Chapter Nine
Sam
“Don’t worry, tough guy. I’m sure it’s only a little setback.” I can’t bear to meet his gaze because right now, I’m struggling with my own depression.
How much longer can I be strong? I haven’t slept through the night for weeks and showed him only my bravest face. Not one tear have I shed since he was diagnosed but Suds in relapse is too much to bear. I fluff his pillow and standing behind him, kiss his smooth beard.
“Sleep for a while. I’m sure you’ll feel better when you wake up.” As I wipe my eyes, Catrina, sensing my mood, purrs around my ankles.
“You’re still in big trouble.” Squatting, I scratch her chin, and make a mental grocery list for Mia and Rose who’ve insisted on helping us out.
Later, while I research Sebastian’s symptoms, my phone rings and it’s Frankie. As a rule, if a hired gun calls, you probably should answer and I do.
“Hello?”
“How youz doing?”
“Fine, fine. You?” Maybe his ex-wife kidnapped his feline friend again. If not, I hate to think why he’s calling.
“Business was slow at the beginning of the month but things are starting to pick up.”
He’s not one to brag so I have to ask, “Huh. Why is that?”
Immediately, I regret the question as I recall a nursery rhyme from my childhood.Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back.With any luck, he doesn’t own a pet cemetery.
“I got a backlog of women wanting to off their husbands. It’s a t’ing.”
How the fuck should a former FBI agent respond?At first, I do my best to sound disinterested. “They may have second thoughts once the pandemic is over.”
“Well, I understand. Really, I do. So, I figured youz could help me.”
I could use the money but helping the hitman is over the top. That being said, no one says no to Frankie. I’m quite certain it would not be well received.
“What do you need?”
“Well, let’s say I was to give youz a list of names and you wuz to research which of my clients has a legitimate beef. And, for the sake of discussion, let’s say she has a lot of hospital bills showing mysterious injuries. And maybe, in some of these cases, the cops turned a blind eye and left her alone with a monster. I’d be doing everyone a favor.”
Shit. If I don’t pare down his hit list, he’ll find someone who will and I’m betting that someone would be nowhere near as discerning as me.
My former client senses my hesitation. “Sammy, I’m doing a public service, here. I’m getting rid of rats.”
“Ahh… Suds has been pretty sick. I might not be able to start right off.”
“No problem-o. I can start without youz. There’s one lady who’s gunna end up dead unless I help her out.”
“Okay. Stay safe. Talk soon.” I hit my forehead with my palm. What the fuck? I know the police are too busy to keep up with domestic violence… but still…
Dammit. I’d tell my dad but no one knows where the guy lives. I’m sure if we traced his call, it would lead to a burner phone in the Ukraine or the Mohave Desert.
To be honest, a small part of my brain applauds what he’s doing. Someone needs to watch out for abused woman. This kind of dilemma is best solved by saints, which I obviously am not, so I try my younger cousin, Mia.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey Sam. How’s Suds?”
I glance to the futon where he snores lightly and heave out a worried sigh. “His fever came back but overall, he’s feeling better. However, that’s not why I need to talk. I have a bit of a morality problem. It’s Frankie.”
“The hitman?”
“Yeah. He, ah… wants me to do some research on a few new clients. You know, see if they’re telling the truth about being abused by their husbands.”
