by W Winters
“Do you want to tell Officer Walsh?” I ask her and she shakes her head violently, wiping at the tears.
“He already knows,” she confesses. “I didn’t have to say it for him to know,” she adds in a whisper.
I wait a moment longer and it’s then the meds begin to kick in, her eyelids turning heavy. When I stand though, my heart leaps from the quick grab of her hand onto mine.
“He didn’t absolve me of my sins.” She rushes the words out as if she’s being strangled. Pain from her grip rips up my arm and I struggle not to show it, my back teeth clenching.
“Absolve me… please. Please, absolve me of my sins.”
Fear strikes me, witnessing the dire need of this girl. Watching her reality slip to the point where she truly believes I could help her.
“What is my penance?” she asks as her wide eyes beseech me.
“I’m not-” I start to get out. I can barely breathe.
“Please,” she begs me. “How many Hail Marys? He never did anything ever when I told him what that man had done to me. He always did nothing. He sat there. He never did anything but listen. I didn’t know he’d go… I didn’t know he’d die! Please! How many?”
“As many as you need,” I answer her and she shakes her head, releasing my hand to wipe the new tears from under her eyes.
“I keep saying them, but I don’t feel better. Please!” she screams, on the verge of a breakdown, arching her back as she does and I answer, gripping her hand in both of mine.
“Fifteen,” I yell and then swallow, quietly repeating myself as Melody lies back down, calming herself until she’s eerily still. I have no idea how many is a lot or a little or whether she’ll even accept the answer. I’m not Catholic. I’ve never been to confession, although I have plenty to confess.
“Is that all?” she answers sweetly, in a tone not unlike the one she used when she told me the names of the art on the wall. “Fifteen,” she marvels.
Seth
There are at least two hundred bodies in the bar. It’s packed for a Monday night. The Red Room is never quiet though. Never a dull moment. Just like Allure. Long legs barely covered by short skirts, hard bodies clad in tight jeans sway and grind on the dance floor. The bar is dark, but the lights transition with every beat of the vibrant music.
The dark red paisley wallpaper that lines the walls and the black chandeliers hanging from the sixteen-foot-high black ceiling keep the atmosphere sinful and decadent.
Alcohol is a constant and tonight I stand behind the bar, waiting for one person in the hundreds to show. The liquor bottles behind me give plenty of light, even in the half beats of darkness. They’re lit. This entire side is always lit which is why I stay behind the bar, always watching the moves made in the crowded place.
“Did he say when?” Jase asks me, fixing his jacket as he walks behind the bar to join me and the three bartenders.
“Around one.” Walsh left a message on my voicemail. One o’clock tonight in The Red Room. The last time we met, he blackmailed us. Tonight should be a better experience than that.
“Good. An update in a public place. Maybe Walsh has what he wants.” Turning to Jase, I watch the background fade and focus on him. Freshly shaven with his tailored suit, he looks more like a CEO than he does the head of a crime organization. It’s the air around him though and the way others look at him, with a hint of fear, or perhaps jealousy, that give it away. He stands apart from everyone in here. I’ve been doing my best for years to blend in, but right now, I wonder if I stand out the way he does. I wonder if the way he’s perceived now is the way I was perceived years ago in my own club.
“You think he really found Marcus?” I ask Jase, barely breathing the name aloud. Marcus. His gaze meets mine and we share a look. If that list led him to Marcus, Marcus wanted it to happen. We’ve been following his men for months and we still haven’t identified the man in question.
Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. Walsh doesn’t blend in like the other men in this club. They all have smirks, smile easily, laughing and enjoying the atmosphere. A few watch the dance floor, taking notes on potential women to pursue. Even the ones who are less than fine, and come for a strong drink after a long day, look like they belong.
Walsh is all business. He’s always all business. Even without his uniform, he looks like a cop. As he takes a seat on the leather-enveloped barstool, a man in the corner of the room stills, the pause at odds with the remainder of the club, grinding recklessly and swaying to the music. That man I know well and I’m damn sure he can tell Walsh is a cop just from the straight rod shoved up Walsh’s ass that keeps him perfectly upright with that grimace on his face.
Jase catches the eye of the man in the corner and waves him off.
“Drink?” I offer Walsh, watching every detail of his expression. His eyes are narrowed as he does the same to me.
“I thought the list would be something you’d find agreeable,” Jase comments after a moment of silence. “You don’t think it’s helpful?” he asks Walsh.
Something’s off and wrong. He has resources and two days later Walsh should know by now that the list consists of six men on a rotating schedule doing Marcus’s dirty work. At some point, they’d lead to him.
“You don’t know, do you?” Walsh’s expression changes as he drops his gaze to the slick bar top of black quartz. “Vodka, no ice.” Hard, late nights and no sleep paint the face of the man sitting across from me.
“Straight,” I answer, nodding toward Anthony, a bartender to my right who’s listening in. Everyone who works in this bar works for Cross.
“You got it.” He’s a young guy, earning his way and learning how things are done. Not bad looking and knows how to take an order, so Jase stuck him here. I know he’s itching for more. He’s motivated and wants to move up. This right here, having him close enough to hear is more than a test to see how he does, what he does and what comes out of his mouth after the fact. It’s everything for him to be on this side of the bar right now. Given the nerves that are evident as he nearly drops the shot glass, it’s showing.
“Don’t know what?” Jase asks calmly, although I can see just beneath the surface rage is brewing. I don’t like to think that I have a temper. Jase though, he’s got a hot one for both Walsh and Marcus.
Maybe when it comes to Laura. I have a bit of a temper if she’s involved, I’ll admit that, but when it comes to business, I like to think I can set my emotions to the side. I think that’s why Jase and I make a good fit. I’ve enjoyed working under him even. Watching the way he does things and learning new methods. I didn’t start at the bar though, I started in the parking lot, with a gun in my hand.
The music pounds, the bass thrumming through my veins and the lights dip low with the sound of a roar of excitement from the dance floor.
Walsh exhales, low and steady, flexing both of his hands on the bar. I’m conscious of where they go and every move he makes. Public place or not, Walsh is a desperate man fueled by revenge. I don’t trust either of those aspects.
“You gave me six names,” Walsh starts and then a chilled heavy glass of clear liquid is placed in front of him. I nod a thanks to Anthony, and wait as Walsh sips it first. It takes Anthony a moment to get the hint not to stay close, but he gets it as Walsh throws it back.
“I put them through the database and got six addresses,” he says flatly, tilting his empty glass on the table. In my periphery, I watch as Jase crosses his arms. The way his jaw is clenched is an indication that he’s holding back and he’s on edge.
“Another?” I offer, and Walsh shakes his head, meeting my stare. It’s then that I realize, all his attention is focused on me. None at all on Jase Cross. He’s barely looked at Jase. I don’t like the unease that climbs up my spine.
“When I got to the first address, I knew something was wrong. The lights didn’t work. Electric had been cut. Next to the body on the floor was a note. Same with the next address and the next. All but the bl
onde woman on the list. She’s missing, but her body wasn’t dead at her place.”
My blood runs cold. Dead. “They’re all dead?” Jase questions.
“Every single one of them.” Walsh’s nostrils flare and the tension between the three of us is at an all-time high. This is fucked.
“If you think you can fuck with me,” Walsh practically spits, the anger but also the frustration showing in his reddened eyes.
“No one’s fucking with you,” Jase says and slams both of his hands down on the bar, getting the attention of a number of patrons. I don’t touch him or hint to anything at all with Jase.
“What did the note say?” I ask Walsh, needing information. Information is everything.
Walsh’s hard gaze turns to me and he says, “Funny you should be the one to ask. It said: Was it Fletcher who did it, or Laura’s father?”
The confusion weaves its way through my expression quickly enough and that’s when the coldness hits, followed by the heat of rage. Marcus got to them first. He killed the men, knowing we knew about them.
My jaw twitches and I move for the first time since Walsh has been in here. Fuck! Adrenaline courses through me.
“I knew of Fletcher and you. I knew that one.” Walsh keeps talking. I can barely keep my focus on the words spewing from his mouth. I can’t even fucking breathe.
Fletcher or Laura’s father. Marcus’s note comes back to me. He’s playing with us. One step ahead. He’s always one step ahead. Motherfucker!
“I didn’t know who Laura’s father was referring to. Not until last night.” Walsh continues. “I figured if Fletcher was related to you, so was Laura.” Jase says something but I can’t hear him over the ringing and slew of curses in my ears.
With my hands in fists, I raise them to the top of my head, closing my eyes and praying for calm. He’s bringing Laura into this.
Marcus brought Laura into it, and put her on Walsh’s radar.
I finally speak. “Marcus… he knew about the list and got to them first.”
“How did he know?” Jase’s question is accusatory and I sneer at him, “How the hell should I know?”
“Calm down,” Jase urges me, his dark eyes narrowing as he watches me. I want to pace; I want to throw something across this fucking room.
“He dragged Laura into this.” I can barely speak her name. I feel like a caged animal, ready to attack anything that comes near me.
“He brought you front and center.” Jase’s response is quick and again I catch a tone that I don’t care for.
“What does the note mean?” Walsh asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer Walsh harshly. With both of my hands on the bar, I inhale once, then look around us. The barstools have cleared, no one daring to come around us. When I look up, no one has the audacity to look at us, but I know they’re watching. Some of them are. Others are leaving as quickly as they can.
I turn my gaze back to Walsh, noting how he looks at me like I’m hiding something. “Both of them are dead. Laura’s father and Fletcher. They’re both dead and buried ten feet under.”
“Marcus must have known about the list and he got to them first,” Jase presumes and places a hand on my shoulder, urging me to stand back up. With the blood still rushing in my ears and my head spinning, I stand up straighter. “He killed his own men because they weren’t good enough to hide from us.”
I can’t fucking breathe in here. Loosening my tie, I hear Walsh tell Jase everything he did.
“Maybe surveillance on your computer?” Jase suggests after a series of back and forths.
“It doesn’t matter. The information is useless.”
“We gave you good intel. It’s not our problem if you fucked it up.”
“It actually is,” Walsh replies condescendingly. “We don’t have a deal until I say so. And this?” he says as he puts both of his hands up and then slowly shakes his head. “No deal.”
“What do you want?” I ask him, glancing at Jase whose face easily tells me what he wants. He wants to take that glass or maybe the bottle, any fucking thing he can get his hands on and smash it into Walsh’s skull. I bet that’s what’s playing through his mind right now. On repeat.
“I want Marcus.” Defeat colors Walsh’s tone and he drops his head into his hands, putting both his elbows on the bar.
“Get him another drink,” I order and Anthony’s quick to reply, “Yes, sir” at the same time Walsh says, “No.”
“We have information at least,” Jase says beneath his breath and then nods his head at Walsh. “His computer’s being watched.”
“Potential information,” I correct him. “There’s no way to know how and when Marcus got that list.”
“What’s that?” Walsh asks. The second he does, the glass of vodka hits the bar and Walsh shoves it to the side.
I take it. Still feeling the rage of adrenaline coursing through me, I throw back the shot and then tell Anthony, “Another.”
I can’t get the thoughts of Laura out of my head. Marcus is shoving her right in the middle. He gave her over to Walsh. He’s going to know about her connection with Delilah. He will soon if he doesn’t already. It’s fucked. Everything is fucked.
“We’ll look into what we can give you,” I answer Walsh and before he can respond, the shot hits the bar and I down it, hissing from the heat that rolls down the back of my throat and spreads through my chest.
“What can you give me?” Walsh’s anger gets the best of him. “Don’t forget what I have on you,” he warns.
“Don’t forget we’ve both gotten away with worse,” I grit back. “We’re helping you find him, against our better judgment. Be grateful for that.”
Jase only observes and then orders two more shots from Anthony. “Unless you want to take us up on that free drink,” he offers Walsh.
The officer is silent as Jase takes a shot with me. And then orders two more. My head feels faint with the alcohol hitting me, but my mind still races and whatever I do, I can’t tame the anger.
Walsh watches as another shot goes down. It burns and settles deep in the pit of my stomach. It only fuels the need to get to Marcus. To be the one to take him down.
“He shouldn’t have brought Laura into this,” I tell Jase, feeling the swell of anger rise to my shoulders.
“You know what they call serial killers like him?” Walsh asks and Anthony pushes another pair of shots in front of us. When I look at him, his gaze is fixated on the empty shot glass, turning it on the table.
I’ve had enough. Enough of everything. Jase is quick to throw his back, slamming the glass down just as Walsh answers his own question. “Angel of Death. They don’t stop. I may be your enemy, but he’s worse.”
Neither Jase or I respond. I watch silently as Walsh’s guard drops as his true intentions come closer to the surface.
“It’s only a matter of time before you do something he deems punishable by death.”
“Is that why you want him so bad? The serial killer who got away back when you were an agent?” I goad him, wondering if he’ll even mention Delilah.
Jase takes the last shot on the bar when I don’t touch it.
“No,” Walsh answers honestly, but he doesn’t give away any of the truth. The way his gaze seems to look through me, I think he already knows that I know. He’s connected the dots. Which means he knows that Laura knows too. He makes his final plea and says, “Help me. Give me information.”
The thoughts of Laura and Delilah remind me of the notebooks. We have them. We have the locations.
I don’t trust Walsh though. I don’t trust his ass and that realization brings me to the conclusion that maybe he killed them. Maybe he didn’t find them dead. But that can’t be. It doesn’t explain the notes.
My head spins and a low exhale of agitation leaves me.
“We’ll see what we can do,” Jase answers Walsh even though his eyes are on me. “Now get out of my bar.”
My gaze shifts between the back of Walsh’s loose sh
irt as he weaves through the crowd and Anthony, who’s standing with his hands clasped in front of him to my right. I know he can feel my eyes on him, but he doesn’t look. He doesn’t turn to watch. The kid doesn’t know what to do, so I ask him, “What do you think?”
He hesitates to answer and when he does, he clears his throat first before saying, “I think the note has to mean something, but he’s a fucking psychopath and I don’t understand.”
A large hand grasping my shoulder pulls my attention away from Anthony. Jase doesn’t ask, he commands, “Have another drink with me.”
“I have to go to Laura. She just got done with work.” Fuck, I need to tell her Walsh knows. There’s so much I need to tell her.
Jase walks around to the other side of the bar, pulling out stools for both of us. “It’s one forty. She’s already at your place by now.”
“He brought her into this. Marcus doesn’t play by any rules. He hits where it hurts.”
“We may be a step ahead of him though. Now that we know he’s watching Walsh’s computer.”
I nod in agreement, or at least my head does without my conscious consent. Marcus just graduated to the top of my hit list.
“Grab her a bottle of red wine like you said you would and have another drink before you lose your shit.”
It hits me that Jase is saying the same words to me that I’ve said to him a dozen times before.
“When did that happen?” I ask him with a smile, a sad and fucked up one, playing on my lips.
“What?” Jase asks me, not waiting on Anthony now that he’s busy with the patrons who have taken up the momentarily empty seats. He reaches around the other side, grabbing a half-empty bottle, choosing to stick to vodka, and two glasses.
“When did I become the angry one needing to be calmed down?” I joke with him.
“Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been angry.” He places the shot down in front of me before adding, “You just didn’t show it.” His response is dead serious.
