Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (18 page)

A sick to my stomach, I don’t wanna fucking know, bad feeling.

As Green turns into the parking lot, I see the yellow tape sectioning off an area of the complex. My feet itch to get out of the car, and when Green parks, I’m out before she can ask me anything about it.

The ambulance that pulls in almost right behind us tells me that whatever happened,
just
happened. The crowd of officers over by a cluster of trees suggests this wasn’t a burglary or some petty shit like that. I’m thinking this was something homicidal. As I near them, it’s confirmed.

Like a slo-mo playback, I see the vic’s feet. She’s missing a shoe.

I say
she
because the one she has on is pink. All pink. If that’s not enough, the long, bleached blonde hair splayed out against the grass is my second clue.

I get a peek at her hand just before a white sheet covers her all the way up. It’s sporting the millions of bangles that clang like a drum kit symbol every time she waves.

Waved.

Holy. Fucking. Sh—

“Do you belong here?” A tall cop with no-nonsense written all over him puts himself in between me and that corpse.

I pull out my credentials. “Live here, too.”

“Okay, go ahead.” He backs off some. But not much.

I’m not concerned with him, though. What I’m uneasy with is the body lying about a hundred feet from my apartment and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Jackson, you’re white as a ghost.”

I back up a little, unable to take my eyes off the ground.

“How’d she die?” The officer who just gave me clearance doesn’t seem too keen on giving me any details. “Sorry, sir. I’m unable to share that information. Everything’s very preliminary right now.”

“Who is that?” I don’t think Green asks the question thinking I actually know the answer. I don’t even know for sure that it’s me she’s talking to. I sure as hell don’t know why I answer her.

“That’s my stalker.”

“What?” she whispers and pulls me away from the crowd. “What’s she doing dead outside your apartment?”

“You think if I knew that I’d be here right now? I—”

Another one of the men in blue walks by, and I shut the fuck up before they get the idea I know her. They’ll figure it out soon enough. That doesn’t mean I need to hand it to them on a silver platter, though.

Something hits me, and my eyes dart up to my apartment.

“Shit.”

“What?”

I run. And I don’t give a flying fuck if the cops think anything of it.

I take the stairs, two at a time, until I’m at my door, turning the knob. When I push it open, I don’t waste a second. “Kid!”

“Stiles!” Green calls up as she climbs the stairs.

I start searching the apartment until it’s apparent.

“Fuck me.”
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

“What is going on?” Green asks again. “Stiles?”

“The kid.”

“What kid? You mean the one you had in your car today?”

“Yeah. That kid, Green.”

“What about him?”

“He’s gone.”

HIDE AND SEEK, GANGSTER STYLE

NOT GOOD. I repeat, not good.

Bells and whistles are going off inside my head like a rogue pinball game. I stuff my hands into my pockets and pull out the keyring I never used to open the apartment door.

I didn’t need a key.

Is the room spinning or is that just me?

“Jackson, what do you mean,
the kid is gone
?”

Green sounds legit curious at first. While I debate giving her an answer, I sift through some options that might have happened here while I take a preliminary look around to see if anything’s missing.

A) Lilah decided to pay me a visit
within
the one-hundred-foot limit, surprised Jimmy, he killed her, then bolted.

That’s stupid, Jackson. The kid isn’t a murderer any more than his brother was.

B) Jimmy
didn’t
kill Lilah, but whoever did, saw him witnessing said murder and came after him once they were done with her.

Only there’s not a second body.

Which brings me to C) Worst case scenario, the killer
has
Jimmy.

“Stiles?”

This is not fucking happening.

“Helloooooo?”

Why would anyone kill Lilah?

Poor kid.

“STILES!”

“What?” Jesus.

“I asked what you meant when you said the kid was gone?”

I search her expression for the answer to a burning question. Is she in on this? She couldn’t be. Right? Or maybe she was keeping me busy so whoever killed Lilah could what? Take the kid? Kill him? Stash the body? Only how would they even know he was here?

They’ve been following you, dumb ass.

That fucking cruiser back at the deli.

Dammit.
I should have checked the perimeter one more time.

“Are you okay?”
Her eyes seem sincere to me
. They always have, really, despite her smart ass and smug attitude.

I should have checked in with him tonight.

“I’m good. And what I meant is, I left him here, and now he’s gone.”

“Why was he here?” It’s a slow, deliberate question, like maybe she’s worried I’m some sort of pedophile or something. I extinguish that thought process immediately.

“He’s homeless. It was a spur of the moment thing.” Pretty much, anyway.

“That’s not your responsibility.” The self-preservation in her is showing.

“Actually, it is.”

“You don’t even know this kid.” If she only knew.

“You wouldn’t understand, Green.” The laptop is still locked. No one was in there, at least.

“Then make me.” She stands her ground and has one fierce ass glare when she does it, I have to admit.

Regardless.

“Not now. I need to find out what happened to Stix.”

I grab the phone and call Tricky Ricky. He’s pretty much the know all, be all of the word on the street. Maybe he’s heard something about something that won’t entail me having to give him any specifics.

Of course, the sharing of that knowledge comes with a hefty price.

Which sucks.

I guess I could call Nick, but then he’d wanna know why I need to find a delinquent who most likely isn’t in the system and should be. Plus, what if he blabs to the wrong person?

Tricky it is.

“Who are you calling?”

“A friend.”

The phone rings twice and I check the time. It’s not midnight, so he should be there.

“This is a good friend; I take it?”

“Eh.” The sides of my mouth drag downward. I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend to his face, but semantics.

Three rings and I’m not feeling completely optimistic about this lead. But then, on the fourth…

“What.”

Clearly, I’ve interrupted something.

Not that I give a shit. This is important.

“Rick. It’s Stiles.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I have caller ID What the fuck do you want?”

I slide away from Green to get some privacy.

“Hey, you hear anything on the streets about a kid about five-seven, dirty blond, MIA from the system, maybe?”

“I’ve got no warrants on any kids this week, Stiles, so─”

“Not warrants. Just, anything.”

He lets out a dramatic ass sigh like I’m keeping him from something much more important. Probably a woman. Or sex toy.

“This that kid you brought here the other day?”

“Yep.”

“Bad idea, Stiles,” he warns me. Like I don’t already fucking know that shit.

“Tell me what you’ve got, Ricky.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Hold on.”

Papers rustle, and he drops the phone then curses. Someone asks him something in the background. I can’t tell if it’s male or female, to be honest. He grumbles and tells them he’ll be there in a sec, then he picks up the phone again.

“I got nothing.”

“You sure?”

“No, let me fucking check again; of course, I’m fucking sure.”

Smart ass.
Shit.
“Okay, listen, if you hear anything about Flint, the kid, the cops…”

“Yeah, yeah. We never had this conversation, though, you feel me?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he hangs up. And that’s it. I’ve got zilch. I toss the phone onto the couch and drag both hands through my hair, trying to think.

“No luck?” Green offers.

“Nope.” I close my eyes and try to come up with where someone like Stix might go if he were in trouble. I doubt he’d go to my office if he’s trying to distance himself from me. That’s assuming he’s still alive.

He needs to be the fuck alive.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Who is he?”

There it is.

Spilling Stix’s identity to Green is probably not the best idea. I typically like to keep all information on any case I may or may not be working from pretty much everyone.

In this case, my gut tells me otherwise.

Maybe because of the way she handled herself with Dice yesterday. Or how she knew I needed to get the hell away from the bullshit with my family tonight. Or maybe that voodoo she does on me every once in a while.
Purposely or not.

Or maybe because it’s apparent that someone knows about him already. Whether they were tracking me because I’m nosing around too much, or because they already knew he was out there.

I don’t know.

Despite any of it, I should probably keep my mouth shut.

“He’s no one.”

“You’re lying.” I can hear it in her tone. She’s pissed. Not that I should give a flying fuck.

“I’m not.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies very badly, Stiles. Who is he?”

I don’t budge, but she’s got this look. Like the wheels are turning and there’s a puzzle she’s putting together inside that head of hers.

“Don’t go stringing shit together that doesn’t want to be, Green.”

“Holy.
Wait
.”

And there it is. The lightbulb.

“Why didn’t this make sense before?”

Dammit.

“Green.”

“Why would you take him to see Thomas about what happened to Donnie Leary if…”

“Seriously?” I laugh. “You don’t wanna go there.”

“Is this kid related to Donnie somehow?”

I point at her. “I didn’t say that.”

“Is he a boyfriend?”

“Green.” Really?

“Holy shit! This would make a great story.”

She takes her cell out and starts to call someone. I grab her wrist, unamused, and take the phone away.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why? If he’s Donnie’s
whatever
, maybe I can get an exclusive.”

Example number one as to why I don’t share information with people. Especially reporter people.

“Because.”

“There’s absolutely no reason you can give me to keep this quiet, Stiles. Maybe he has a lead for the police. If gangbangers killed─”

“Gangbangers didn’t kill Donnie, Green.”

Her eyes narrow.

“I don’t think they did, anyway.” I add as an afterthought.

“What do you know?” She relaxes, slightly. I let go of her wrist and hand back the phone.

“Enough to know you don’t wanna run this story and beg the attention of who did kill him.”

She sits, crosses her legs, and lifts one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Spill it, Stiles.”

“You don’t wanna get involved in this. Trust me.”

“Ha! Trust you?” She leans forward. “Not only do I want to get involved, but you’re going to tell me who that kid is. Do you know why?”

I cross my arms. This oughta be good. “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m covering this story with or without you.”

“You’ll be dead before it’s out a day.”

“Is that a threat of some sort?” She thinks I threaten. I don’t threaten. I promise.

I open my mouth to tell her it’s fact, when a knock at the very open, very—I should have closed that fucking door—allows me to avoid this conversation for now. One of the men in blue from down at the crime scene steps into my apartment. Another more familiar one follows behind him.

We lock eyes, and I’m just hoping Green has enough sense to keep her fucking mouth shut for the time being.

When Frodo runs in behind the men in blue, mewing and hungry, I make a mental note to give the cat a piece of my fucking mind, later on, about where he wandered off to for an entire day.

“I don’t think I sent out any invitations to a powwow tonight, gentlemen.” I go to get some Cat Chow out of the kitchen.

“We’re gonna need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Stiles.” the no-name tells me.

“Oh yeah? Well, by all motherfucking means, interrupt my night and go on.”

Hopefully, my copious amount of wit and sarcasm aren’t wasted on these guys.

“Where were you tonight, sir?”

My hopes are dashed as I pour some food into Frodo’s bowl and join everyone back in the living room.

Just kidding. I have no hope.

“Out.”

Jim Galley laughs. “That’s bullshit. We all saw your lights on, Stiles. I personally saw the glare of a TV from the cruiser.”

“It’s a little fucking creepy that you’re so interested in my apartment, Jim.”

“There’s a dead woman right outside your building, Stiles. Of course, I’m interested.”

Dick.

“I noticed the dead girl. Maybe you should be a little more worried about that than what my social plans are. Huh, Jim?”

“Where. Were. You.” He takes a step forward, and Green blocks his path. It’s kinda cute how she thinks she can stop the mammoth.

“He was with me tonight. And his brother, Nick Stiles. Detective Nick Stiles? Maybe you know him.”

I kinda dig protective Green. But side note, of course, they fucking know Nick. Everyone on the force knows Nick Stiles.

Jim seems put off by my white knight. And annoyed.

Fine by me.

“Well, that doesn’t take away from the fact that someone was in here.”

Fuck-nut
.

“Maybe I left the TV on. Or better yet, maybe I have a guest.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s visiting you, Stiles?” He takes out a pen and paper to write a name down even though it seems to me he already knows. Maybe that was
his
cruiser trolling my lunch stop today.

“Rumple-none-of-your-fucking-business-stiltskin,” I tell him. Luckily, Green stays mum.

“Maybe we take this conversation downtown.”

“Maybe you kiss my ass and we call it a day.”

Touch me, asshole. I dare you.

“Stiles.” Green whispers out a warning from the side of her mouth. Like they can’t hear that shit.

“Screw this. You want a conversation with me? Call my goddamn lawyer. Until then, get the hell out of my apartment.”

“Gonna play it like that, huh?” Jim challenges me.

“Abso-
fucking
-lutely.” I don’t break eye contact. When he finally does, Jim says something low and top secret like to the putz he brought up here to make everything look up and up.

“We’ll be in touch, Miss…”

Green starts to give him her name, and I cut her off.

“Looking forward to hearing from ya, Jim,” I tell him, and hope Green gets the hint.

Jim drops it and leaves. When he closes the door behind him, I don’t waste a minute getting a bag together while I search the rest of the apartment for anything that might be missing.