for it. They'd spent the last two hours around the table sharing stories and getting to know each other.
"I just wanted to give you a little piece of advice, start you out right," Curry said, then looked over his shoulder at the fire station. He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "Uh, Jeanette's married."
"Oh. Ok." Bronx said, wondering what that had to do with anything and waiting for the advice.
"She ah, well, she seems to like you, and she's kind of got a reputation of not paying much attention to her marriage vows. She's a bit of a man-eater, actually. She's a great firefighter, and a good friend, but if you let her go too far with you, well, you might end up on the wrong side of her psychopathic husband. It's happened to a few guys."
Bronx rubbed an eyebrow with his thumb. "Thanks, man, I'll keep an eye out. I'm not looking to get involved with anyone anyway. Especially not someone who's married."
Curry clapped him on the back. "That's why I thought I'd warn you. She doesn't wear her ring, so you wouldn't know otherwise."
A question popped into Bronx's head and he couldn't hold it inside. "You know anything about Lieutenant Avalon?"
Curry leaned against Bronx's black truck. "Training, right? Yeah, I've heard some things. The fire department is worse than the schoolyard when it comes to gossip."
Bronx waited, his breath caught in his throat, trying to resist the urge to grab the man by his shirt and beg him to spill everything.
When Curry just looked back impassively, Bronx knew he had to dig. "Is she ... married?"
"Nah man, she's not married."
Bronx sagged against his truck, feeling worn out.
Curry laughed. "Don't look so relieved, she's a bit of a cold fish, from what I've heard. Really quiet. Keeps to herself. Who knows though, you're a good looking guy, you've got money, morals. Maybe she goes for that kind of freaky shit."
Curry laughed at his own humor, then his smile faded. "A lieutenant noticing a probie, though? That seems unlikely."
"Are there rules against it?"
"Not unless she's in your direct chain of command, which she's not." Curry clapped him on the shoulder. "Go for it, the worst she can say is no."
Bronx nodded, his mind far away. He didn't know her, had only met her once, but he knew a no out of her mouth would feel like a stab wound to the chest.
Chapter 7
Eme
Eme peered into the darkness of her bedroom, blinking at the clock. One minute before the alarm went off. She slapped the clock and jumped up, throwing off any tiredness as she went. She felt hyped, in a bad way, like she'd been restless in her sleep, but at least the nightmare hadn't woken her. She had another day off, but she was not about to sleep in and invite Dusan back into her mind.
So what to do with her reams and mountains of extra time today? She had no friends. No hobbies. Anymore. She might be able to keep her story straight but she still didn't want to share it with anyone, just in case. Even in America, she didn't feel safe.
She turned on her computer and went through her routine, grinding her teeth again when she found nothing. She had to get more aggressive. Figure something out. She would never live comfortably and freely until Dusan was in jail.
Besides, he deserved to go to jail. He needed to be in jail. If she ever saw that he had gotten married again, she thought she might die, especially if it said his new wife was sixteen, the age she'd been when he'd talked her father into handing her over for marriage.
Eme held her head in her hands, knowing she wasn't free. She might not live in South Africa anymore, and she might not be in Dusan's house, but he still had a stranglehold on her emotions and her mind.
She pushed herself into the shower and lathered up, her thoughts working overtime. She had to get out of here. Do something new. Get her mind off of all of this. Only then would an idea come to her. Anything else was just mental gymnastics.
She finished, got dressed, and grabbed her purse, heading out of her tiny apartment. Only when
she was on the sidewalk did she realize she had dressed in athletic clothes. Rock climbing? Bouldering? There were plenty of spots just outside the city. The thought made her sick to her stomach and she turned away from it.
No, she would do something else. The sun was up and the day was unseasonably warm for this early in the morning. For now, she would walk.
***
Two hours later, with a full belly, and still no inkling of what her day could look like, Eme wandered down Mission street, hearing the whine of a fire engine's horn from somewhere south of her. She missed working in the field, but her specialized knowledge and her hazmat and chemicals background had made her perfect for training. And it had been the reason the Chief had offered her the job with a lateral transfer as a Lieutenant. Which meant she could sock away money faster. Build up her freedom cache quicker. Get her mother here sooner.
When she thought it was safe.
To her left, a group of pre-teen boys barreled out of a building, laughing and calling to each other, watched over by a dour-looking woman who called out instructions to them. Eme looked at the red door they'd just come out of and saw a small black sign that read Inner City Youth Street Services. She'd heard of the organization and its goal to keep underprivileged San Francisco youth out of gangs and off of the streets, helping boys and girls as young as six years old.
Her hand curled around her belly involuntarily and her feet took her inside.
Her body felt small and insignificant as she found the office door. She pushed inside, thinking the place looked almost like a gym, with weights and gymnastics equipment lining one wall, but then TVs and gaming consoles lining the other. A few teenage males worked out on the equipment she could see and sounds of sneakers scuffing a gymnasium floor and a basketball bouncing emanated from a closed door to her right. The kind-looking man at the desk smiled at her. "Are you here to volunteer?"
"Yes, uh, I think I am."
"I'll need your driver's license and a $35 fee to cover the background check, payable in check or cash."
Eme swallowed hard. She hated having her background run, but she knew it stood up to any sort of examination, since she'd been hired by the SFFD. The name was one hundred percent fake, but the history it pulled up was still her. She felt guilty every day about the fake name, the subterfuge, the fact that she was still married to Dusan, but what could she do? She didn't trust any country to protect her against him.
She handed over her license and pulled the bills out of her purse.
"Perfect. Read this and answer the questions, then we'll get you started."
Eme sat on a folding chair in the corner and filled out the paper asking her for her essentials. Laughter filtered from the basketball court behind the door and a pleasant-sounding male voice called for his charges to line up, line up quickly!
Eme reached the last line on the form and flicked her pen against her fingers, waiting for something. She kicked her legs, staring hard at the piece of paper, wanting to hear that male voice again. She recognized it from somewhere.
"Rubio, pick up your defense, he's getting past you!" the voice called and Eme felt a strange warmth go through her. She didn't know who he was but he sounded kind. She imagined an older gentleman with five or six children of his own, a basketball coach his whole life, wanting to provide structure and encouragement to children who didn't have enough of either. Except the voice didn't sound old. It sounded young. And strong.
"Sandoval, you got him, he's bigger than you so you just concentrate on being faster. Go under his arms."
Eme froze as an image popped into her head.
Two days ago. The fire station.
The dark-haired recruit with the flint-rock eyes.
Her heart beat faster in her chest as she bit back a sudden desire to peek in the door. To confirm her suspicion.
She got up and returned the paper to the man at the desk. He looked it over, then smiled at her.
"Someone will call you in seven days or so. That's how long the background check takes."
She nodded. "Ah, any, ah chance I could peek in that door over there, see ah ..."
"Sure." The man turned back to his papers.
Eme walked over to the door on feet that felt leaden. Why did she even care? What did it matter if that were him in there?
She didn't know. But she couldn't stop herself from looking.
Chapter 8
Bronx
Bronx headed in the door to the Russ building downtown and took the elevator up to Alpha Private Security, his body light and relaxed after his workout with the boys at Inner City. Now that he worked twenty-four hour shifts and had at least every other day off, he'd be able to go more often, as long as Knox didn't need him. He didn't want to moonlight, but he'd do anything for his oldest brother.
He stepped out of the elevator and crossed the hallway to the door leading into the office. Just as he placed his hand on the door it pushed open and a tall man in an expensive and impeccably tailored suit barreled into him.
Bronx stepped back to avoid being knocked over. The man tensed and Bronx could see the turmoil in his face. He was looking for a fight like a street brawler. Bronx held up his hands. "Sorry dude, I'm just walking here."
The guy's lip curled like he was snarling and he spat out a word at Bronx that he didn't recognize. It sounded like puss but with a weird accent on it, like maybe he was saying poos. Which meant nothing to Bronx.
Bronx stood his ground and stared at the guy. He felt good. He didn't want to throw down, especially with this guy who looked like he might have a gun under his coat and would use it because of nothing but a harsh word, but he wasn't about to back down. This was his territory.
The man dismissed him and stalked to the elevator, muttering what sounded like another language under his breath. Bronx stood where he was until the elevator dinged and the grouchy guy disappeared, then he pushed in the office. Daxton was there, folders held in his hands, watching out the window into the hallway.
Bronx hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I think that guy just called me a pussy."
Dax smirked. "That's the only thing I would agree with him on."
Bronx tagged his brother on the chest with a closed fist. "What was his problem anyway?"
"He's pissed cuz I told him we wouldn't help him find the woman he's looking for."
"Was he hiding something?"
Daxton nodded. "Yeah. He was lying about something for sure. And he wasn't able to prove to me the woman would want to be found. He got really pissed when I told him I'd be calling the other agencies and telling them to watch out for him too."
Bronx nodded. It was a good rule Knox had put in place, but that didn't mean the guy wouldn't find someone to help him.
Bronx looked around at the office. The receptionist was on the phone but no one else was in sight. "Where is everybody?"
"Working, unlike you, ya slacker," Dax said, tucking the folder under his arm and ticking off on his fingers where all the employees were, then mentioning their brothers. "Knox and Talon are in The Bunker working up the schedule for the week. How was your first day at work?"
Bronx brushed off the question with a shoulder roll and a mutter. Daxton knew him well enough to not ask again and Bronx was glad about that. He didn't want to say a word until he had something good to report. He noticed Daxton's t-shirt and bit his lip to keep from laughing. Daxton wore the ridiculous shirts for the sole purpose of getting a reaction, and his brothers were all determined to pretend they didn't even notice. This one was crazy though. It was a disgusting lime-green color, guaranteed to pull the eyeballs, with a picture of a disembodied hand holding a frantic rooster by the neck. The white splash of words underneath the image read Cock Choke. Bronx didn't know what it meant, but it was funny. He dragged his eyes over to the wall and counted to ten until Daxton gave up on waiting for a reaction and turned on his heel.
Bronx followed Dax down the long hallway to the oversized meeting room they called The Bunker. Bronx cou
ld already see Talon, dressed in his typical jeans, beanie, and leather cut, pacing and talking with his hands.
Daxton pushed open the door and stood back so Bronx could pass him and slip into one of the unused chairs.
Talon sounded excited. "Come on, boss, you gotta give all the projects a name. At least the important ones. It's good for morale. These numbers just don't cut it." He flipped a folder on the table. "Like this one. It has to have a name. Something snazzy like Project Amelia or Operation Precious or something simple, like Recovery."
Bronx smiled. Talon was really getting comfortable here and Bronx was glad. He liked Talon, and he liked that Knox had a new, competent body to fill the hole left by Bronx joining the fire department. Knox preferred to work with family and friends, people he trusted implicitly, especially for the biggest, most important cases.
Knox grunted from the far side of the sleek, mahogany meeting table where he stood with one hand on the large window. He raised a finger to Bronx then turned his attention back to Talon.
"Fine. Pick a name. Just remember this ain't the army."
Talon rubbed his hands together and smiled, raising his chin in greeting to Bronx, then turned his attention back to Knox. "I remember, but that don't mean we can't get shit done." He leaned across the table and picked up another folder, opening it.
Bronx leaned forward. "What's going on with Operation Precious, anyway? You guys any closer to finding anything?" He figured that was the name Talon would pick. The guy was just a big softie underneath all that intimidating leather. And there was nothing more precious than a lost half-sister. Amelia Mae had been born to their mother, but not fathered by their father. He'd handed Mom off to another guy in a bet that he insisted she wanted to be a part of, and when she'd come back pregnant they'd planned on giving the child up for adoption. Too bad their dad went ahead with the paperwork while their mom was still doped up from the birth. She'd spent the last twenty-one years refusing to speak and slowly going crazy since she'd decided, too late, that she didn't want to give the baby up. Add to that the fact that both parents had told the brothers the child had been a stillbirth, and the whole situation had handed all the brothers, especially Knox, a horrible heartache.
