Her eyes widen a tad, and her mouth falls open about as much.
“I didn’t─”
“That’s right.” Dad cuts her off. Of course, now he decides to actually take part in a conversation. Why wouldn’t he? “He quit.”
“You did?” Now she wants the real story?
It’s more than that, though. She’s wondering why her source lied.
Welcome to Redemption, Green.
“I did. Now, can we drop it?”
“Four years of college and two at the academy wasted.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Dad. I got that gold star for attendance, remember?”
Nick shakes his head. Ma looks down at her plate and Dad—he’s discussed it enough, I guess.
He points at Green with his butter knife.
“Reminds me of June.” He nudges Ma. I can’t believe he just said that shit. Neither can the rest of the table.
No one makes a peep. Except for Dad.
“Remember June, Karen?” He elbows her.
“Of course, Frank,” Her voice is soft and low. There’s pain behind it. I want to deck his ass.
“Who’s June?” Green asks me as she chooses a drumstick. She’s interested to hear who it is she’s being compared to. I don’t have the balls to tell her, though.
“Mikey’s girl,” Dad answers. He’s the only one eating now. Even Nick has put his fork down. Mia’s smile has diminished, and the boys are curious but oblivious.
Lucky them.
“And Mikey is…” she fishes with a curious grin playing at her lips.
Silence weighs heavy on the room. The only sound is Dad shoving green beans into his mouth.
“Boys, why don’t you go get some more sweet tea for the table.”
“But—”
“Go.” Mia’s mom-voice is damn near as good as Ma’s.
That’s scary.
They get up and go, and I try to swallow down the lump in my throat along with the disgust that follows it. In the end, it’s Nick who finally answers her.
“That’s, um, our little brother, Emma.” He clears the phlegm out of his throat and pushes his plate away.
“Wow,” she looks over at me. “Another one of you? I can’t wait to meet this one. Where is he?”
How is she not getting it yet?
I down the rest of my drink and focus on someone else.
Dad. Who looks like he’s about to engage.
Maybe he realizes what he’s said, maybe not. Either way, the expression on his face as he meets my stare tells me the same thing it has every time he’s looked at me for about ten years now.
“No, you don’t get to see him tonight,” Dad tells her as he shoots daggers into my head.
“Oh. Why? Doesn’t he live in Redemption?”
She’s still clueless, but she’s beginning to see this is a touchy subject at least.
Me? Well, I’ve about had it with playing family for the night. Guest or no guest.
“He’s dead, Green.” I put her curiosity out of its misery and stand. With the pristine, white linen Ma’s used since the dawn of time, I wipe my mouth and toss the napkin onto the table.
I’m outta here. I don’t give a shit if that means I have to walk home.
“Thanks for dinner, Ma.” I turn to the old man. “Happy fucking birthday, Pop. Sorry, I’m alive.” My feet fly for the door. I grab my jacket on the way out.
“Jackson.” Someone’s voice calls after me as I head out the front door. Probably Ma. Next thing I know, that someone is at my side, grabbing ahold of my arm in fifty-degree weather with no coat on.
“Stiles, I’m sorry, I didn’t─”
Green?
I push past my confusion of why is she out here? And put a cork in the guilt trip she’s beginning to have.
“You wouldn’t know. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. Go inside.” I pull the cig out of my pocket and stick it in my mouth.
“No.” She’s stubborn like that. Even though she has absolutely nothing else to say right now, she stands there, waiting for me to… Hell I don’t know what she’s waiting for.
She takes the cigarette out of my mouth as a gust of wind blows through the yard. It shakes some branches on the oak tree. I look up and see the remnants of our old tree house pretty far up there. What’s left of it anyway.
It used to be so damn huge.
I take my cigarette back and house it in my pocket.
Her eyes narrow and her head tilts and I know I’m in trouble because she’s thinking about something. Every time this woman thinks I get into fucking trouble.
“That’s the grave you wanted me to go see.”
Ding ding ding ding! Winner Johnny. Tell her what she’s won.
“I take it you didn’t.”
She shakes her head. “I had a deadline.”
Of course she did.
“How did he die?” she asks, the reporter in her taking over. More trouble.
“Accident,” Nick tells her as he joins us. His voice is soft. An apology, maybe. I don’t fucking know.
“What were you thinking tonight?” I raise my voice, forgetting Green is even there. Nick takes a defensive stance.
“What was I thinking?”
“You what, thought this was the night, Nick? The one when everything would magically fucking fix itself? Thought you’d invite my… Green over here and make Dad join in on this oh so happy fucking day because—”
“Jackie—”
“No, screw that, Nick. This?” I make as big a fucking circle as I can with my hands toward the house. “Is never going to get fixed. You think you can get that through your thick ass skull? And that bike?” I point at it, but fuck if I’m gonna look at it again. “Is not gonna bring Mike back.”
I feel it as soon as the words leave my mouth. The sting behind my eyes, the shortness of breath. The twisted knots in my gut. The memory of conversations that I gave zero thought to, which cost me a brother.
I reach across my chest. It fucking burns like hell, the ink underneath my shirt.
“Listen,” Nick says to me after a couple painfully long minutes of silence between the three of us. “I’ll get ya home. Just let me tell Mia, and I’ll grab my—”
“I’ll take him.” Green’s unexpected offer throws me off guard.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” She looks completely serious right now. Maybe even concerned. Which is freaking me the fuck out. “I’m headed in that direction, anyway.”
How does she know which way is my way?
“How do you—”
“Stay so awesome? It’s hard work.” She smiles, and I have no idea how to react. Is she putting on a show or is she being serious here?
I don’t have to think about it too long.
“If you’re sure. I’ll just go make sure Ma’s okay.” Nick’s already backing away toward the front entry.
Green nods. “Absolutely.”
I breathe. Or try to. “Tell her I’m sorry for…” I wave at the house. Nick nods. He knows what I mean.
“Okay then. Let me get your stuff. We’ll talk, bro. Okay?” He looks to me for some kinda sign that I’m not gonna go home and drink myself to sleep. I can’t give it to him. Instead, I start for Green’s car, ready to get the hell outta Dodge for the night.
Maybe longer.
X X X
“You wanna talk about it?” Green tries to open up the floodgates about ten minutes into our drive. There’s a No Entrance sign that’s been up for roughly a decade, though, unfortunately for her.
“No.”
“You wanna talk about something else?”
“No.” What am I, in Lana’s office?
“You probably should talk about it.”
“Leave it alone, Green.”
“But I just─”
“Leave it the fuck alone.”
She skips a beat when I get loud about it.
“Fine,” she concedes. Another ten min
utes go by, and she apparently can’t help herself.
“Jackson?”
I blow out some air. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I told you, Green, it’s not your—”
“No.” She cuts me off. “I mean, about the article.”
My connection with the outside world is broken as I turn to face her. Wasn’t expecting that from her, either. She’s all about the surprises tonight.
“I knew you knew about it, of course. I knew you hated me for writing it. But I didn’t know you’d actually read it until you quoted it tonight.”
Gotta say, not used to getting apologies. Not that I need ’em, but when I hear them, I almost don’t even recognize what’s happening.
“Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you then.”
That’s a laugh.
“You don’t know me now.”
“I know there’s a heart under there somewhere.” She rests her hand against my chest. It’s warm as fuck. “I saw it tonight. I saw it the other day when I found Stix in the back of your car. I know someone like that wouldn’t take advantage of people the way that article suggested you do. So, I’m sorry.”
Her hand finds the steering wheel again.
She’s kinda fucking wigging me out with this sappy shit, to tell you the truth. I don’t know if she’s being sincere or playing me for information. I certainly don’t know how to interact with her on this level.
“Green?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t go soft on me. Comprende?”
I watch her to see if she gets it. When she glances over to read me, she looks like she wants to say something else about it, but in the end, the sides of her mouth turn up in a slight grin. She nods when she goes back to watching the road.
“Comprende.”
“Cool.” I return to watching the world go by, and the car becomes silent again, which I like much better.
Pretty soon, we’re approaching my apartment complex. In the middle of thinking about how Mikey used to follow me every fucking where, and how it used to drive me batshit crazy but I’d kill for him to do it one more time, it hits me that I completely forgot to ask Green how in the hell she knew where I live. Before I can open my mouth to begin the questioning, I see the lights just around the corner. Red and blue flash against the trees that line my apartment building’s property, and all of a sudden, I have a very bad feeling.
A sick to my stomach, I don’t wanna fucking know, bad feeling.
As Green turns into the parking lot, I see the yellow tape sectioning off an area of the complex. My feet itch to get out of the car, and when Green parks, I’m out before she can ask me anything about it.
The ambulance that pulls in almost right behind us tells me that whatever happened, just happened. The crowd of officers over by a cluster of trees suggests this wasn’t a burglary or some petty shit like that. I’m thinking this was something homicidal. As I near them, it’s confirmed.
Like a slo-mo playback, I see the vic’s feet. She’s missing a shoe.
I say she because the one she has on is pink. All pink. If that’s not enough, the long, bleached blonde hair splayed out against the grass is my second clue.
I get a peek at her hand just before a white sheet covers her all the way up. It’s sporting the millions of bangles that clang like a drum kit symbol every time she waves.
Waved.
Holy. Fucking. Sh—
“Do you belong here?” A tall cop with no-nonsense written all over him puts himself in between me and that corpse.
I pull out my credentials. “Live here, too.”
“Okay, go ahead.” He backs off some. But not much.
I’m not concerned with him, though. What I’m uneasy with is the body lying about a hundred feet from my apartment and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Jackson, you’re white as a ghost.”
I back up a little, unable to take my eyes off the ground.
“How’d she die?” The officer who just gave me clearance doesn’t seem too keen on giving me any details. “Sorry, sir. I’m unable to share that information. Everything’s very preliminary right now.”
“Who is that?” I don’t think Green asks the question thinking I actually know the answer. I don’t even know for sure that it’s me she’s talking to. I sure as hell don’t know why I answer her.
“That’s my stalker.”
“What?” she whispers and pulls me away from the crowd. “What’s she doing dead outside your apartment?”
“You think if I knew that I’d be here right now? I—”
Another one of the men in blue walks by, and I shut the fuck up before they get the idea I know her. They’ll figure it out soon enough. That doesn’t mean I need to hand it to them on a silver platter, though.
Something hits me, and my eyes dart up to my apartment.
“Shit.”
“What?”
I run. And I don’t give a flying fuck if the cops think anything of it.
I take the stairs, two at a time, until I’m at my door, turning the knob. When I push it open, I don’t waste a second. “Kid!”
“Stiles!” Green calls up as she climbs the stairs.
I start searching the apartment until it’s apparent.
“Fuck me.” Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
“What is going on?” Green asks again. “Stiles?”
“The kid.”
“What kid? You mean the one you had in your car today?”
“Yeah. That kid, Green.”
“What about him?”
“He’s gone.”
HIDE AND SEEK, GANGSTER STYLE
NOT GOOD. I repeat, not good.
Bells and whistles are going off inside my head like a rogue pinball game. I stuff my hands into my pockets and pull out the keyring I never used to open the apartment door.
I didn’t need a key.
Is the room spinning or is that just me?
“Jackson, what do you mean, the kid is gone?”
Green sounds legit curious at first. While I debate giving her an answer, I sift through some options that might have happened here while I take a preliminary look around to see if anything’s missing.
A) Lilah decided to pay me a visit within the one-hundred-foot limit, surprised Jimmy, he killed her, then bolted.
That’s stupid, Jackson. The kid isn’t a murderer any more than his brother was.
B) Jimmy didn’t kill Lilah, but whoever did, saw him witnessing said murder and came after him once they were done with her.
Only there’s not a second body.
Which brings me to C) Worst case scenario, the killer has Jimmy.
“Stiles?”
This is not fucking happening.
“Helloooooo?”
Why would anyone kill Lilah?
Poor kid.
“STILES!”
“What?” Jesus.
“I asked what you meant when you said the kid was gone?”
I search her expression for the answer to a burning question. Is she in on this? She couldn’t be. Right? Or maybe she was keeping me busy so whoever killed Lilah could what? Take the kid? Kill him? Stash the body? Only how would they even know he was here?
They’ve been following you, dumb ass.
That fucking cruiser back at the deli.
Dammit. I should have checked the perimeter one more time.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes seem sincere to me. They always have, really, despite her smart ass and smug attitude.
I should have checked in with him tonight.
“I’m good. And what I meant is, I left him here, and now he’s gone.”
“Why was he here?” It’s a slow, deliberate question, like maybe she’s worried I’m some sort of pedophile or something. I extinguish that thought process immediately.
“He’s homeless. It was a spur of the moment thing.” Pretty much, anyway.
“That’s not your responsibility.” Th
e self-preservation in her is showing.
“Actually, it is.”
“You don’t even know this kid.” If she only knew.
“You wouldn’t understand, Green.” The laptop is still locked. No one was in there, at least.
“Then make me.” She stands her ground and has one fierce ass glare when she does it, I have to admit.
Regardless.
“Not now. I need to find out what happened to Stix.”
I grab the phone and call Tricky Ricky. He’s pretty much the know all, be all of the word on the street. Maybe he’s heard something about something that won’t entail me having to give him any specifics.
Of course, the sharing of that knowledge comes with a hefty price.
Which sucks.
I guess I could call Nick, but then he’d wanna know why I need to find a delinquent who most likely isn’t in the system and should be. Plus, what if he blabs to the wrong person?
Tricky it is.
“Who are you calling?”
“A friend.”
The phone rings twice and I check the time. It’s not midnight, so he should be there.
“This is a good friend; I take it?”
“Eh.” The sides of my mouth drag downward. I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend to his face, but semantics.
Three rings and I’m not feeling completely optimistic about this lead. But then, on the fourth…
“What.”
Clearly, I’ve interrupted something.
Not that I give a shit. This is important.
“Rick. It’s Stiles.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I have caller ID What the fuck do you want?”
I slide away from Green to get some privacy.
“Hey, you hear anything on the streets about a kid about five-seven, dirty blond, MIA from the system, maybe?”
“I’ve got no warrants on any kids this week, Stiles, so─”
“Not warrants. Just, anything.”
He lets out a dramatic ass sigh like I’m keeping him from something much more important. Probably a woman. Or sex toy.
“This that kid you brought here the other day?”
“Yep.”
“Bad idea, Stiles,” he warns me. Like I don’t already fucking know that shit.
“Tell me what you’ve got, Ricky.”
Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption Page 15
