“You look like shit,” I grunt.
She keeps her mouth shut and follows my every step as I cross the room.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?”
She should know who I am, but it doesn’t anger me that she doesn’t. Why would the Queen at the top know who the peasants are at the bottom.
Her silence is oddly calming. “My dad worked hard every day of his life. His shop was his pride and joy for over twenty years and one day a greedy bitch wanted it. My father declined and made it clear he wouldn’t sell under any circumstances. The greedy bitch wouldn’t take no for an answer and sent her henchmen round to intimidate him.” Arching my brow, I add, “His son tried to protect him and was holding his own until one night he went to meet his dad and found him dead behind the counter. The police say it was accidental, that he fell and hit his head, but I’ve always known the truth.”
She has the audacity to frown in confusion.
“He was killed, and it was made to look like an accident. All because the greedy bitch didn’t get what she wanted.”
“I don’t…”
Cutting her off, I tell her, “You don’t need to deny it or tell me you’re sorry, not that you would anyway. I just wanted you to know that you dying is a justice to society, and I hope you spend an eternity in Hell.” I smile sadly with my dad in mind. “Nothing will ever bring him back, but the day Ford kills you, is the day he can truly rest in peace.”
Having said what I came up here to say, I leave, locking her in and locking down that part of my past.
I return the key to Ford and grab a beer from behind the bar as my phone rings.
“It’s your grandfather,” I hear when I answer.
He always starts a call like this as I don’t recognise the same number he’s had for the last ten years.
“You good?”
“Our friendly bent cop will meet you in the parking lot on Birch Street in thirty minutes. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks.”
The call ends and I put my beer back in the fridge. Thank fuck I ride a bike, I’ll be able to cut through the rush hour traffic and be there to meet Sketchy on time.
He’s not in uniform but a cop always stands out. For someone who doesn’t want to be seen, he doesn’t come across as paranoid.
“Are you Trey?”
I tip my chin and remain on my bike.
“Jagger said you’re looking for a friend on the force.”
“How much does a friend cost to have?”
“This friend? He doesn’t work on a weekly or monthly subscription. He gets paid as and when he’s needed and he gets paid well.”
“That works for me.”
We exchange numbers and that’s that. He disappears and I ride back to the club. Music plays, the bar is filling up with people I don’t recognise, and on my way to finding Luca I bump into a hot woman with pink hair.
“Hey, sorry,” she purrs.
“It was my fault.”
“You’re one of them, aren’t ya?” she asks running her finger down my cut.
“And who are you?”
“Tia.”
