I swallow hard. “That’s . . . not going to happen.”
Jason nods slowly before looking behind us, up the alley where no one’s around. “You know, Wick, Joe Bender taught me everything I know about this business.”
“I remember.”
“You see that tape . . . you goin’ to tell your dad what you see on it?”
Chills skitter across my skin. “Why would I tell him anything?”
“Maybe because it would be beneficial to both of us.”
“Go on.”
Jason’s tongue touches his lower lip. “We knew your mom was snitching on us. Joe found out first and told me. He said we had to do something.”
The dealer smiles. “That something ended up being the two of us taking your mom up to that building at three in the morning. Joe told her all about how he knew. She denied it . . . for a while.”
The truth is supposed to be bright and I feel like I’m buried. “Did he hurt her?”
Jason stares at me, saying nothing.
“Do you have to think about it? It’s a yes-or-no question.”
“I’m just surprised you have to ask.” Jason takes a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lights one. “Of course he hurt her.”
I nod. Of course he hurt her. Of course. The whole thing makes more sense than I want it to. I believe Joe would hurt her—I do—but it doesn’t match with the body language from the tape. She wasn’t running away. The movements were so deliberate.
I force my chin up and hope my voice won’t break. “What happened? Why did she jump?”
“Joe said he would kill you and Lily if she didn’t.”
What? Briefly, I’m spinning far above my head; then, just as suddenly, I’m concreted to the ground.
Jason’s searching my face now, interested in what he sees, and because I’m afraid of what that might be, I turn it around, go on the attack. “And you did nothing?”
He flicks ash from his cigarette. “You wanted the truth. I gave it to you—free of charge. Here’s another truth: You ain’t as safe as you think you are.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” I roll my eyes. “My foster mom gets one look at you lurking around and she’ll call the cops. They actually listen to people like her. It’s kinda amazing.”
“Not what I meant. Thanks for the tip though. I’ll keep it in mind.” Jason takes another drag on his cigarette. “What I’m more interested in is why that detective’s always talking to you.”
“Yeah, I got your present. Appreciate the thought. You’re way off though. He’s trying to press more charges against my dad. He thinks I’m an inroad.”
“He thinks? Or he knows?” Another drag. This time, Jason takes a few seconds before blowing out the smoke. “I don’t remember what happened at that party, but I’m pretty sure something did and you were behind it.”
“I heard you couldn’t hold your booze.”
“That’s the rumor. Since you were so kind to give me a tip, I’ll give you one too: Nothing folks around here hate more than snitches. Maybe if you did me a favor, no one would have to know.”
We stare at each other, the silence between us stretching thin as a string of taffy.
“Tell your dad.” Jason’s eyes go light. “Tell him what Joe did—just remember to leave me out of it.”
I need space to unpack this information and I’m already turning away when—wait. Wait. “Why does my dad need to know now? What’s changed?”
Jason stares at me like I’m a moron. “You think I want to be a secondhand man forever? I need Joe dead. I already have his people, his contacts, his position. They answer to me now. I want to keep it that way.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, that’s so. How’d you think I found you? I have eyes everywhere now. I’m just a phone call away. I still need him gone though. Clean break, you know?”
I nod like I do.
Jason picks a piece of tobacco from his tongue and flicks it away. “If you tell your daddy, he’ll kill him.”
It takes me forever to get back to my car, and once I do, I manage to drive off like everything’s fine.
Too bad I don’t even make it to the interstate before I have to pull over. I stop the car on the road’s shoulder and try to take deep breaths. It doesn’t help.
I press one chilled hand to my forehead. My mother was murdered—murdered—and, somehow, it makes . . . sense?
No. That’s definitely not the word. I don’t know what else to call it though. All that’s left of me is broken puzzle pieces. I can jam them together, but there are still empty spaces, chipped-edge continents I didn’t know existed—and that’s where my mother lives, in the space between.
There’s a twinge in my arm, the nerves are starting to burn, and when I shut my eyes against it, all I see is my father grinning. He wouldn’t kill someone. He wouldn’t.
Yes, he would.