I kiss her forehead, lingering.“Rest up. You’ll want to be on your ‘A’ game for this.”
Then I walk out, leaving her with sour candy, a second chance, and a heart split clean down the middle.
Chapter 27
Johnny
The car ride is quiet. Not tense. Not awkward. Just… quiet. Walter doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and I’m not in the mood to fill silence with bullshit.
The farther we go, the more the city falls apart. Storefronts give way to boarded windows. Pavement buckles beneath old tires. We’re entering the kind of place where no one makes eye contact, and everyone minds their own business, because the price of curiosity is too damn high.
We pull up to the house and yeah. It’s exactly what I expected. A run-down, two-story in the middle of a wooded clearing. White paint peeling in long strips. Porch sagging like it’s ready to collapse. A single blind swings broken in the upstairs window, tapping out a slow, sad rhythm against the pane.
No one would look twice. That’s the point.
I kill the engine and Walter clears his throat. “Just a walkthrough,” he says. “You don’t need to get too involved.”
I get out of the car without answering. The air smells like mold and bleach. Covered-up rot. Covered-up sin.
The front door sticks when he opens it, the wood swollen from rain and misuse. Inside, the air sharpens. It’s too clean. Too sterile. The kind of sterile that reeks of guilt.
“This is intake,” Walter says, gesturing to a narrow hallway. “They wait here before processing.”
Processing.
I don’t think too hard on that. Not yet. My anger has teeth. I’ve just learned when to unclip the muzzle.
There’s a sound from the back. A girl’s voice. Sounds young. Singing something tuneless and cracked at the edges. I feel it then, that quiet burn in my chest. That pressure behind my eyes that always shows up right before I do something violent.
Walter keeps talking, unaware. “Upstairs is holding. Downstairs is—”
“I’ll see it all,” I say, voice like steel.
He shuts up.
I didn’t come here to play tourist. I came with a purpose. And I’ll be damned if I leave before I achieve it.
Walter leads me down the narrow hallway like he’s giving a real estate tour. “This front room’s used for interviews. Basic intake. Names, nationalities, needs, value estimates… those kind of things.”
I don’t say anything. Just keep walking, hands in my pockets, eyes cataloguing everything. There’s cameras everywhere. No windows that open. No doors that don’t lock from the outside.
We turn the corner, and that’s when we run into him.Joe.I’ve studied his picture so hard I’d recognize him anywhere. He’s mid-fifties now. Too clean-shaven. Dressed like he’s trying to pass for money, but his watch is fake. He’s got that eager bounce in his step. The kind guys get when they think they’re the main character.
He doesn’t seem recognize me. Not surprising. I was just a kid when he murdered my mom and fucked up Lina’s life. Fucked up mine. Now here he is, in the hallway of a trafficker's house, trying to play top dog.
“Jonathan,” Walter says, gesturing, “this is Joe. Heoversees the house at the moment.”
Joe’s face drops slightly at his words. I’m sure he would like to oversee things forever, but he sticks out his hand anyway. “Nice to meet you.”
I take it. Shake once. Firm, but not too hard. Although it’s tempting to break his fingers.
“Likewise,” I say, remaining cool, polite, forgettable.
Joe doesn’t look twice. Not at my face. Not at my name. Not at the sharp glint in my eyes he should’ve remembered.
“Any word from Roger?” Joes asks Walter. “He never showed today.”
“No,” Walter responds, “but you know how he is.”
