by Hart, Callie
“Seems as though the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Monty says delightedly. “Young Jake has been helping his father on a number of his runs recently. We have plenty of shots of him attending meetings with his father. Handling very large amounts of heroin. And now Q’s added this little tell-all to his dossier of evidence. Jake’ll go down for his involvement in his father’s illegal dealings anyway, but this…this is the kind of shit you really wanted him to go down for, right?”
Oh yeah. Monty is right. Because the figure in the photos, the person committing the most heinous crime of all in that final shot, is none other than Jacob Weaving himself. Both Sam and Cillian are proven guilty in that picture too, but with Sam already long dead and rotting in the ground courtesy of Leon Wickman, only Cillian can be held accountable alongside the captain of Raleigh’s football team.
“Q’s planning on handing everything he’s collected over to the DEA at the end of the week. I didn’t wanna say anything until I knew it was definitely happening. Plan was green lit this morning, though. Figured it was high time I filled you in. Your girl won’t need to testify if she can’t hack a court room. What he did to this girl alone will be enough to convict Jacob of rape. It’ll be just one in a long list of charges. I knew seeing that would make you fucking happy.”
Happy isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe how I’m feeling right now, but he’s correct. Those photos will be enough to convict Jacob and Cillian.
“Jacob has a penchant for Raleigh High cheerleaders, huh?” Monty observes, pulling on his cigarette. “You know that one, kid?”
“Yeah.” The word comes out hard, stiff and unhappy. I did recognize the girl Jacob was man-handling the moment I laid eyes on her. “Her name is Zen Macready.”
“She friends with that pretty girlfriend of yours?”
“Used to be.”
Monty’s mouth turns down at the corners as he nods, filing this information away. “Since the DEA’ll be dragging your boy Weaving off in cuffs at the end of the week, that gives you five days, man. Five days to plot, and plan, and exact revenge however you see fit. What have you got in mind?”
I stare at the manila envelope now neatly tucked underneath the edge of Monty’s laptop, and, surprised, end up muttering words I never thought I’d hear myself say. “Nothing. I’m not gonna do anything. He’s gonna be arrested at last. The sick motherfucker’s gonna go to jail for a very long time, and he’s gonna pay for what he’s done. I don’t need to do a damn thing.”
Monty’s eyes sharpen, his bushy, thick eyebrows tugging together to meet in the middle. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
I shake my head. “Silver’s all I care about, man. If Jake gets what’s coming to him and I don’t even need to get involved, then fuck yeah. That’s a fucking win. Justice is done, and I don’t have to risk serious jail time that’ll take me away from my girl.”
Monty laughs softly, shaking his head. He stubs out his smoke and fishes in his pack for another one, barely taking a breath in between. “God almighty, I never thought it’d happen to you, kid. You went and got yourself some high-grade pussy, and it’s made you fucking soft.”
He can laugh at me all he wants. He’s going to mock me over this until the end of time, but I don’t fucking care. I’m not gonna act like a dumb, arrogant prick and get my hands dirty just to prove I’m a man, when there’s a chance I could lose everything because of it.
Monty heaves a sigh when I don’t defend myself. A thoughtful look forms on his face. Looking down at the bag on the table, he hums under his breath, then slowly zips the bag back up, pushing it across his desk toward me.
“You’ll change your mind, son. And when you do, I’m sure this’ll come in handy. Use whatever tool tickles your imagination. Probably not safe to keep it here anyway. I’ve laid eyes on it. I know it’ll be safe with you. Just don’t let anyone else touch it, you hear? ’Specially not Q, or any of the other Dreadnaughts.”
I’m pushing the bag of torture implements back toward him, shaking my own head, when Monty slumps back into his chair, clenching his jaw.
“Thanks, kiddo. Sorry for all the to-ing and fro-ing with that thing. You know, you’re actually doing me a really big favor.”
And that’s it. Just like that, with a few simple words, he’s made it impossible for me to say no.
TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED:
+1(564) 987 3491: The entire team’s gonna get a ride next time. When u gonna let us feed that greedy cunt, Parisi? We’re gonna make you fucking bleed.
13
SILVER
“Oh, my goodness! Silver? This is a surprise.”
Mrs. Richmond looks genuinely shocked to see me when she opens up the front door to her house. I’m shocked I’m here, too. I would have texted my brother to let him know I was outside and he could have just come out to meet me; that would have been the easiest way to manage this uncomfortable situation, but Max still hasn’t got a cell phone, so I was shit out of luck in that department.
When Mom messaged and asked me if I could pick my brother up from the Richmond’s, I immediately typed out a message, telling her absolutely, categorically no freaking way. I haven’t been over here in a really long time, after all. I used to visit at least once a week with the other girls. We’d rotate between houses, which generally meant the Sirens spent time at each other’s places regularly. Since everything went down with Jake, however, I’ve made sure to avoid even driving down this street at all costs.
Mom hasn’t asked me for anything since she moved out, though. Not a single request or favor. As a point of principle, she’s been trying to show me that she doesn’t need to lean on me the way she did during the months leading up to her separation from Dad, and honestly, it’s been kind of amazing. I love Max. I never minded the cooking or cleaning, or running errands for her, but it also does feels like I just got my life back. Mom’s been working as a freelance CPA for the Mayor’s office, though. Started out as a temporary position, but they spoke with her last week and told her that it could become permanent if she was willing to put the work in. She needs this job to afford the rent on her new place, so when she told me their month-end budget meeting ran long and she couldn’t get away today, I made the decision to swallow down my anger at her and show her a little support.
Kacey’s been gone for well over a month. Melody, Halliday and Zen are still stuck together like glue, but they haven’t been on the attack where I’ve been concerned, so I figured standing on the Richmond’s doorstep for five seconds while Max got his shoes wouldn’t be that big an ordeal.
I was wrong, though. It feels so normal, being here. Like I should just waltz right on and make myself at home. On Thursdays, I used to teach guitar to a kid around the corner from here and occasionally I’d stop by and pick up Halliday when I was done. We’d go grab a milkshake at the diner or go swimming at Lake Samish in the summertime. The front door of the house was never locked. I’d let myself in and park myself on a stool by the breakfast counter, grazing on whatever fruit was in the bowl there by the key tray while she got ready for us to leave. So much has changed since then. Being here isn’t normal anymore. I’d never dream of letting myself in and making myself at home these days.
Mrs. Richmond opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t seem to know what to say. Her hair’s longer than I remember, but it looks a little lank and her roots are showing. She always used to be so well put together, but today, in her sweatpants and her oversized Raleigh High Class of 1990 t-shirt, I barely even recognize her.
“Would you like to come in?” she asks, blinking rapidly. Her voice is three octaves higher than usual. Strained. “The boys are still in the back room. I told Max your Mom would be by to get him soon, but they were in the middle of a campaign apparently and didn’t want to stop. Shouldn’t take them long to get finished up, though.”
Fuuuuck.
Goddamn boys and their video games. I do not want to step foot inside this house. I defi
nitely don’t want to hang around while Max finishes up a campaign on whatever new game he and Jamie have become addicted to. If he knows I’ve come to collect him instead of Mom, he’ll use it to his advantage and take forever to leave.
I shift from one foot to the other, glancing back at the Nova over my shoulder. “Uhh…” God, how the fuck am I supposed to say no without coming off like a jerk? I should have left the car’s engine running or something. “Sure, Mrs. Richmond. Thank you. I—that would be lovely.”
I’m not sure what reasoning Halliday gave her mom when I stopped coming around here, but from the way Mrs. Richmond keeps looking at me out of the corner of her eye, her daughter didn’t paint me in a very good light.
Inside, I toe my shoes off and slide them under the mail stand, out of the way. Force of habit. Mrs. Richmond loiters in the hallway for a second, and then nervously rubs her hands together. “All right, then. Well, you know your way to the back room, don’t you. Why don’t you go and light a fire under your brother? I need to check on the oven. I’m making lasagna and everything seems to be burning recently.”
Relieved that she doesn’t want to stand around and chat, I let her go without complaint. She hurries off toward the kitchen, her head bowed, feet moving double time, and I head in the opposite direction, toward the conservatory at the rear of the house known as the back room, where the Richmond children have always been relegated to keep them out of sight.
Neither of the boys look away from the television screen when I enter the room. They both know I’m there, though.
“It’s not seven yet, Silver,” Max says firmly. “I’ve got five more minutes.”
“It’s ten minutes past seven, actually,” I say, looking down at Mickey. “And I have somewhere to be, so you need to get your butt up out of that chair and drag it to the car.”
“Hey, Silver.”
“Hey, Jamie.”
“Don’t be nice to her,” Max tells his friend. “She’s gonna mess up the game.”
Jamie’s always been sweet. Kind. Polite. Usually the complete opposite to Max. His hair is even redder than his sister’s—more of an orange than an auburn, and his face is a constellation of freckles. He’s a sensitive kid. The kind that needs a little more affection than your average eleven-year-old. I dread what’s going to happen to him when he reaches high school.
“Don’t be a butthead, Max. Save the game. You can pick up where you left off next time.”
My brother hammers at the buttons on the game controller in his hands and a strafe of gunfire shoots across the T.V. screen. The loud rattle of sound is unexpected and makes me jump. That’s what I tell myself. My heartrate isn’t through the roof, and my palms aren’t sweating out of nowhere because the sound mentally dragged me, kicking and screaming back to the halls of Raleigh High, the day Leon killed eighteen of my fellow students.
“Mom doesn’t mind waiting for me when she comes. Just chill out,” Max snaps. “I’ll have to wait a whole week to finish otherwise. I’m not stopping just ’cause you wanna go hang out with your stupid boyfriend.”
Whoa. Max has never had an attitude like this with me before. When the fuck did he get so mouthy? “I have a lesson to teach. I’m not trying to rush off with Alex. He’s working tonight, so you can stow that crap right now. Get your shoes. Get your bag. We’re leaving.”
He ignores me.
I am not in the mood for this bullshit. I’m not hanging around the Richmond’s place a second longer than I need to, either. I can’t just pull the plug on the game console like I would at home, though. That wouldn’t be fair to Jamie. It’s not his fault my little brother is being a little asshole. Poor Jamie slowly lowers his controller, biting his lip anxiously as he looks back at me.
“It doesn’t matter if we have to wait,” he tells Max. “I won’t play without you, I promise.”
On the screen, a gruesome looking monster with jagged teeth leaps out, thrashing with horrifying claws. The scene in the game flashes red, the controllers rumbling in the boys’ hands.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Max hollers. “It’s killing you!”
Jamie looks torn. He frowns at the game, then hangs his head, choosing not to play. The screen goes bright red, and then a scrawled tag appears in white lettering. The words ‘Game Over’ pulse on the screen, and Max lets out a furious yell. “Jesus, Silver! Look what you’ve done. Why the hell do you have to ruin everything?”
He jumps to his feet, throwing down his controller. The handset bounces off the chair he was sitting on, the plastic making a cracking sound, the batteries flying out of it. Jamie’s mouth falls open, forming a perfectly round O. He doesn’t make a sound, despite the fact that my shit of a little brother has probably just broken one of his controllers.
“Right. That’s it.” I lunge for Max, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. “You’d better hope that still works or you’re gonna be paying for a new one. Move, before I pick you up like a baby and carry you out of here.”
Max rips himself out of my grasp, spinning on me, his face beet red. “God, Silver. You’re such a fucking bitch!”
I’ve been called the darkest, harshest, cruelest things over the past year, by people I thought were my closest friends. None of that hurt as much as this, though. I feel like I’ve been slapped. Max hurtles past me out of the back room, his footsteps ringing out down the hallway. The front door slams closed a second later, but I can’t seem to make my legs function in order to after him.
What…the…fuck?
My eyes are stinging like I just rubbed soap into them.
“Sorry, Silver,” Jamie mumbles quietly. “It was my fault. I wanted to start another campaign.”
“No. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault at all. Max is…he’s…” I don’t know what Max is. He isn’t acting like my little brother, that’s for sure. “Tell your mom I said thank you for having him over, Jamie. I’m sure he’ll see you at school tomorrow. Unless I murder him in his sleep tonight, that is.”
I grind my teeth together so hard as I head for the door that a tension headache begins to pulse behind my right eye. That little fucking piece of—
The thought is cut short when I turn a corner in the hallway, and collide with—
Fuck.
With Halliday.
Her bag crashes to the floor, and her phone goes skidding across the mahogany floorboards. Tubes of makeup roll out of her bag, pens and her diary tumbling out onto the ground. For a second, she just stands there, staring at me, eyes wide, surprise all over her face. I try to marshal my own horrified expression, but then I look down, at where her thick winter coat has fallen open and I see what she’s wearing.
A skimpy bikini top, barely more than two triangles of navy-blue material attached to a few pieces of string, and a pair of kick shorts so small they barely cover the top inch of her bare thighs. Again, for the second time in less than a minute, I find myself thinking the same thought.
What…the actual…fuck.
She sees me frowning at her outfit and quickly covers herself, wrapping her knee-length down jacket around her body, cinching it at the waist. Before either of us can say anything, Mrs. Richmond emerges from the living room. “Oh, Silver, I’m sorry. I thought you’d left.” She looks from me to her daughter, a tentative smile spreading across her face. “Oh, it is nice to see you two side-by-side again. I—I know things have been difficult amongst you girls lately, but honestly, my heart has been breaking that you had such a falling out. Looking at the two of you now, gosh…I have to say I hope you’re on your way to working things out.”
Halliday doesn’t breathe a word. She quickly looks down at her feet, breathing deeply. I don’t really know where to look.
“You’re off to work, sweetheart?” Mrs. Richmond asks.
“Yeah. I’ll be late if I don’t leave now,” she says sullenly.
“It’s so nice of them over at The Rockwell to make an exception for Halliday. They don’t normally let people waitress until they’r
e eighteen. They must have known how good she’d be. And they’re generous with their wages, too. When I was waitressing fulltime, I barely brought home a couple of hundred bucks a week. Halliday’s earning three times that, aren’t you, Sweetheart?”
Um…Waitressing? I’ve been to the Rock, and I know full-well there are no waitresses. If you’re brave or hungry enough to order food from the kitchen, you have to do it at the bar and collect your food from the service hatch when they call your number.
“Yeah, I guess I was lucky,” Halliday mumbles. She scoots down and collects her things back into her bag while I stare down at her, too many cogs whirring in my head to provide any assistance. “I’ve really gotta get going.” Without a backward glance, she bolts for the door, leaving it yawning open after her.
And I realize, more than a little numbed by what I’ve just seen, that one of my ex-best friends has been stripping behind her mother’s back.
14
ALEX
The bar’s sorely understaffed, so Monty offers me triple pay to stick around and bus. I agree, but not for the money, per se. My mind’s racing a mile a minute, and with Silver teaching lessons for the rest of the night, the prospect of heading back to the trailer and waiting out the silence alone doesn’t sound very appealing. People continue to pour in through the door as the night progresses, and the next six hours whip by in a blur of spilled beer, smashed glass, rowdy arguments, and a few thrown punches.
Halliday shows up and takes to the stage. I don’t acknowledge her presence, and in turn she pretends I don’t exist—an unspoken arrangement that I wholeheartedly support. By midnight, the place has cleared out. The snowstorm might have passed but the roads are still hazardous, especially after the dark, and the cops are always out in force after a busy night at the Rock. No one wants to wind up in a ditch, or worse, having to try and pass a sobriety test when they’ve had more to drink than they should have.
