Dead End Fix (14 page)

Oliver Bane stood and waved Lydia to his table when she walked into the downtown tavern.

“Thanks for meeting me.” The place was nearly full. Nine thirty on a weeknight and every stool at the bar was occupied. “I know you've got an early morning tomorrow.”

It wasn't like Oliver not to smile. She understood. Oliver was a good man. A kind man. A man who had once offered her his heart and been rejected. Lydia had nothing to offer Oliver but pain. And if he ever discovered who she really was, any love he felt for her would instantly dissolve into disgust and loathing.

From the guarded look in his eyes, perhaps that process had already begun.

“You want some wine?” he asked. “I've got a beer coming.”

“I don't want to take too much of your time.”

Oliver leaned forward. Lydia inhaled the aroma she'd come to recognize as distinctly his: coffee and sugar and steamed milk. He smelled like a long and lazy Sunday morning.

“Then let's not spend a minute on small talk,” he said. “I won't tell you how pleased I am to see your bruises have disappeared and you won't ask me how business is going. We'll not waste one precious second on the ruse that we're two old friends grabbing a drink to catch up. Let's get down to it, Lydia. Tell me what you need from me.”

“I am happy to see you, Oliver.”

He shook his head slightly, but even that minor move was enough to set his unruly hair into motion. “Tell me, Lydia. There was a time I thought you enjoyed my company. But in case you haven't been keeping track, the only times I hear from you these days are when you want something. So spit it out.”

Lydia let him have his anger. There, indeed, had been a time when she'd been eager to see him. To feel his arms around her. To taste his kiss.

“I've come to talk about that woman again.”

Oliver's eyes narrowed. He leaned back against his chair. “You mean Cassie? Did you find her? Is she all right?”

“I did find her. The information you gave me was quite helpful. Thank you.”

“She's okay?”

Allie Grant will never be okay.

“We had a discussion, I'll say that much.”

Oliver nodded. “Patient-doctor stuff. I get it. I hope you set her straight on my not having any interest in being her tool to work out whatever drama she's got going with her shrink.”

“Actually, that's why I'm here. This Cassie, as you call her, may not be pleased should she discover it was our conversation that led me to her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing specific. But she's a smart woman. Brilliant, truth told. With an overdeveloped sense of self.”

“Narcissist? Is that what you're saying?” Oliver smiled for the first time since she'd sat down. Weak and weary, but a smile nonetheless. “You can use your big-girl words, Lydia. My transitioning from attorney to coffee shop owner didn't rob me of any IQ points.”

“I didn't mean to offend. This woman is complicated. Mere words are insufficient to describe her.”

Oliver shrugged. “Okay. So I'll assume Cassie didn't want to be found. You found her, she's pissed, and if she knew our conversation helped you, she might be pissed at me too. Do I have it?”

What you don't have, sweet Oliver, is the slightest notion of Allie's evil.

“I want you to be careful. This woman has resources. Her temper is not something to take lightly.”

“I've dealt with angry women before, Lydia. Like a fiancée who thought marrying me was a surefire ticket to the governor's mansion. Should have seen her when I told her I was stepping off the political circus train and opening a shop. Or more recently, when I had to tell a perfectly lovely young woman I couldn't offer her what she wanted because I was still in love with someone else.” He brought a hand to his left cheek. “She gave me one hell of a slap. I wouldn't have thought someone that small had it in her.”

Lydia ached to know the pain she had caused him. “I'm sorry, Oliver.”

He held up his hands. “I made my play and you weren't buying. No need to worry. I can handle a broken heart and I can handle an upset Cassie.”

“Please, Oliver. Don't take this woman lightly.”

His green eyes were intense. “Do I need to get the police involved?”

“I want you to be careful.”

“Answer my question, Lydia. And don't hide behind doctor-patient confidentiality. If you have reason to believe a patient of yours is apt to harm someone, you have no duty to shield her. In fact, you have a responsibility to protect any potential target.”

Lydia saw the flash of passion that had made him such an effective attorney.

“I have no information suggesting you're in imminent danger. I may be being overly cautious here, but when it comes to you, I want to be. Listen to me, Oliver. Do not interact with this woman. Trust me when I tell you she has no business being in Olympia. Should you see her, assume she's up to no good.”

“And what, exactly, do you mean by ‘no good'?”

Oh, Oliver. I'm afraid even your significant intellect couldn't imagine the mayhem Allie is capable of. You're too wholesome to enter her world…my world.

“Just stay away from her. Remember what I'm telling you.”

Oliver's jaw churned. Like he wanted to tell her something but needed to defend himself against his own words. Finally he drew in a deep breath.

“I have to be over you, Lydia. I have to stop loving you. Wanting you. Hoping someday you'll realize what we had together…what we could have together…that we could be terrific. I need to give that up. I can't go through my life divided. Part of me going through the motions of the day while the other part hovers above me, waiting for the moment you'll call or walk in the shop.”

Lydia swallowed hard. She needed to let him speak. But she couldn't let him know how much she cared.

“I don't want to hear from you again.” His voice was low and purposeful. “From where I sit, Cassie isn't the danger. She means nothing to me. It's
you.
You
are the one who hurts me.”

“Oliver, I—”

“Don't!” He caught his tone and lowered his voice. “Just
don't
.”

A tall blonde carrying an overloaded tray approached with a tired smile. “Sorry for the wait. We're busier than we thought, and of course my manager doesn't want to bring in fresh troops.” She set Oliver's beer in front of him and turned to give Lydia her full attention. “What can I get you? I promise to be faster this time.”

Oliver held Lydia's gaze as he answered for her. “The lady's leaving.”

The blonde nodded her understanding and took her tray to the next table.

“Goodbye, Lydia.”

She stood. “I'm so sorry, Oliver. Please remember what I said.”

His eyes telegraphed his struggle. “Goodbye, Lydia.”

It was all Kashawn could do not to swagger when he walked into the clubhouse, holding up his driver's license, just as his brothers were finishing breakfast. D'Loco was there and he hooted out loud before calling for a celebration. Brothers came up to congratulate Kashawn. J-Fox said he expected it wouldn't be long before Kashawn took his place driving D'Loco. Everyone in the house gave him respect that morning.

After the commotion, D'Loco tossed Kashawn a box. Told him to open it right then and there. Kashawn struggled to stay on his feet when he pulled the top off that small box. Inside was a key chain, engraved with a large “97” floating above the name “Green K.” He turned it over and swallowed hard. There was a tiger engraved on the flip side. Just like the one hanging on the wall of his room.

“That there's twenty-four-karat gold,” D'Loco told him. “You best treasure it. That from me to you. You made me smile today.”

A few hours later it was Kashawn's turn to smile when Turk announced his training was over. He had shadowed Turk for more than a week, learning the rhythm, watching the runners, keeping strong when a customer wanted to shine him on about how they would get the money for the goods a little later. Kashawn had nothing to do with that. Even when Turk set up a test and sent a lovely young lady looking for credit, Kashawn held tight.

He was ready. Turk knew it. The runners knew it. So did the customers. Most important, D'Loco knew.

“Yes, sir!” Turk slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Today is the day. These streets yours now. I'ma hand them over to you. Which mean I'm movin' up myself.”

“You deserve it, Turk. D'Loco takin' care of us all.”

Turk nodded. “That he is, kid. That he is. Best remember that.” The smile disappeared from Turk's face. “Remember also, if I hear one dollar not makin' it back to D'Loco, you ain't hafta worry about him. It's me who trained you. I don't train nobody to have sticky fingers. You do something to disgrace my efforts and you gonna bleed. We clear?”

Kashawn had everything he'd ever wanted. He wasn't going to do anything to mess up the glory he had going with the 97s.

“We clear.” He nodded toward the Escalade rolling to a stop in front of them. “Here's your ride now. Get on out of here and take care of your new business.”

Turk's grin returned. He gave one last shoulder bump to Kashawn and turned toward the car. Big Cheeks got out and opened the rear door. Kashawn looked inside, disappointed not to see D'Loco.

“Don't worry, Green K.” Big Cheeks must have seen his regret. “This party for Turk here. D'Loco know it's your first day solo. He be by soon enough.”

Turk climbed in the back and Kashawn watched them drive away. Then he stepped back and checked his crew. The twins were in position, playing basketball to his left. That kid they called Jay Jay messed with his skateboard down the block to his right. Straight ahead was a woman looking too skinny to stand. She teetered toward him. Kashawn waited. He knew what she wanted, but he needed to see her fifteen dollars before she got it. When she slipped him the money, Kashawn held up two fingers behind his back. One of the twins chased an errant basketball, making the drop as he ran past her.

Kashawn Meadows was open for business.

And business was brisk. Kashawn wondered how the runners maintained an endless supply of product. But his job was to hold the money and keep the order. Maybe someday he'd learn more about the business, but for now he was content to spend his first day doing as he was told. There might have been a time or two he wished he could get out of the rain, but as his pockets grew heavy, Kashawn calculated his 15 percent and figured a little drizzle never hurt anyone. At times he got lonely. The customers never said anything beyond what was necessary to complete their transactions. Other folks walking the streets didn't say a word. They knew he was D'Loco's man. Those folks might not have said anything, but the respect was there.

Kashawn occupied his mind thinking about how he might run into LaTonya some day after she left school. Maybe strike up a conversation and offer to walk with her a ways. He knew better than to offer her a ride. LaTonya wasn't a girl to get into a brother's car for no reason.

A few minutes past five o'clock, D'Loco's Escalade came speeding down the street, wheels screeching as it pulled to an abrupt stop in front of him.

“Get in the car!” J-Fox had the windows rolled down. “Now, dammit!”

Kashawn looked to his left. The twins were running away. To his right, Jay Jay was kicking it on his skateboard, leaving his location as fast as his wheels would carry him.

“What's happen—”

“Get in the damn car!” J-Fox screamed.

Kashawn jammed his hands in his pockets, securing the day's receipts. He jogged six steps and pulled the rear door open. J-Fox took off before Kashawn had time to close it. Three other brothers were in the back of the Escalade.

“What's going on?” Kashawn asked. “Where's D'Loco?”

“We headin' back to the clubhouse.” Slow Time was riding shotgun. “D'Loco says get there fast.”

“Why?” Kashawn didn't like what he saw on his brothers' faces. Their looks were the same kind of angry D'Loco had when he killed Ax.

Do they know? Do they know I didn't shoot that Pico?

“Six Pack is dead,” Slow Time told him. “Shot down 'bout an hour ago over by where his lady lives.”

“What? Who?” Kashawn didn't know what else to ask. A brother dead?

“They got Clash, too. Not fifteen minutes after Six Pack got hit.”

Kashawn tried to put a face to his brother named Clash. He thought maybe he'd heard the name before but was pretty certain he'd never met him.

“D'Loco's callin' us in.” The brother sitting next to him spoke. Kashawn didn't know him, either. “Keepin' us safe till we figure out what's what.”

“Is it the police?” Kashawn asked.

The brother sitting next to him let out a disgusted sigh. “This ain't how they roll. Besides, any trouble with the cops, we know what to do. It's all ‘Yes, sir,' ‘Yes, ma'am.' Keep your hands in sight and do what you're told. Let 'em take us off to jail. D'Loco have us out in an hour.”

It was difficult for Kashawn to comprehend there might be a force greater than D'Loco. But he instantly dismissed any concern. D'Loco and his brothers would take care of him.

“Then who?”

“How about you shut the fuck up and let D'Loco tell us?”

Kashawn shrank back against the seat and hung on while J-Fox careened through the neighborhood streets.

“See this?” D'Loco stood on a wooden chair, holding up a red ribbon. “Six Pack's lady saw it go down. Brother ran by her place to drop off his envelope for her and the baby. Tiza say Six Pack just handed little Trayvon back to her. He was walkin' to his car when they pulled up. Rolled down the window and shot Six Pack four times. Tiza start screaming. Heads runnin' back to the house but watches from the window. Sees some punk ass jump outta the car, kick Six Pack in the head, and tie this on his wrist.”

“That's Pico colors!” Big Cheeks yelled out from the crowd of 97s jammed into the rooms of the clubhouse's bottom floor. Kashawn weaved his way through shoulders and chests to stand next to him.

“Damn straight it is. Tiza ran out to Six Pack once the shooters took off. Saw her man was dead. Recognized the tag. Got it here to me.”

“Police come by?” A brother Kashawn didn't know asked. “Best they don't interfere.”

A simmer of angry agreement rumbled through the crowd. Kashawn stood on his toes, craning to locate J-Fox. He spotted him in a far corner, his face a steely mask of vengefulness.

“Clash dead too,” D'Loco continued. “Same thing. Same red tag.”

Kashawn inched nearer to Big Cheeks as the gang's bloodlust grew. Shouts came from all around him, cursing the Picos, vowing revenge.

“Hold on.” D'Loco held up his hands and looked around the room, calling out individual brothers. “J-Fox…Mouse…Blue Man…” D'Loco's eyes made another sweep of the room before landing on Kashawn. “And Green K. You my team. Picos want war, they gonna get it.”

The walls and floors shook with the roar of 97 approval. Everyone in the house was shouting and raising fists in the air. Kashawn jammed his own arm up. He opened his mouth and pulled a growl from deep inside his gut. He wasn't sure what was expected of him, but whatever D'Loco asked he'd gladly give.

A chilled jolt of fresh air blasted the crowed house. Attention turned toward the front door as a short man with a deep scar on the side of his face pushed his way through the crowd, calling his leader's name. D'Loco hopped off the chair and went to him, leaning down to hear this brother Kashawn had never seen before. He didn't need to hear the words. The look on D'Loco's face telegraphed that the news was no good.

D'Loco held on to the short brother's shoulder for several seconds. Then he climbed back on the chair and raised his right hand.

“They got D'Andre too. Just now.” D'Loco's eyes were cold steel. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard the determined hatred.

The earlier roar was replaced by ominous silence. Kashawn looked around the room, reading the revulsion on his brothers' faces. The three brothers D'Loco had named to his war council stepped forward to stand in front of their leader. Kashawn joined them.

“Teams of three,” D'Loco said. “Never leave each other's side. Every 97 sleeps in the clubhouse. We got food last a few days. This last any longer, we figure out what to do. We go out two teams at a time. Rest of us stay here. Defend the house. Find them Picos and kill 'em where they stand. Don't bother taggin'. Motherfuckers know who's comin'. Let the bodies rot in the rain. Hit one, then get back here. Then the next team goes out.”

Three men gave one another fist bumps before stepping forward. “We headin' west on Stinson. Straight into Pico territory. Shouldn't be more than a half hour to bag one.”

D'Loco nodded.

A voice called out from the side of the room. “Me, Dog, and Everclear. We a team. Take Parkway north. I know a club them Picos like to hang. We follow one home. Shoot him in his yard like they did Six Pack. We get lucky, maybe his lady and baby watch him bleed out.”

D'Loco nodded again. He put his hands on his hips and took his time surveying the room. It seemed to Kashawn the man had the ability to look into the eyes of each of the few dozen men there. When it came time for D'Loco to notice him, icy fear raked down Kashawn's gut.

“We ready, then,” D'Loco said. “We didn't start this war. But we damn sure ain't gonna stop till we finish it.”