by Nikki Godwin
“What happened?” Vin asks, raising the driver’s seat back up.
“We have to leave,” I say, slamming the door behind me. “Now. Drive. Seriously. He tried to get me to hire an illegal computer hacker. He even offered to set it up for me.”
Vin throws his sunglasses against the dashboard. “I’m talking to him,” he says. “He’s not going to set you up like that. I’m going inside.”
Fuck. I do not need him going inside, making his presence known, and I definitely don’t need him defending my honor. This isn’t the time or place. Forget redemption, Vin. We have to leave.
But he gets out of the rental car and heads across the parking lot like a man on a mission.
And there’s only one thing I can do – follow him inside.
“Alex Pittman, please,” he says to the guy up front. “You can tell him Vin Brooks is here to see him.”
Moments later, I’m back in the same chair, but this time, an angry Vin Brooks is next to me.
“What the hell, Alex? Are you seriously trying to walk Haley into a trap?” he asks. “I really thought maybe you were in this job for the right reasons, but after the shit you’ve done to A.J. and now this? I should have them pull your badge.”
Pittman takes the cursing like a pro. He sits silently, letting Vin say what he needs to say. The calmness actually disturbs me. I know it’s probably part of his police training, to remain calm while a criminal or suspect is lashing out, but he’s emotionless, sort of like how A.J. gets after an outburst. It’s like the calm after the storm rather than before. I never thought I’d see them have something in common, aside from the same first initial.
“Are you done?” Pittman asks once Vin stops ranting and sits next to me.
“For now,” Vin says. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Helping you,” Pittman says. “At least, I was trying to. I know I’ve done a lot of shit I shouldn’t have, and I’ve abused my authority a time or two. I’m not going to pretend I’m perfect. I’ve screwed your friend over a few times before, so I thought if I helped you out, maybe it’d help make amends.”
Does he really expect me to buy into that? He’s screwed A.J. over by arresting him for no reason multiple times, so he’s going to set me up with illegal activity to make peace? This guy is crazier than my screwed up friends – and Miles Garrett is pretty crazy.
“I can’t do this here,” Pittman says. “But if you come to my apartment tonight, when I’m off duty, I can help you out. Just me. Not Officer Pittman. Just Alex.”
If I hadn’t already thought that Vin was losing his mind, I’d think it now. We walk up a third flight of stairs because Pittman’s apartment complex doesn’t have an elevator.
“Thirty-one, oh-six,” Vin says, reading the numbers off the door. He knocks three times, and I hate this.
A deadbolt turns on the other side, and Pittman opens the door. He’s in a pair of red flannel pajama pants and a white muscle shirt. I’ve never seen him in civilian clothing.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” he says. “C’mon in.”
His living room is pretty bare. There’s a futon in the middle of the room and a TV on a small stand. A stack of DVDs sits on the floor, and an X-Box is hooked up next to it.
A photo of him with an older man, probably his dad, rests on the ledge of the kitchen counter, facing into the living room. I invite myself over to look at it. A CD case for a Sebastian’s Shadow album sits next to it, along with a set of keys and a bottle of Dasani water.
“So, tell me,” Vin says, pacing the living room. “How does one of Crescent Cove’s finest end up with a link to a computer hacker?”
Pittman offers us a seat, so I take one on the futon. Vin remains standing, though. Pittman leans against the kitchen counter, next to the picture of him and the older man.
“It was my first night on patrol,” he says. “They had me doing random traffic stops, all the rookie shit that no one else wants to do. I was supposed to stop every sixth vehicle, and one was an eighteen-wheeler.”
He moves from resting against the counter ledge and sits on the other end of the futon. He seems uncomfortable.
“The guy was just a kid, probably eighteen or nineteen. I asked him to put out his cigarette and told him I needed to see inside the back of the trailer,” he explains.
He talks about the veteran cops who provided no back up or supervision for him. According to Pittman, they didn’t expect him to last long outside of the academy. They thought he was a pretty boy who couldn’t handle the heat.
“I was being set up to fail, and my dad had just been diagnosed, so I was feeling like shit about my life at the time,” he tells us.
I wish I hadn’t come here tonight. I like the idea of him being an asshole cop. I don’t want to see him as a human because he’s spent years refusing to see A.J. as a human. He doesn’t deserve any respect or sympathy.
“When the guy opened the truck, he had a… You’re not going to believe me,” he says, defeat evident in his voice.
“Try me,” Vin says, walking over and standing in front of the futon.
“He had a dead toucan in the back,” Pittman says, as clear as the cove’s blue waters. “He was supposed to be disposing of it, legally, but he was keeping it to have his taxidermist friend stuff it. Everything about it was illegal and insane.”
I don’t want to believe this insanity – because that’s exactly what it is – but I don’t think Alex Pittman is creative enough to come up with something like this had it not actually happened. Even if he could weave a wild story, I don’t think he’d share it with Vin or me.
“Did you take him in?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “The guy told me about a friend of his who was dying of leukemia. He was just a little older than me, and he couldn’t leave his house because he was so sick. He couldn’t go on adventures, so they were bringing the adventures to him,” Pittman says.
He shrugs, like it’s not that big of a deal, but it’s still the weirdest thing anyone’s told me since my forever-chasing journey began. And that includes Colby’s not-so-real death, which is far-fetched in its own right.
“What can I say?” Pittman asks, shrugging. “The cancer line got me. My dad was in stage four, and so was their friend, and I let him go. Another friend was with him, some guy named Caleb. He’s a hacker. He gave me a card and told me they owed me. I never used it because, well, I’m supposed to represent the letter of the law.”
So, let’s pretend for five minutes that I believe this story. I’ll play along and pretend that Pittman was the officer of the day who let these creepy guys go, even with a dead exotic bird in their vehicle. I’ll even assume the guy who gave him the card was a legit hacker. But I can’t pretend that this won’t bite me later.
“Let me get this straight then,” Vin says, talking with his hands. “You’re going to call in a favor to this Caleb guy and get him to figure out who is blackmailing Drenaline Surf, and you expect me to believe you won’t turn us in?”
I can’t deny it. Vin and I still think very much alike, very much on the same page. He may not be free-spirited and chasing dreams, but he’s rational and realistic. I’ve missed having another level head around here. Reed and I are often outnumbered.
“I’ll make the call,” Pittman says. “From my personal phone. You tell me what you need. Fair enough?”
Making deals with the devil isn’t something I prefer to do, but Vin is willing to take that risk. He has Pittman make the call, and a guy named Caleb answers. He doesn’t reveal his last name, for protection purposes. Smart guy.
After Pittman explains our blackmail situation, Caleb says it won’t be a problem.
“Give me about thirty minutes,” he says through the phone. “I can hack a bank account pretty easily. Any names in particular I’m looking for?”
We don’t give him any. We just ask him to see what he can find. I don’t want to tip him off to anyone in particular. We may not be able to use this informa
tion legally, but it’ll give us an answer – I hope. Then we can work in reverse.
While we wait, Pittman talks about his dad’s recent passing and how blessed he was to be able to spend time with him before it was too late. As an only child with an absent mom and deceased father, I wonder if he sees part of himself in A.J. and that’s why he wants to make amends. Maybe he finally gets it or maybe his dad told him to be a man and start doing the right thing. Vin offers condolences just as Pittman’s phone rings.
“Hey, you were right about the payoffs,” Caleb says through the speaker. “The Burks family is definitely funneling some hardcore cash. They don’t even seem to be hiding it. There are about twenty or thirty transfers to this one account.”
My heart speeds up, racing like a surfer trying to get through a tube ride before it closes out.
“Can you give us an account number or bank?” Pittman asks.
“I can do better,” Caleb says. “I know who’s being paid off. You want a name?”
To Be Continued…
Acknowledgments
Gabriel. Emily. Jeremy.
Obrigado. Thank you. Merci.
About The Author
Nikki Godwin is a YA/NA/LGBT author. She can't live without Mountain Dew, black eyeliner, and music by Hawthorne Heights. When not writing, she internet-stalks her favorite bands and keeps tabs on surf competitions. Her favorite surfer is Gabriel Medina. If you ever get her started on surfing or music, she'll never shut up. You've been warned.
Books by Nikki:
Chasing Forever Down (Drenaline Surf, #1)
Rough Waters (Drenaline Surf, #2)
Always Summer (Drenaline Surf, #3)
American Girl on Saturn (Saturn, #1)
Kids in Love (Saturn, #2)
Cross Me Off Your List (Saturn, #3)
Before You Go (Saturn Series short story)
Falling From the Sky
Breaking Saint Jude
For more information, visit www.nikkigodwin.net
