Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (31 page)

Dad tries to let it go.

“At least, he died doing something he loved.”

“Bullshit.” I’m not so inclined to blow it off, though.

Dad shoots daggers at me. “W─what’d you just say to me?”

“Painting. Drawing. If he’d been doing shit like that, then he would’ve died doing something he loved, Dad. But the force?”

I throw him a sarcastic laugh.

“He hated it there.”

“He didn’t hate it.” The words slur out of his mouth. “He chose the life, son.”

“No, Dad. He loved
you
. He’d a done anything to impress you. But he hated the fucking force. And he didn’t fucking belong there.”

He points at me. “You watch your mouth.”

“Why don’t you watch your own fucking mouth, Dad. Have you even heard yourself one damn time in the entirety of any of our lives?”

He doesn’t say anything at that accusation.

“Or maybe you were too busy reliving your own glory days through us to give a damn about what any of us wanted.”

He glares up at me.

“Nick and me, we belonged there. We thrived there. Catching perps? Taking down the bad guys? It’s natural to us. But Mike?” I shake my head and have to fight the urge to let emotions spill out of me. “He was more than that.”

Words have never really been Dad’s and my thing. We usually just throw a few nasty glances at each other, make a few salty comments to go along with the looks, and call it a day. We have an understanding, him and me.

He doesn’t try to tell me what the fuck to do any more, and I don’t remind him what a shitty dad he’s been.

But now, as he sits on my living room couch, I see something I don’t believe I’ve ever seen lingering behind his eyes.

Regret.

“There’s too much damn death in the world.” He breathes heavy. “Too much everything.”

“No fucking shit.”

For the first time since I was very, very fucking young, I don't see the man I’ve encapsulated as the head villain in my family.

I see an old, decrepit, sad example of a human being.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.” He wipes his face with a callus-ridden palm. “Graham Black’s legalizing marijuana this year. City’s going to hell in a handbasket soon enough. Nothing’ll matter anymore.”

I knew this, of course.

Well, I knew Black was
promising
to legalize it.

Whether he actually pulls that shit off is another story.

“Proving it, too.” Dad throws in there with a random flailing of both arms now. “With all the arrests and street thug killings this year. Who wouldn’t want to just push it through at this point? Get it over with.”

He’s got a─

Wait.

“What?”

Dad looks up at me like I’m an idiot who can’t understand a word he’s saying. Hell, I just wanna hear it one more time for reiteration’s sake.

“I said who wouldn’t want to push it through at this point.”

Something clicks inside my head when I hear it for the second time.

Clear as day.

“Who indeed.”

I’ve been assuming the cops were the ones doing the killing all this time. It never crossed my fucking mind that the politicians might be in on it.

Jesus.

I grab my jacket and pat it down.
Just in fucking case.

“I’ve gotta go, Dad.”

“But─”

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” It’s the last thing I say to him before I shut the door behind me and drive as fast as I fucking can over to see Thomas and his thugs for some fucking answers.

This time, he’s gonna give me the right ones.

AN ARCHANGEL ON MY SHOULDER

(THOMAS FLINT, REDUX)

“THOMAS.”

All I see is the back of his head as I approach him in the street. He’s looking down at something.  After he hears my voice, his head raises up. He takes a drag from his cigarette and blows it out, letting the smoke billow out in front of him.

The guy standing across from him leans to one side. When he sees me, he nods once to Thomas.

“Dice, get my gun.” He speaks easy. Scary fucking easy. That shit sends chills down my spine.

Not that he needs to know that.

Dice throws me a shit-eating grin as he strolls away to go retrieve Thomas’s weapon. I clear my throat and push forward with my purpose for being here despite the small pangs of fear growing inside my gut.

I swallow down the basic instinct to run.  Instead, I say what I came to say.

“Listen, while we wait for your gun, I need to ask a question.”

“You’ve asked all the questions I want to answer, Stiles. If I were you, I’d leave. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Not gonna lie. It’s taking all I have to make my feet stay right the fuck where they are.

He shakes his head.

“Your funeral.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. Since I’m about to eat a bullet anyway, why don’t you humor me. Explain why you’re in bed with the R.P.D. and killing minors.”

Thomas freezes. So does everyone else who’s within earshot. They back away from him as he turns around to face me.

Fucking finally.

I’m more pissed than I am scared. He just confirmed my suspicions.

“That got your attention, huh?”

“What makes you think I’m killing kids, Jack?”

“Oh, are you offended?” I turn a cold stare toward him. “My bad.”

“You should explain yourself.”

“That’s cool. You want me to spell it out for you. Okay. Three cases over the past nine months have been tied to drug deals gone bad. All three kids were found with the drugs on them but no money. All three were mysteriously associated with your gang. And all of them”—I take a step closer—“every last fucking one, was either shot and killed or later killed by the good old boys in blue.”

His face pales a lighter shade of white than usual. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the guy show even the slightest bit of emotion. At least, not since we were kids.

“Maybe you have some kinda deal with some of them. Or all of them. I don’t fucking know. Maybe you’re a snitch. Not my fucking business, and quite frankly, I don’t really give a shit. But now, another one—someone I’m personally responsible for, I might add—is missing. I’m not taking it too goddamn lightly,
Tom
. So tell me where the fuck I can find him, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

He thinks over what I’ve said for a few seconds as Dice returns with the requested gun. My heart is beating so hard I’m surprised no one sees it. Or hears it.

Lucky for me, I know how to stay cool on the outside while I’m freaking the fuck out on the inside.

Years of practice.

Flint puts a hand up to Dice and narrows his eyes at me a little. I try to breathe. It’s not easy, and the air is so thick I could chew it. If I had an appetite, that is. When Thomas waves his lackeys off, my heart begins to slow again.

They leave us. Dice, in particular, is hesitant, but Thomas gives him a pat on the shoulder and tells him something, quietly. Dice, makes a good name for a pet, don’t ya think, does as he’s told.

Good dog.

Thomas motions for me to follow him, and I do, but I’m acutely aware of where my car is at all times. No harm in being prepared to make a quick run for it, if need be.

“You don’t want to be here, Jack.”

“Preaching to the choir, Tom, but I need some fucking answers, and I don’t exactly have the kind of time on my hands to dick around, so…”

He stops abruptly and faces me head on. He studies my eyes, my face, my stance. With a drop of his shoulders and a shake of his head, he lets out a small puff of air.

“My brother was one of them.”

No clue what he’s talking about, or why he seems to think it’s important to this conver-fucking-sation.

“You don’t have a brother.”

“Had.”

“Have, had, whichever. I’ve known you since we were kids. You never had a brother.”

“I did, though, Jack.”

He doesn’t say another word. He just holds my stare. His face is withdrawn, like he’s sick at his stomach.

Funny because it’s not unlike the way I feel every time I think about…

Mikey.

That’s when it hits me. Only it doesn’t make sense.

“Your last name is Flint. There were no Flints on the list.”

He nods as he takes a drag of his cigarette, and I’m not gonna lie, I might be salivating. A little.

“Different fathers. Different state.”

He flicks the butt out into the night air.

“Which one?”

“Robert Decker. My baby brother,” he confirms in a low voice.

“How did I not know, or anyone else for that fucking matter, that you had a brother?”

“Nobody here knew he existed. I knew he’d be a bargaining chip someday. I just didn’t plan on the police exacting that bargain, otherwise, I would’ve taken further precautions.”

“Precautions?”

“Unlike you, it didn’t take me long to figure out how this world works, Jack.” He’s talking about the wonderful world of drugs, of course. “My mother left my father for one of many
extracurricular activities
.”

“He cheated.”

Thomas nods. “One of these relationships resulted in my brother. I didn’t know about him until I was older. When we found each other, I was already making hand-over-fist in my current business. I had the means to give him things I never had.”

What a fucking sweet heart.

“College.”

“Precisely. He was a senior when they caught up with him.”

He starts to walk again.

I follow but I don’t like it.

The Chevelle is becoming smaller and smaller. My concern is growing larger and larger.

“Who’s
they
, Tom?”

He doesn’t answer me straight away. Instead, he decides it’s story time.

“Back in the day, detectives would harass my people on a daily basis.”

“That’s surprising. Police giving gangs a hard time. Go figure.”

Thomas gives me a look of warning for the sarcasm. It’s more than likely gonna get me killed someday.

Hopefully, not today.

And don’t think it escapes my attention that he specifically said detectives.

As in, Nick is a fucking detective.

I really fucking hope he doesn’t have anything to do with this shit.

“About five or so years ago, that harassment switched gears from getting drugs off the street to getting money into their pockets. It started out with two of them, then another joined in, then another. I’m not sure how many are in on it now. It’s enough, though.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to make sure we sell exactly what they want, when they want, and how often they want.”

I hear the words he’s saying. Hell, I’ve thought it a thousand times myself. But to face the fact that it’s truth? That’s not something I was ready to take on today.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why drugs were not a
problem
, Stiles?”

I lift a shoulder. “Never really
my
problem until recently.”

“Yes. I know.” He raises a brow to go with the grimace he flashes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His grimace turns to a frown. “Only that you have been a predictable piece of the puzzle for many parties involved.”

Ouch.

That kinda hurt.

Someone was actually counting on me being me.

Thomas sees that he’s made his point and moves on.

“About two or so years ago another player entered the game. Completely outside of the police department. Said he represented some very important people. People who wanted to improve the economy.”

He waits for my mind to play catch up but I’m already there. Immediately, Graham Black comes to mind.

“Go on.”

“He wanted me to hand over members of my gang, my
family
, to his contacts to show he was doing his job. Cleaning up the city, he called it.”

“And?”

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Classic.

I’d laugh, except Thomas adds another tidbit of information to that enlightenment.

“When my brother’s death was announced on the news, I knew immediately what had really happened. Before long, his face was being plastered all over the area as a drug dealer and murderer.”

Jesus fucking A.

My mood just crashed and burned.

“I’m sorry, man.”

Why I’m sorry, I have no idea, because helloooooo, gangbangers. But still, a part of me wants to rip Graham Black’s head off for pulling something as low as that shit.

“The next time I was contacted by that man, I wasn’t so quick to tell him to fuck off.”

The way he says it, combined with the look of regret and purpose he’s giving me, tells me everything else I need to know.

Everything I don’t particularly want to know.

He looks away. Ashamed maybe. Air leaves me and my gut clenches.

“You gave him Donnie’s name.” I can barely fucking say it. The kid’s face flashes in front of my eyes. I think about the sincerity in his expression and how he grinned over to wish me luck the night of that drag race.

“They
killed
my brother.” Thomas’s rage is growing. “All the fucking work I did.” He scowls at the buildings that stand abandoned across from us. “The money I invested to protect him. To keep my brother out of this
shithole.
It was all for nothing.” Anger bubbles out him uncontrolled now.

I’m right there with him.

“And you fucked another kid. Right in the ass.”

He spins on me. The gun Dice brought him at his side now. I hadn’t even noticed he’d taken it.

“What would you have me do, Stiles?” He waves the gun at me. “You want me to keep saying no to him, and he kills someone else I love?”

I can’t really say I give a shit if he shoots me at this point or not.

It might just put me out of my own misery.

So I lay it on him straight.

“Donnie was getting out, Tom. He wanted something more than this
shithole
.” To put it in familiar terms for him.

“Yeah? Well, so did my brother.”

At this point, he doesn’t give a fuck either.

I want to choke the life out of this asshole.

“You give him Stix’s name?”

Swear to fucking God, I’ll actually do it if he says yes.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

I’m relieved in a way. I also believe him. Why would he lie at this point?

Lucky for you, dickhead.

I have to remember to breathe in and out for a while after that. It’s quiet on the street with Thomas holding his gun and me with nothing on me because I left that shit in the car like a fucking idiot.

“You gonna shoot me now?” I may as well put it out there, right?

He tilts his neck to stretch it out. “I’m thinking about it.”

“So what’s the fucking verdict?”

He looks over at me. “I still don’t like you much, Stiles.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”
And fuck you, by the way.

“But I think you might be growing on me.”

Wish I could say the same.