I stand against the brick wall at the back of the shop, my boot perpendicular to the mortar lines, already waiting with my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie when the metal door flies open. His booted heavy footsteps descend until he’s matching my position, lighting a cigarette. “That shit’s going to give you cancer.”
Deep laughter fills the cold, night air, preceding the thick, cloud-like smoke. Nausea settles in the pit of my stomach with the recognition of the familiar smell, the memories of that cunt flooding back to the present as if she never left.
Like I always do when they consume me, I ignore them, hoping for a better one of similar circumstances to quickly replace it, like Delta sneaking a smoke when she thought I wasn’t around. The only reason I pretended not to know about it was because I found peace in watching her during those times. She always looked like she was lost in a world of her own. Her full lips wrapped around that filter were almost sexy enough to overcome my repulsion with smoking.
“Like you would care,” he says. “Then I wouldn’t be around to give you shit about your old lady. Wesson is the one you should really be pissed at. He actually did have a thing for her in the beginning. I think he’s just too scared of you to admit it.”
“As he should be. I would care; then I’d be wasting time looking for your replacement.”
“I can imagine the agitation. I’m a hard guy to replace.”
I turn to look at him, a gush of air pushing into the hood of my hoodie and running down my back. “Cut the shit, Remington, or we’ll be finding out a lot sooner.”
“Always threatening my livelihood.” He takes one final drag and stomps it out, blowing that toxic waste into the clean air. “Happy now? What’d you want to see me about, boss man? Didn’t think I’d be seeing you today since Cassie had to reschedule your entire appointment list for this week. She’s been bitchy all day. I was about to close up.”
“You have priors. Robbery and Grand Theft Auto.” He tenses, glancing around, eyes suddenly wide as he scopes out the parking lot. “No one’s here but you and me.”
“I did my time back in Boston. I left that shit behind. I need this job, Kross.” He takes a deep, stress-filled breath. “I know you don’t like me much. Manager promotion was a shock. The shit with Delta—it was just me fucking around. I got a kid. It’s a long-ass story, but I can’t fuck up. They just let me start seeing her.”
“Never said I was firing you.”
He relaxes. “How long have you known?”
“Since I hired you. I know everything about my artists.”
“Then why bring it up now?”
“Because it’s just now useful information to me.”
“How is that information useful?”
“There are reasons why I prefer to hire dirty artists over clean. A large percentage of my staff has a record. At some point, that may be of value to me, like now. I know those that don’t always obey the law understand what it means to be a rat—that it will get you fucking killed. I have to leave for a while. There is a shipment coming in tomorrow at midnight. I need you to be at my warehouse to receive it. If you do, there will be a cut in it for you.”
“What kind of shipment?”
“The kind I’ll gut you over should details leak. That’s all you need to know.”
“Is this the kind I could do hard time for?”
“Only if you get caught.”
“What if I don’t want the risk?”
“Then you can keep on pissing away your commission on broads and booze while your daughter calls someone else daddy. Which doesn’t matter to me; though I hear college is expensive these days. Ten grand for a few hours of your precious whoring time could cut out a fraction of that.”
He anxiously pulls at his hair, pushing off the wall, before lighting another cigarette. “Fuck! Give me the details.”
I pull a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of my hoodie and hand it to him. He opens it, before the confusion mars his face. “It’s blank.”
I straighten, preparing to leave. “I don’t operate in a way that could easily fuck me over should you have butter fingers. Find a black light and the instructions are there. I need one more thing.”
“What?”
“I need you to look after Delta while I’m gone. She trusts you, for whatever damn reason, and if I send Kaston she’ll know I asked. I need her happy. I need her stress free.” I hand him several hundreds, but clamp down when he goes to take it, not letting go just yet. “And completely unaware of this transaction. Take her out if you must. What I don’t need is her moping around because I’m gone. Do shit friends do, but if you so much as graze an inappropriate part of her I’ll slit your throat just enough to keep you alive and throw you into the gulf for the sharks.”
I release the money. “Fine, but why does Delta need a babysitter? Have you not seen her? For such a little person, she’s a badass. I think she could take care of herself.”
“She’s carrying my fucking kid, that’s why,” I say, catching him off guard. A look of understanding slides into place and he shoves the money into the pocket of his jeans. “Follow directions to the letter and there will be more.”
I begin to walk off, leaving him behind. I stop to look over my shoulder, remembering one last thing. “Oh, and Remington . . .”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Your agreement is your signature on a contract. My business stays my business. If you so much as breathe a word, I’ll cut out your tongue and send it to your little girl on her birthday. Bring someone and you sign their death certificate. If you think I’m bluffing, I can introduce you to others before you that learned the hard way.”
I continue to my truck, not bothering to see if he’s still standing there. I have a plane to catch. Since I left Delta this morning, I’ve been with Kaston all day on recon, tying up loose ends. Everything is on schedule. The only thing left is to find that motherfucker and hand him over to Lucifer himself.
Kaston offered to do the job for me—baby gift or some shit—but I turned it down. I don’t need someone to do my dirty work. My hands have been bloodstained for a long time. I want to look in his eyes when he takes his last breath. And when the world as he knows it ceases to exist, as did mine all those years ago, I want to be the one that changed it all . . . just like him.
Then, when it’s all over, I can get back to my girl and try like hell to give her a semi-normal life. God knows that’s not as easy as it sounds for a guy like me. But that kid has no chance if I don’t do this. I won’t risk that kind of history repeating itself. It has shitty DNA coming from both sides. One side has to dominate the other, and I’ll die fighting before I let that fuck’s reign . . . again.
