Shadows and Lies

by Eden Butler

  “Yeah,” Sammy, that pretty boy smile only widening. “I get that, but not everyone that comes in here has intel on your boss.” Sammy glanced at me, that arrogant smirk exaggerated.

  “And,” I said, coming to Cosmo’s other side, “not all of them have the number to the lead detective in Drug Enforcement. One call and you losers get raided.”

  Ironside ran the place sloppy. It was too easy, too obvious—from the bartender slipping dime bags to college kids pretending to drink draft, to the very drunk, definitely underage girl sitting on the lap of a guy in a cheap business suit that could have been her father. It was obvious, the whole thing and I’d have thought Ironside knew better, but he played this place off as just somewhere he infrequently visited. He’d put the obvious pinches in the front of the bar, stationing his guards like Cosmo by that courtyard door and away from whatever shit he had working out there. From Dean and Sammy’s brief investigation, it had been illegal gambling and a few dog fights, but what I heard through the door sounded like music, likely girls dancing without a license. Small fry stuff that allowed the wannabe gangster the opportunity to make some quick cash.

  I didn’t care about any of it. I wanted to see the man and make myself heard. I wanted to look him in the eyes and make him understand that I knew he was cooking something and I knew that something concerned Alex. That wasn’t going to work. Not while I was around. I looked at the corner, at the drunk girl and the old man that kept feeding her drinks.

  The biggest obstacle wasn’t the petty shit going down in the bar meant to distract any cops who might happen along. It was the muscle guarding the door and his persistence that Ironside was M.I.A. Our threats of phone calls and intel didn’t mean shit to this asshole and he lifted his chin, like he could only watch us looking down his nose. But I got the feeling he might make a move.

  Cosmo squared his shoulders, moved his neck looking ready for a tussle before he ran his mouth. “Do what you gotta do, fucker.”

  And I was about to. I meant to. Sammy met my gaze and shook his head like he didn’t want to start shit in the middle of Uptown at some dive bar, but my best friend was always good for a scrape, especially with a lowlife getting in the way of an investigation. “Fine with me,” Sammy told Cosmo, but before either of them could move, the door the big man was guarding flew open and Ironside stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed as he watched his man balling his fingers into a fist.

  It only took him a second to access the situation—me and Sammy surrounding Cosmo, the man himself looking like his fingers itched to grab his gun—but then Ironside shook his head and exhaled, like the effort for an argument just wasn’t worth his time.

  “That’s enough, Cosmo.” Then, finally, the giant stepped aside, letting his boss approach. “Mr. Ryan and…?”

  “Associate,” I told him, not wanting to give him anything on my partner or our business.

  Ironside lifted his hand, looking too damn amused by my tone. “Fine then. Mr. Ryan and associate, what can I help you with?”

  “You can have a conversation with me,” I told him, crossing my arms, refusing to move from my spot when Cosmo acted like he didn’t like my attitude.

  Ironside slipped his hand into his front pocket, eyes moving between his man and me and Sammy, like he waited for an objection, maybe some bullshit reason to beg me off, but he didn’t argue, didn’t give me an excuse about being too busy. That asshole knew why I was there and I guessed he’d wanted to hear about Alex. Maybe see what I knew about her attack or if I thought he was responsible. One nod behind him and Cosmo cleared the way, letting me follow behind Ironside as he went back toward the courtyard.

  I’d guessed right. There were girls, at least a dozen dancing on makeshift stages staggered around the cobblestone courtyard. Some were on fountains, some draped over drunk businessmen and out-of-it tourists. Prostitution, maybe? Definitely an illegal strip club, but Ironside didn’t look ashamed in the least and didn’t seem to care that I met a few intense gazes.

  He kept walking through the courtyard ignoring the melee around us until the noise and music dimmed and a second smaller building came into view, opening to a long hallway. The building was old, smelled mildly of mildew and weed, but Ironside walked down that hallway like a damn king, head held straight, eyes forward. He was a royal and this damn pile of garbage—drugs, whores, second-rate buildings and structures—was his kingdom.

  Ironside hung a right and I followed behind, eyes on the thin door that he pushed open and the small desk just a few feet inside the room. This was not like Misty’s place at Summerland’s and it was clear by the sparse decorating and the worn furnishings that this was just another spot Ironside held court in. He caught my gaze, the way I took in the room and shook his head.

  “This isn’t my regular place. You want to talk, this is the best I could do under the circumstance.”

  I stood in front of that desk with my gun digging into my waist and Ironside on the other side scrutinizing me, my stance. I wouldn’t sit in that orange, plastic chair and didn’t want to spend more time here than necessary, so I kept were I was, reminding myself that this asshole had put his hands on Alex. It was stupid to think about, dumber to react to, but I needed to keep my anger high. It was the only way I could say what I wanted and maybe catch Ironside off guard. I did well under pressure, even better when I was pissed.

  It helped that he looked like a douchebag in some supposed classy version of a track suit, but the tag was a knock off and the only thing worth a dime on him were his shoes. Asshole had spent at least five large on shoes he’d get tired of in a month, but his outfit was subpar, low class. It helped that he kept that constant smirk on his face, and his attitude was thick with derision. “Ryan, you come in my place storming and I think you got a problem,” he finally said when I remained silent.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  I got that this wasn’t a man easily intimidated. I understood the type, hell, I probably was the type, but this was the asshole that had burned Alex and my gut told me that beyond him being a lowlife, he was working on something that would get Alex back into the fold. He wanted her scared and I guessed he didn’t like that she’d come to me with that fear. Maybe he wanted to play hero to her. I didn’t care if he did.

  “Turns out Alex’s problem got bigger tonight.” That pulled the smirk from his face and Ironside slumped into the rickety chair behind the desk pulling off a poor impression of someone trying not to worry.

  He moved his fingers through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck and it was the first time I hadn’t seen him in complete control. “She alive?”

  “You supposed to care?” I asked, crossing my arms to look down at him.

  Ironside had a hard face—not haggard or pock-marked, but stern with features too sharp and angular to be appealing. Those features only intensified as he watched me and I wondered if that was real worry I saw in his expression when he rubbed his fingers across his stubble. “So you came here to threaten me?” he asked, pulling a small bottle from the inside pocket of his jacket. He took a long sip, glaring at me when I didn’t answer. “Because you think I sent someone to attack Alex?”

  “I came here because it was on your request that she broke into that house.” I leaned down on to the back of the ugly orange chair trying not to slap the man when he frowned at me. “And it was your man who showed up the night her freaky fanboy left his last gift.”

  “Cosmo didn’t do shit,” he said, passing the bottle back to his lips.

  “But you know who did?”

  Ironside shrugged, popped his neck like he didn’t want to think about who might be after her. Maybe the list was too long. “I know Alex made a lot of enemies when she sold out Wanda.”

  “Thought you handled that.”

  “Pay offs don’t always stick, Ryan.” He took a sip, nodded for me to sit. “You’re killing my neck, asshole. Just sit down.” He sounded weak just then, a little whiny and I slipped into the chair just to keep from hearin
g that shit again. “I can’t be everywhere.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  Ironside leaned on his desk, eyes already glassy. “You’re not from here. You got no idea how this city works or what needs to be done to run it.”

  “But you do?”

  “I have a better idea than you do.”

  I prepared for his Big Thug speech, knowing he probably had it rehearsed. It was the same bullshit most jackasses make to justify the shitty things they do and I had no intention of listening. “I don’t need to live here to know a bully when I see one. This city is thick with them. I’ve seen people like you in the desert, in the streets here. Pricks we had to protect. Pricks who didn’t give a shit about anyone—kids, women, the poor. They only care about the cash and clout they have and fucked anyone over who got in their way. You aren’t much different.”

  “Are we still talking about Alex?” When I didn’t say anything, he leaned back. “I care more about Alex than you can understand. Since we were kids, I’ve watched her back.”

  “That what you call it?” Ironside’s eyes were still glassy, but he understood. I could see it in the way his top lip came up. He knew I’d seen what he’d done to her. “Scars and burns are watching her back?”

  The small bottle in his hand was nearly empty and it shattered against the metal table when he slammed it down. “That is none of your fucking business.” Cosmo appeared in the doorway, then moved away again when Ironside waved him off.

  “It became my business when she asked for my help.” I leaned forward, wanting that son of a bitch to challenge me. Needing him to, but a bully has no ground to stand on when confronted. He’s only a bully when he thinks he has the upper hand. I wasn’t giving him any. “I’m making it my business.”

  There was broken glass across the surface of the desk, shards that looked like glitter on the metal surface. Ironside looked down at them, then languidly reached out and ran his hand on top of the sharp mess. “You got no idea about us, Ryan. None.” He moved his fingertips in the glass not wincing, not doing anything when pieces stuck to his skin. “You think she’ll settle with you? You’re a fucking idiot.” Ironside ran his fingers together, dusting specks of blood and glass off his fingers. “Alex ain’t some bitch you picked off the street, some little sweetie you need to protect from the big, bad world. She’s part of the world you pretend isn’t around you. She’s running a con and you don’t even see it.”

  He underestimated me if he thought that would get a rise out of me. He didn’t know that we had another connection. By death, yeah, sure, but it was a connection that lined us up, gave us something shared to fight against. I knew how important it was for me to find the truth about Isiah Ferguson and my mother’s death, and how important it was for Alex to get to the bottom of Stevie’s murder. Alex and I weren’t totally different. Her sister had been her only family, my mother was mine. She wanted answers too, just like I did. That was my ace in the hole. “That what you have to tell yourself?”

  “What is this really about, Ryan? The auction? What is it you want to bid on?”

  This bastard never saw the big picture. He was a doubter, and could only believe what was right in front of his smug, ugly face. He knew exactly what he wanted from Alex, but I couldn’t let him take that. Not again, not when I’d seen the shame in her eyes about how she’d been marked. Not when I’d felt those scars. “This is about you pulling her back in. This is about you not keeping your fucking word.”

  Ironside rubbed his fingers together, collecting sticky smears of red on his fingertips. Maybe he thought I would be intimidated by his little blood show. Maybe he thought I’d be shocked that he liked pain. The guy had no idea what pain was. He’d never bled, not like I had. “So you’re telling me to stay away?”

  I stood up from the chair, ready to be out of this asshole’s circle and back to Alex and the investigation. Ironside was a waste. He might be a common thug. He might get off on inflicting pain, but I’d seen the way the news of the attack had leveled him. In his own sick way, that bastard cared about Alex. “I’m telling you that if you were a man, you’d walk away, let her go. I’m saying that someone is after her and you and the auction and hell, the shit I walked away from all connects, and it’s dangerous. I’m saying despite that you’re more worried about controlling her, that doing whatever the fuck you take as some sick pleasure is more important than her safety. I’m saying you’re a damn bully.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her.” His fist came back down on that desk and this time he winced. “Not like you think. I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else. Neither does Alex.”

  I didn’t care, wasn’t interested any more, and turned away from that desk before the itch to pummel his face got too great. Ironside wasn’t having her followed, but he was watching her. I didn’t fucking like that shit. “Ryan?” I turned, barely glancing at him. “You can’t keep her happy.”

  “Yeah well, I’m gonna try like hell to make sure you can’t either.”

  I felt like some Psycho Billy version of Martha Stewart. Well, not quite, but damn close. Two weeks and I was still riding Ryan’s leather sofa. He’d offered me his bed, saying he’d surf for a little while on the brown leather, but I couldn’t ask him to do that. Not when it was my stupidity that had him trailing off to confront Timber. With zero point.

  So two weeks in and I was doing our damn laundry. Our laundry. Folding Ryan’s ratty rugby t-shirts didn’t qualify me for some Good Housekeeping prize but it wasn’t in my nature to have things in such damn order. Stacked shirts? Never in my life and just staring down at those small wedges of fabric that were my thongs had me scowling. So I knocked them over, then, just because I could. I dug through my clothes, separated them from Ryan’s and stuffed all my crap in my bag because my bag was my space, dammit.

  The disorder didn’t make me feel any better but at least Ryan would stop getting ideas.

  “Fucking Boy Scout,” I said to the empty living room, pulling a cigarette from my pack to lean on the balcony from the open French door. I didn’t even want the damn thing, but Ryan was with his partners discussing a new assignment with some rich jackass client and I had already done three loads of laundry. Christ, I was bored.

  The cigarette was long, 100’s and I rolled it between my knuckles but didn’t light it. S. Peters below me held my interest more, so did thoughts about Ryan and his ideas and all the nice little things he’d done since my attack. Most women would love the attention. He’d cook and I’d clean. He’d stop by my place to grab anything I needed because my apartment was still “sketchy as hell” and he even walked around the building for me calling Minion’s name on the off chance that the damn cat had come back home.

  He hadn’t and I got landed with Ryan doing all those nice things, decent things that no one had ever bothered with in the past.

  “You want me to get you the patch?” he’d asked a few days before when I’d complained that I was tired of the smell and expense of cigarettes and phlegmy cough I got every time I lit up.

  No one usually cared what I did, except maybe Timber, but he didn’t count. Ryan, though gave a shit and it was beginning to freak me out.

  We lived every day for two weeks in pretty much the same routine—him keeping in contact with Sammy and Dean as they staked out Timber’s men—who Dean was convinced were hiding something from their boss—while I looked online for antiques dealers, specifically those matching the description that Ryan had given me of his mother’s best friend, Dot Simmons. We also spent hours digging up newspaper articles about Simmons and any other cases from Atlanta or Cleveland, where he’d worked twenty-five years ago, that would draw out any new witnesses or anyone who shared history with Ryan’s old sergeant.

  We were biding our time. I knew that. He knew that, but Ryan’s little conversation with Timber had my former boss dragging his feet about the auction and the leads on Dot were drying up. Things were starting to get monotonous and when that happened, Ryan got
those ideas of his.

  I wasn’t opposed to all of them, but when I sat on the sofa watching movies at night and Ryan leaned back against the other side, smelling the way he did, looking the way he did, watching me the way he did, well, ideas became inclinations and for the past two nights those inclinations had almost gotten us into trouble.

  We should have not watched that movie. I don’t remember the name, but it was that Evens Stevens guy and a girl and they were mostly naked for the entire movie. When you’re sitting five inches from someone you’re attracted to, who you know is attracted to you and the sounds of fucking and the image of sweat and bodies all merges in the dark light of the living room… well. It leads to things and makes those ideas, those inclinations, that much more tempting.

  The night of the naked movie, we watched without really watching and the smell of his skin, how Ryan had relaxed enough that his legs were spread, his knee pressed against my back as I sat in front of him on the floor, had only heightened the sensation in the room. I’d brushed my hair back, wanting it off my shoulder and closed my eyes against the sensation of his thumb smoothing down the back of my neck.

  I didn’t ask him to stop. I didn’t ask why he was touching me. The thick air in the room, the texture of his rough thumb on my skin, rubbing, slowly smoothing down each bump in my spine kept me frozen in that spot, waiting, holding my breath for what would come next.

  By the time the movie ended, Ryan had his palm rested on my shoulder and my nipples were pushed tight against my tank top. But the mood had not been right, not then and Ryan being Ryan asked if I wanted to take his bed to get some rest and the idea of sleeping there, my tits and ass against sheets I knew he slept naked on was just too overwhelming.

  “Nah,” I’d told him scooting up from the floor before he could stop me. “I’ll just catch a shower and go to sleep.”