Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (22 page)

I’d be a dick if I didn’t. No pun intended.

“Okay, maybe it was what you think.”

Green’s eyes flash before me for a second. The way they looked at me just before that second kiss.

Fiery.

“But she’s got a boyfriend.” For lack of a better word right now.

“I thought you were─”

“Wrong.”

“Sorry, dude.” Nick punches me in the arm, and I raise my other hand because fucking ow. Why is everyone beating me the fuck up lately?

Upstairs, he closes the door behind him and gets quiet.

“Look, Jackie.”

I turn and give him what Ma would call the stink eye. One of these days I’ll deck his ass when he calls me that.

He gives me a half smile, half you-sunk-my-battleship, kinda look. “First of all, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go over there, and─”

I stop him before this can get any mushier than it needs to be. I know what it’s like to push people into doing shit then regretting it like hell later on.

“Don’t worry about it. Already forgotten.”

“I doubt that. But thanks.”

“Wanna drink?” God knows I need one.

I head for the kitchen.

“It’s six-thirty, Jackson.”

“But it’s─”

“Five o’clock somewhere.” He finishes the saying before I can, and we laugh for a second at the old days. It’s not long before he’s serious again, though.

“You trying to give Dad a run for his money?” He nods toward the bottle. I stop pouring the shot of tequila when he says it.

I take a breath. Then I do the shot.

“Just trying to keep on keeping on, Nick. I’m nothing like him.” I point at him. “So don’t ever fucking say that shit to me again.”

“When are you gonna do it?” His eyes search mine for something that’s not there anymore.

“What?” I’m being a dick here. I know what he means.

“Move on.”

It stings to think about it.

For a split second, my heart wants to rip right through my chest.

So no. I’m not doing this.

“There another reason you stopped by, bro? Or did you just feel like waking my ass up early for the fun of it.”

His phone goes off, and Nick’s face turns into a scowl when he reads whatever message he just got. I see what Green’s always talking about with me—between his brows—the crease. Like he’s stressed.

Maybe he
is
here for something else.

“Nick?”

His expression changes, and he’s snapped out of whatever thoughts he was letting take over.

“Right. On the way in, I heard about Lilah.”

Shit. Of course he’d hear. It totally makes sense why he stopped by now. My demeanor changes from irritated to solemn.

“Yeah. It’s fucked.” That calls for another drink. So I pour one.

Here’s to you, kid.

I drink it.

“Yeah, it is. They have any idea who did it?”

“You’d know the answer to that before I did.”

“Do, uh,
you
have any idea who did it?”

I look him in the eye so he can get that crazy ass idea out of his head.

“No, Nick. I don’t. I saw her outside Lana’s office, and we didn’t talk. Next thing I know, she’s face down in my parking lot.”

“It’s only a matter of time before they figure out she’s connected to you, ya know.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be sure to have all of my fucking ducks in a row when they do.”

He breathes easier and nods. “Okay, cool. I just wanted to─”

“Make sure I’m not as big a fuck up as they say, I know.”

“I didn’t say that.”

I pour another drink and silently toast to him.

“You didn’t have to.”

A grimace spreads across his lips.

Hell, I know he feels bad, but it’ll be forgotten in about five minutes. Or as soon as he walks out the door. Whichever comes first.

“Ya know what? Sorry I bugged ya, man.” He claps his hands together. “And next time, I promise, no means no.” He goes to punch me in the arm again. I swat his hand away this time before opening the door for him.

“Keep in touch, bro.” He gives me a weak smile as he leaves, and I promise to follow orders, knowing I won’t.

I watch him as he makes his way back down the stairs and to his cruiser. Before he leaves, though, he clears the tape away from the murder scene and stuffs it into the back of his car.

Mother hen, indeed.

In the bedroom, I lay the fuck down and close my eyes. Despite how desperately I try to avoid it, I think of Mikey and one of the many times I gave him advice that probably set him on a course for death.

As unconsciousness engulfs me, I hear his voice, and I feel the pang from the feeling of steering him wrong once again.

“Do you think Dad’s gonna be happy I’m joining the force?”

He was trying on my old academy gear the night he found out he was accepted. He couldn’t wait to tell our parents when they got home. The kid was always trying his best to make Dad proud of him. This was his shot.

“Are you happy?”
I don’t know why I even asked. I already knew the answer.

My little bro shrugged and checked himself in the mirror.

“I can always draw as a hobby.”

It bothered me the way he chose to put his dreams on the backburner for dear old dad.

See, Nick joined Redemption’s police force because it’s in his blood. It always has been. I joined because I followed Nick every fucking where he went. It wasn’t really about what I thought he or Dad wanted me to do. It was about how much time I could spend pestering the shit out of my big brother, and bonus, I’d get to beat the shit out of bad guys.

With Mike, though, it was always about Dad, which meant hiding his art projects when our father checked in on him at night. Worst of all, it meant declining an invitation to participate in the county-wide art contest and giving up art school for the academy.

I should have told the kid then and there to fuck what Dad thinks. Make your own life. If he can’t accept it, that’s his problem.

Instead. I went the easy route. I didn’t want to make my brother feel any worse than I knew he already did.

“I think he’s gonna be really happy, Mike.”

I swing an arm over my face to try and block out the sound of his voice that day. The look in his eyes. Both telling me no. Screaming at me, subconsciously or not, to support him instead of the ideas our father had for us to live as legacies to his name.

The quiet in this apartment isn’t fucking helping much, though.

Where’s a train wreck when you need one?

X X X

I’m not sure how long I was out. It’s not until Frodo jumps on my gut, and I throw him off the bed in a knee jerk reaction to getting my bladder assaulted that I even realize I fell asleep.

That shit hurts.

Unfortunately for me, bladder control isn’t enough to make me forget the dream I just had. So I play a mind game with myself to push away the pain of being a failure of a brother for the time being. I get my ass outta the bed and take a piss because now I fucking have to. After that, I go through the motions of a day in the life of Jackson Stiles.

It’s much later now. The sun isn’t blinding me so it must be on the other side of the building, making it after noon sometime. Not that I give a shit about time. Just an observation.

I skip a shave after I shower. I’m not in the mood. I pour some food into the hellcat’s bowl for whenever he gets hungry, and I head out, satisfied I’ll be one productive motherfucker tonight.

Traffic sucks ass on the three-oh-one over to the office, so I take my standard alternate route. The one-twelve. Honestly, it’s not much better than three-oh-one.
Worse, actually.
But it makes me feel like I’m taking a stand for traffic haters all over the tristate area.

An eternity later I’m at the office listening to a little over fifteen messages on the answering machine. The results of being absent more than I thought I would be.

A bunch are from Ma. Some prospective clients. But then I listen to the last one. Something about it gives me the heebie-jeebies.

It’s not a client or family member. It’s not even a tele-fucking-marketer.

“Mr. Stiles. Long time no talk.”

It’s my brother’s boss, and he’s chipper.

“I’d like to see you in my office, if it’s not inconvenient. Give me a call, and we’ll set something up.”

Odd. Not so much that he called, it’s not like I never hear from the guy. It’s more along the lines that he referred to me as
Mister
Stiles. Since when does he give a rat’s ass about how
convenient
anything is for me?

The phone rings. My mind is too busy pondering reasons Dick Walker would want to see me to bother looking to see who it is.

“Stiles.”

“Green.”

I grin despite the cheesy shit she just pulled.

“What’s up?”

“Your hunch was right. Two of the three boys were brought up on petty theft a few times. That kid, Decker? He was never even booked for anything until he wound up pursued and then dead. Donnie was assigned to foster care quite a few years back, but he disappeared off the radar and never ended up back in the system for some reason. Also there’s absolutely no mention, anywhere, of a brother.”

“Figures.”

“The only other thing on Donnie’s rap sheet is squatting once or twice, but you’d think they’d have set him up in a home or something after that, right?”

Someone had their Wheaties today.

“You’d think.”

I guess it makes sense Stix isn’t in the system. The homeless are basically forgotten about in Redemption, unless you call attention to yourself. Donnie and Jimmy must have made sure that didn’t happen with Jimmy.

“And, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“No money was recorded as being found on any of the vics.”

Shit on a shingle. “I had a funny feeling you were gonna say that.”

“Do you think maybe they were stealing things to pawn? You know, so they could buy the pot and sell it?” I can hear her incessant foot tapping on the other end of the phone.

“Negative. That much pot means you’re selling. If you’re selling, you don’t need to steal. The money comes to you.”

“Okay, so none of them have a record of drug dealing, smuggling, or smoking. Suddenly, they turn up dead with only the cops as witnesses. Whoever killed them didn’t take the pot?” She’s right. That’s doesn’t fucking compute. Why would Jim Galley set these kids up to look like they were pot ringers and then kill ’em?

“Maybe there wasn’t enough time to take it,” I say, partially thinking out loud.

“It was right out in the open. All they had to do was reach out and grab the shit. Unless someone planted it
after
they died.”

“Because they needed a reason for murdering kids with barely a scratch on their records?”

“Maybe─”

I cut her off. “Thing is, Green. I can’t speak for this Decker guy, or the kid before that, but I met Donnie. Face to face. He didn’t seem-”

“Stupid?”

“Or the pot lord type. Nobody at that drag race was smoking either. It’s not jiving.”

“Not for a pot ring theory, anyway,” she adds to my thoughts.

“Right.”

If the cops were using them as pushers, it makes zero sense they’d kill them. Unless… “Maybe the kids didn’t have a rap sheet that showed the drugs because they were middle men. Maybe they ended up knowing too much.”

That happens a lot. But still… kids? Minors?

“So, these cops.”

“Yeah.”

“You think they killed those boys
then
planted the pot on them for some reason?”

“Maybe.” It doesn’t quite sound right in my head, though.

“What would be the purpose in that?” She never runs out of questions, I’ll give her that. She’d make a good detective.

“That, Green, is the million dollar fucking question.”

“How do we get some answers?”

Good question.

Answers.

My gut tells me they lie within a certain kid who’s been on the run since his brother died.

Stix.

INFORMATION OVERLOAD

THE AREA I found Stix in last night is a ghost town now. No fire burning in a trash can anywhere. People are no longer lingering in the streets. No talking or laughter from anywhere, whatsoever. Not even wild dogs or stray cats are milling around this shit hole.

It’s in this moment I wanna kick myself for giving Stix my number but not getting his.

A side alleyway provides a spot for me to hide the Chevelle while I take a look around. In case someone decides they want to stop by and look around, too.

This whole, being responsible for another human being thing? Not working for me. What the fuck was I thinking, not touching base with the kid last night?

I start to cross the street. I’ll begin with the abandoned building Stix was hanging out in front of.

I know what I was thinking.

I was thinking about Green too much.

The way her body shifts when she gets excited. How she leans to one side when she’s annoyed with me or trying to make a point without actually saying anything. How badly I wanted to take her to my damn bed and disappear inside her until all this bullshit went away.

Since when do I let typical male idiocy interfere with a job?

“Hey! Jackson!”

A pint-sized whisper-yell from a few stories up grabs my attention. I don’t have to look to see it’s Stix hiding in the shadows of a room with no window. I do anyway and give him a short nod to let him know I’m coming up.

After I check, all inconspicuously like, up and down the street, I duck inside and take the stairs two at a time until I run smack into the kid waiting for me at the top.

Here he is: his brother dead,
and now Lilah
. Certain bad people may or may not be hunting his ass so they can add him to the list of people who mean nothing to them, and he stands there with that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed expression on his face.

One thing’s for sure, he’s a whole hell of a lot like his brother.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“What the hell, kid?”

“Hey, where’s Emma?”

“She’s not here. You wanna tell me why you’re so happy to see me?”

“How come she didn’t come with you?”

Seriously?

“Stix.”

“Sorry, I just thought─”

“What. Is. Going. The fuck. On?”

He blinks a few times. “Oh, right. Okay. So that guy I told you about?”

“Uh huh.”

“He got drunk.”

“That right?”

“Real drunk.”

“Ooooookay.” Apparently, there was a party.

“Yep.”

The fuck?
“Good to know, kid.”

“
Like,
talkative drunk,” he reiterates. Now I’m not only ticked with the situation at hand, but with the under-aged smart ass too.

“There a point to this conversation?” I turn to head back downstairs. This lead is officially dead.

“Well.” Stix follows me down. “I mean only if you wanted to know that he happened to say something about how he remembered Donnie hanging around in this other homeless community he used to frequent a while back.”

This peaks my interest.

I stop and wait for him to catch up. At my side, Stix gives me another golden nugget of information.

“And how he remembered these cops who used to drive through all the time getting people all riled up.”

“Yeah?” I start heading down again, this time I wait for him to keep up. Stix nods. “And how they zeroed in on Donnie and had a little talk with him one day.”

“Really.”

“Yup, and then he said he remembers specifically how freaked out Donnie seemed after they left. That he mumbled something about how he was screwed if he stuck around here much longer.”

“A drunk remembered all that, huh?”

Call me impressed. Or more like skeptical.

“Yeah. Only he wasn’t always a drunk, homeless dude, it turns out.”

Make that curious.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’d he used to be?”

“Cop.”

“Um.” What? “The fuck?”

“That’s what he said.”

Outside on the street, my bubble for the day is officially busted. “The guy was fucking with you, Stix.” I shake my head and grab my keys, disappointed I even entertained the idea this conversation might be going somewhere.

“I don’t think so, Jackson.”

“He saw you as an easy target, thought he’d steal your money if he made like your buddy. Or maybe he wanted more than that.” I look over at him. “He try anything last night?”

“No. Ew. Gross man.”

I shake my head and unlock the car. The car door sticks for the umpteenth time this month so I have to jiggle the handle a little but it opens. Eventually.

Stix laughs and tries to hide it.

He fucking sucks at hiding it.

Jimmy’s insistent, though. “I’m telling you, I think he was on the up and up.”

“Why in the hell would an ex-cop be on the streets, Stix? Think about it.”

“He didn’t go into that much.”

“Of course not.”

“But he did say the reason he was still there was because he needed to finish the job.”

“What job?”

“He told me, back in the day, his captain had heard some rumors about high traffic drug deals going on around here. Told him he was the only guy they felt they trusted enough to put him in the zone.”

Of course, he was.

And of course now I’m wondering how very “back in the day” he’s talking here.

Like, my father’s time “back in the day”?

The engine revs when I start up the car. To most, she probably sounds pretty normal, but I can hear the rattling as we head out. There’s not much that gets under my skin more than sinking money into a car. I’ve got a lot more interesting things I’d rather be in debt over. Trust me. When it comes to the Chevelle, I make it happen. She needs to be treated right.

I’m about to consider this conversation over when something Stix said strikes a chord inside my gut.

“What did you say?”

“What?”

“Something about rumors and drug deals.”

“Yeah, yeah, he said that’s why he was there staking out some high traffic drug deals that they heard were going down in the area. He said their informant told them cops were dealing.”

Okay, I’m not gonna pretend that scenario doesn’t get me thinking. This could be my best bet at nabbing Jim Galley and whomever the fuck he’s got working for him.

“He say why he wasn’t with the force anymore?”

Or, maybe not.

“Nope, didn’t really wanna talk about that much.”

Figures.

“Your brother happens to tell this ex-cop, turned drunk homeless guy, why he was screwed?”

“Nope. He said after that, Donnie kinda disappeared. He looked for him but said the next thing he saw on Donnie was…” The crack in his voice tells me where he’s going with this.

“When he was murdered.” I finish the kid’s sentence at almost a whisper.

Stix’s eyes focus on the street outside when I say it. I’m not one to beat around the bush, and I’m not about to start so I can spare the kid’s feelings. They’re pretty much crushed anyway.

How he got this guy to start talking about Donnie is beyond me, but the details he’s giving, I gotta admit, doesn’t sound like something he could have made up. The part about the drug deals going on, that puts my already suspicious nature on high alert.

“He give you a name?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Where was he off to this morning? I’m game for taking a crack at getting it from him.”

“That’s the thing.”

“What? What’s the thing?” I had no idea there was a thing.

“Last night, he was asleep in his cardboard house near the bonfire, and this morning, he was gone. So was his house, and the rest of the group that was here last night.”

“And you were where?”

“I found a warmer spot in that building.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you call me first thing, kid?”

“I─”

“You know what?” I raise a hand. “Never mind. I don’t have time, and you don’t have a good enough excuse. Let’s go.”

If I ever needed a fucking cigarette…

It’s not long before I notice the shit-eating grin on his face. “What the hell are you smiling at?”

“You called me Stix back there.” He’s absolutely fucking ridiculous.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I mentioned his grin is irritating as shit, right?

“All right then.” I’m not being defensive. More like, I’m giving a kid a lesson on stating the fucking obvious.

As I drive along and zone out on the lane dividers, I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not to tell the kid who I think might be responsible for his brother’s death.

What makes my mind up for me is when I ask myself if he was any other client, what would I do?

“Kid.”

He looks over at me. Happy go luckless bleeding through his expression. This is my last chance to spare him the bullshit Green and I have been coming up with.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

If this was some other kid, I might think twice about sharing what the two of us realized earlier, but Stix is different. He might be hurting over his brother’s death but my gut tells me he can take it. He’s not gonna go blabbing to any “friends” any time soon. He’s smarter than that.

So I spill it.

All of it.

When I’m done getting him up to speed, I keep my eyes on the road, but I’m aware of what’s going on next to me. Stix is quiet, like he’s letting it all sink in. He doesn’t say a word for a good ten minutes or so.

“So you think maybe these cops…” He can’t, or won’t, finish his thought. I don’t force it either.

“Maybe.”

I mean, let’s face it. They were shady from the get-go. But there’s a difference between conspiracy theory and fact. Stix was most likely still harboring some hope that there’s some good in the police force.

Pretty much everyone is.

And no, not me.

Okay. Fine. Maybe me too. But I evolved.

The kid shakes his head a little and glances out toward the sky. It kills me inside, the way he reminds me of Mikey when we were younger after Dad was having a particularly bad day and decided to take all his aggressions out on the youngest of the Stiles boys.

He didn’t understand then, and Stix doesn’t understand now.

I can’t fucking blame either of them.

Life sucks.

“Why would they do that?” The mixed emotions of anger and helplessness resonate in his voice.

“I don’t know, kid. Maybe to cover their asses. Maybe he knew too much. It could be a number of things.”

“Don’t all drug dealers know too much?” he asks like it’s that simple. He’s frustrated. I get it. “I mean, if Donnie
was
dealing for ’em, what could he have possibly done to deserve to die?”

Skimmed some money?

Sold on the side?

Lost a deal?

Truth is, it could have been anything or nothing. Hell if I’m telling Stix that, though. He doesn’t really want an answer anyway. He’s simply asking the same thing everyone does when they lose someone so fucking senselessly.

Why?

It’s the same thing I’ve asked myself about a thousand goddamn times: Why didn’t I stop Mike from signing up for the academy in the first place? Why couldn’t I stand up to Dad when my little brother needed me to? Why did he die? But more importantly, why him and not me?

Damn, I do stupid shit every fucking day of my life. Ask my father. And I’m sure as hell that Mikey had a lot more to offer the world than my sorry ass.

Stix sits there, waiting for an answer I can’t give him. Once again, I’m failing at something that to some people is probably the simplest thing in the world.