ALL THINGS PRETTY PART TWO (2 page)

Holy God!
 
Tommi
would never forgive me.
 
And I’d
never forgive myself.

I need to get information to the station.
 
And to get information
from
them.
 
It would help if Tommi would trust me
and I could be honest with her and put her in police custody.
 
Protective
custody, until all this gets sorted out.

If only…she trusted me.

I turn back to Trip.
 
“Where does Chaps do business?
 
Is he the one who distributes for Tonin?
 
Through his kids at school?”

Trip says nothing, just watches me. I’m sure he realizes
that he could be getting himself in deeper shit by giving away such details on
the inner workings of Tonin’s enterprise.

“Tell me!” I growl through gritted teeth.
 
Still, he says nothing.
 
“Don’t make me hurt you kid. I don’t
want to, but don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy it a little if I did.”

A lie.
 
Hopefully a convincing one.

Before he can answer, I wedge my knee against Trip’s and I lean
in, forcing his legs to stay parted.
 
I flick the lighter again and hold it right up against his zipper. The
material of his jeans turns black and I can smell the stench of singed
denim.
 
The flame is not enough to
actually burn
him
yet, but it’s enough
to scare the piss out of him.
  

He tries to scramble away, but I subdue him easily with just
one hand clamped onto his shoulder.
 
I outweigh him by at least a hundred pounds, if I had to guess.
 

“I’m not playing.”
 
I press his wrist to the scorching-hot material over his limp dick and
he yowls like I cut his hand off.
 
“Tell me!”

“He- he owns an old restaurant.
 
Over on Colonial.
 
At least he used to. When Davey was
running for him.
 
That’s when him
and Lance hooked up.
 
Now, he just
parks the shipment for Lance and then gets it to my brother, Davey.”

“How?”
 
When he
doesn’t immediately respond, I push my elbow into his throat.
 
“How?”

He yells and I back off just enough that he can breathe and
talk freely.
 
“Chaps switches out
the back packs of some of his students. Puts the shit in ‘
em
and sends ‘
em
home.”

“He sends drugs home with these kids?”
 
That sounds stupid as hell.

“Why not?
 
What
damn mom looks through her kid’s school shit,
ya
know?”

Evidently he’s right. They haven’t been caught yet.

“Then what?”

“Then the kid sets the pack outside at night and I pick up
the drugs for Davey.
 
He gets ‘
em
out through his network. He’s higher up now.
 
He
ain’t
no runner no more. And he’ll kick my ass if he finds out I told you this
much.
 
Lance don’t
let many of those assholes know about his operation. That’s why he don’t get
caught.”

“And how did
you
come by all this information then,
dickweed
?”

“D-Davey.
 
He
lets me stay with him sometimes.
 
Gives me free shit when he has it. Been stoned and high at his house
more times than I can count.
 
And I
hear stuff at night, you know.
 
But
I don’t tell.
 
I keep the
secrets.
 
Been trying to get him to
let me in, give me a better job, but he won’t let me do more than pick up.”

I think back to Travis’s backpack.
 
I
knew
the zippers were a different color! Damn, I’m glad I followed my gut and had
the department put a tail on the teacher.
 
Maybe they’ve found the restaurant.
 
Maybe they’ve got something prosecutable on him or on
Tonin
already.
 
Then
again, maybe not.
Either way, I’m one step closer to nailing
the
Lance Tonin.
 
And on my very first
undercover assignment, no less.

Satisfaction flows through me, making me
wanna
whoop as loud as my damn lungs will allow.
 
But I can’t do that. This isn’t the time
to celebrate.

My pleasure is short-lived when I think of how Travis could
be in real trouble. So could Tommi.
 
And there’s still a
helluva
lot more going on,
more to find out.
 
More to do.
 
I
can’t afford to blow it now. Or get complacent.

“So Travis has been bringing drugs home from school, putting
his bag out at night and you come pick it up.”
 
I glance over at Tommi.
 
“You notice anything off?”

She’s cupping her elbows, her arms wrapped tight around her
middle like she’s either cold or sick.
 
She shakes her head.
 
“Most
nights I’m out with Lance.
At least for a little while.
On the nights when I stay home, Travis comes over here.”
 
She closes her eyes, like she’s
disappointed in herself.
 
“Now I
know why. Now I know why he never wants to stay home when I’m there.
 
He has to make sure the drugs get here.
Is that it, Trip?” she asks, pinning him with her pain-dulled green eyes.

He nods, his foggy brown eyes darting between us
suspiciously.
 

“But why switch backpacks? Why not use the same one?”

“How’d you know?” he asks. When I don’t answer, Trip
shrugs.
 
“Students drop off for
Chaps first thing in the morning, in his room. He has packs that look just like
theirs, gives ‘
em
the clean ones to carry all
day.
 
Sticks the ones with drugs in
‘
em
in the closet until the last period of the day.
 
Ain’t
no teacher or principle or anybody really
gonna
think
nothing about seeing a couple-a backpacks sitting in a teacher’s room.
 
It’s a school, man!
 
Plus, when the cops come to search, they
don’t put the drugs dogs in the classrooms.
 
Just on the lockers.
 
I’m sure if Chaps got caught, though,
he’d blame it on the kids who left the bags with him.
 
He only comes in first thing with the
drugs.
 
Spreads it out and keeps
that shit hid in back packs all day.
 
Perfect alibi if he ever got caught.”

I think it sounds like the dumbest operation in the world,
but it’s obviously so simple it works.
 
Lance Tonin has been getting his pollution out and evading capture for
years.
 
And this is how.

“Why does Chaps–or Tonin for that matter–think
Travis has done something to betray him?”

“Hell if I know,
dude
.
 
I just
wanna
get high and stay outta prison.
 
Keep my head down.”

Looking at his lackluster eyes, brimming with fear, I
believe him.
 
Besides, I can’t
imagine why anybody would trust this little
asshat
with anything more important than the basics.
 
This is probably all he knows.

“Tell anybody we were here and I’ll come back for you. And
if you run, I’ll find you.
 
Either
way, you won’t like what happens when I get my hands on you.
 
Comprende
?”

He nods, still stiff and holding himself away from me.

I turn, taking Tommi’s hand, and we walk back out to the
truck.
 
I start the engine and sit
in the quiet for a few seconds, thinking.
 
Finally, I take out my phone.
 
I risk typing a text that includes the information that I just learned and
sending it on to my handler at the station.
 
All this shit’s getting ready to blow up
and they need to know. They need to get their
asses
out there and be prepared to intervene.
 
Even if it means Tommi finds out who I am, I have to do it.

Tommi doesn’t ask me who I texted, though.
 
Her mind is elsewhere.
 
I shift into gear and pull out, heading
down the street then across town toward Colonial, toward where Chaps has a
place and where we might find Travis.
 

After a couple of minutes to settle down, I reach for Tommi’s
hand, giving her comfort as I press her for more.

“Where’s your other brother now?
 
Maybe he could tell us something. Help
us out.
 
Is he still involved with
Tonin?”
 
I’m thinking he may be in prison.
 
Finally got busted or something.
 
But I can work with that.
 
I
am
a cop after all.
 

“No, he can’t help us.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

She leans her head back and closes her eyes.
 
“Can’t.”
 
She exhales and adds softly,
 
“He’s dead.”

Oh shit.

“God, Tommi, I’m so sorry. I…I…”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. It happened a long time ago.”

“What happened? How’d he die?” I ask gently.

She turns eyes to me that are both wary and tired.
 
She doesn’t answer me, which is an
answer in and of
itself
. And that pisses me off.

“After everything, everything that’s happened and all that
we’ve shared, you still don’t trust me.”

“Sig, I...”

“
Ain’t
that a bitch?” I snap
bitterly.
 
I’m frustrated and a
little stung by it.

“I…I just…
”
 
Her voice breaks like she’s going
to cry, but she doesn’t.
 
At least not that I see.
 
Maybe she’s crying on the inside.

“Please, Tommi,” I plead sincerely.
 
“I can help you.
 
But you have to trust me.”

She’s quiet for a couple of long, tense minutes. When she
finally speaks, her voice is low and robotic.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN- TOMMI

“My father left when Travis was just a few years old.
 
Left and took his income, half the
furniture, and most of our stability with him.
 
My mother held it together for as long
as she could.
 
She had two jobs
waiting tables.
 
Worked all kinds of
crazy hours just to put food in our mouths.
 
It was tight, but we were making it.
 
She wasn’t around much, though.
 
My brothers and I were practically
raising
ourselves
.
 
We all started getting into
trouble.
 
I guess I wanted to
escape.
 
That was my reason for most
of the stuff I did.
 
For Travis, I
think only part of what he was doing was acting out.
 
The rest was because of his
condition.
 
But my older
brother…well, he was mad.
Just plain
ol
’
mad.
 
At
Dad, at Mom, at the world.
 
I
didn’t really know how bad it was until I was thirteen. That’s the year Momma had
her wreck.
 
She lost both of her
jobs, couldn’t really do much in the way of hard work, so she got on
disability.
 
Things went from tight
to miserable, and everything just went downhill from there.
 
Downhill
fast
.
 

“My brother started
using
drugs first.
 
Experimenting, I
think.
 
Then he started selling.
 
To try to get extra
money.
 
He was busted a few
times.
 
Minor stuff
mostly–petty theft, breaking and entering. But then he got busted with
enough coke to get him into serious trouble.
 
Spent a year in
juvie
when he was sixteen.
 
When he got
out, he was like a totally different person.
 
He was bitter. Careless.
 
Barely graduated high
school.
 
That’s when he
really started dealing.
 
I mean,
seriously
dealing.
 
I think that’s when he gave up.
 
He was dead by the time he was
nineteen.”

“How’d he die?”

“Drug-related accident,” I answer vaguely.

Sig is silent for the better part of at least two minutes.
 
I pray that he’ll stop asking questions
and just focus on getting Travis back.

But I’m not so lucky.

Never have been.

“Tommi, look. I know you know how things work.
 
In this business, we have to do
everything we can to keep the upper hand, to avoid doing time.
 
In most cases, that means finding a
dirty cop to put on the payroll.
 
Eyes and ears where we need ‘
em
.
 
Just because I’m new here doesn’t mean
I’m stupid.
 
Or
unprepared.
 
I’ve got
sources.
 
Everybody’s got sources.”

I turn my frown on him.
 
“What are you getting at?”

“I got info, dirt even on everybody associated with
Lance.
 
Know your
enemies
,
know your friends
.
 
When I found out I’d be protecting you,
I had a friend look into you.
 
Something
turned up on Tommy Lawrence.
 
A
juvenile record.”
 
Sig pauses,
drawing out the tension until I think I will burst before he continues.
 
And when he does, one of my worst
nightmares comes true.
 
“Who’s Tommy
Lawrence? The
real
Tommy
Lawrence?
 
The
boy?
”

The dull ache of panic fills my chest with so much tightness
that I feel like I might explode.
 
My heartbeat is thundering inside my head, like the thump of a thousand
bass drums reverberating through a dark, shadowy forest.
 
Behind my eyes, the old crashes into the
new, the past into the present, in a fiery collision that threatens to
incinerate me where I sit.
 
Oh God, oh God, oh God!

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I concentrate on taking deep, calming breaths even though my
lungs seem to be frozen in terror.

“Don’t lie to me, Tommi.
 
You said you wouldn’t.
 
And considering what we’ve had together,
you owe me that much at least.
 
The
truth.
 
Who’s the real Tommy?”

For a few tense seconds, I feel as though nothing
moves.
 
Time, space,
the air, the earth.
Nothing breathes.
 
Rather, everything is stopped on a
gasp.
 
And for the first time in my
life, for as long as I can remember, when backed into a corner, I take a leap.
 
Instead of running or evading or lying
,
 
I
take a leap
and I trust.
 

I don’t know why I leap, why I trust.
 
I don’t know why Sig, why now. I only
know that some part of me
needs
to be
able to trust him,
needs
to be able
to believe in love again.
 
Because
that’s what Sig makes me feel. Love. Trust. Hope.
 

“H-he’s my older brother,” I confess stiffly.
  
Once the words are out, the rest
spews out of me like an uncontrollable geyser.
 
The tears streaming down my face are
little more than evidence of its eruption.
 
“He came home one night, high on bath salts that he got from Lance
Tonin.
 
He punched Travis in the
face twice before I even knew something was wrong.
 
He was like a rabid dog.
 
Mad and so strong.
 
I couldn’t stop him. I could only stand
between him and Travis.
 
I honestly thought
he was going to kill us both.
 
But
he didn’t.
 
Instead, he turned and went
after Momma.
 
Maybe it was because
he blamed her.
 
I don’t know, but
one minute he was there with us, the next I heard these awful noises coming
from her bedroom.

“He’d jumped on her in the bed and started hitting her.
 
I tried to pull him off, but he was
stronger than I could ever imagine a kid being.
 
He slung me off. Sent me crashing into
the bedside table. It sort of addled me. When I managed to get up, he was
beating Momma in the side of the head with the base of the lamp.
 
She wasn’t even conscious. She was just
laying
there, bleeding and gurgling.
 
That’s all I could hear other than Tommy
grunting and her bones crunching.
 

“I didn’t know what to do, so I grabbed the bat Momma kept
under her bed and I hit him in the back of the head with it.
 
He just slumped over on top of her.
 
I stood there for a few minutes, waiting
for him to move. I couldn’t run.
 
I
couldn’t leave Momma and Travis alone with him, so I just stood there, staring
at them, not knowing what to do.
 
Travis came in and saw them.
 
He freaked out. He was just eleven at the time.
 
He cried for two days straight.
 
Pulled most of the hair out on one side
of his head. Peed in his bed both times he tried to go to sleep.”

Even though I’m lost in days I’ve tried hard to forget, I’m
hyper aware of Sig’s silence. He hasn’t said a word.

I haven’t looked at him to see what expression he’s wearing
either.
 
I’m afraid of what I’ll
find.
  
And it’s too late to
turn back now.
 
I’ve said too much
already.

The only thing I can do is go on. So I do.

“I killed Tommy.
 
I killed my own brother.
 
I
didn’t mean to, but I did.
 
After
that, I panicked.
 
I knew I couldn’t
let anybody find out.
 
They’d put me
away and Travis would be left all alone.
 
A ward of the state.
Living with strangers.
Or in an institution.
 
And for a child with Asperger’s, that would’ve been horrible for
him.
 
We were all he had, all he
knew. It was up to me to keep him safe, keep him home. Until he turned eighteen
and they couldn’t control him anymore, it was up to me.
 
He
was up to me.
 
So until I could
think of some way to get rid of the body without getting caught, I put Tommy in
a freezer chest, the one out on the back porch that Momma always kept extra
meat in when she could afford to buy in bulk.”

“Momma,” I sigh, swallowing because my mouth is as dry as
ash.
 
“Momma was hurt.
 
She was hurt bad. I thought she was
going to die there for a while.
 
She
didn’t, but she never really woke up again after that day. I took care of her,
cleaned her up and did the best I could to keep her alive so we wouldn’t get
caught or split up.
 
Everything I
did was in order to keep Travis and me together and safe, without anybody knowing
what had happened.
 
I stayed home
from school for three days.
 
Dripped water in her mouth to keep her from dying of thirst.
 
She finally healed up enough that she
could take some sips of water through a straw.
 
Some of her teeth were busted, so I’d mash
up
Spaghettios
and feed them to her.
 
I didn’t know what else to do.
 
Eventually, taking care of her was like
after school chores of any other kind.

“For a few months, Travis and I got into this weird new
routine.
 
Almost normal, I
guess.
 
We both went to school.
 
Came home and did our homework. I fixed
dinner.
 
Mostly soup for a while,
but then I started taking the bus to the grocery store using some money I found
in Tommy’s room.
 
That didn’t last
very long, so I started forging Momma’s signature and cashing her disability
checks. It was weird, but no one even noticed that our family had fallen apart.
I guess that’s what happens to the poor kids.
 
The world…
life…
just sort of forgets about you and you fend for yourself.
However you have to make do.
 

“Surprisingly, we did all right for a while.
 
But then, during the fall of that year,
Travis got in a fight at school. He just went nuts.
 
Ended up putting the other kid in the
hospital.
 
Paralyzed him from the
waist down.
 
The parents pressed
charges.
 
He went to
juvie
for seven months.
 
There was nothing I could do.”

I feel…tired.
 
I’ve never told anyone my whole story.
 
And while I’ve relived parts of it in my
head over the years, I’ve tried not to dwell on it because it’s full of bad
memories and counterproductive emotions.
 
I learned a long time ago that feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t get me
a damn thing.
 
So I’ve made myself
focus on planning–a way out, a better life, how to keep Travis safe.
 
I’m always planning.
 
It’s the only thing I’ve got going for
me in life.
 
A plan.

“Then what happened?” Sig asks softly.
 
Still, I don’t look over at him. I don’t
think I can bear it.

My face is tight and wet from my tearful outburst.
 
The neckline of my shirt is even
soaked.
 
I haven’t cried like this
in a long time. I haven’t let myself.
 
Even now, I don’t think I
allowed
myself
to feel, per se; I think I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.
 
Somewhere deep down, I feel like I’ve
been waiting half my life for someone like Sig to come along, waiting for
someone to care enough to ask.
 
For someone to unlock the door and let it all out.

“It was while Travis was gone that I realized how vulnerable
we were without a legal guardian.
 
How
things would be different if only I was eighteen. In my head, I guess I thought
that would fix everything.
 
I was
already thinking it when Travis finally got out of
juvie
.
 
But when I saw how…broken he was, when I
started listening to what he’d say during his nightmares at night, when he’d
pee the bed and cry in his sleep, that’s when I knew I
had
to do something.
 
He’d been sexually abused in
juvie
.
 
It’s hard for him to make friends, but
it’s not hard for the bullies to find him.
 
And they did.
 
I wasn’t sure
he’d ever be all right again.
 
That’s when I decided that I’d be eighteen
one way
or the other.
 
I had to be able to
drive, to get a job, to keep Travis.
 
I had planned it out in my head that if anyone ever asked about Momma,
we’d say that she left.
Like Dad.
 
And I’d file for custody of Travis and
we’d be fine.
But only if it ever came to that.
 
I don’t know if that actually would’ve
worked, but I was just a kid. I was doing everything I could to survive.
 
So, out of sheer desperation, I took
Tommy’s social security card and got my driver’s license.
 
His name, his birthday
with
my
picture on it.
 
An insignificant little card for most
people, but for me, it said that I was almost twenty years old, the age Tommy
would’ve been. That square saved our lives.
 
It bought us time, time until Travis could
turn eighteen, time until we would be able to run away somewhere and start
over. Never look back. That was my plan anyway.
 
But that was before I met Lance Tonin.”