He glares up at me.
“Nick and me, we belonged there. We thrived there. Catching perps? Taking down the bad guys? It’s natural to us. But Mike?” I shake my head and have to fight the urge to let emotions spill out of me. “He was more than that.”
Words have never really been Dad’s and my thing. We usually just throw a few nasty glances at each other, make a few salty comments to go along with the looks, and call it a day. We have an understanding, him and me.
He doesn’t try to tell me what the fuck to do any more, and I don’t remind him what a shitty dad he’s been.
But now, as he sits on my living room couch, I see something I don’t believe I’ve ever seen lingering behind his eyes.
Regret.
“There’s too much damn death in the world.” He breathes heavy. “Too much everything.”
“No fucking shit.”
For the first time since I was very, very fucking young, I don't see the man I’ve encapsulated as the head villain in my family.
I see an old, decrepit, sad example of a human being.
“Doesn’t matter, I guess.” He wipes his face with a callus-ridden palm. “Graham Black’s legalizing marijuana this year. City’s going to hell in a handbasket soon enough. Nothing’ll matter anymore.”
I knew this, of course.
Well, I knew Black was promising to legalize it.
Whether he actually pulls that shit off is another story.
“Proving it, too.” Dad throws in there with a random flailing of both arms now. “With all the arrests and street thug killings this year. Who wouldn’t want to just push it through at this point? Get it over with.”
He’s got a─
Wait.
“What?”
Dad looks up at me like I’m an idiot who can’t understand a word he’s saying. Hell, I just wanna hear it one more time for reiteration’s sake.
“I said who wouldn’t want to push it through at this point.”
Something clicks inside my head when I hear it for the second time.
Clear as day.
“Who indeed.”
I’ve been assuming the cops were the ones doing the killing all this time. It never crossed my fucking mind that the politicians might be in on it.
Jesus.
I grab my jacket and pat it down. Just in fucking case.
“I’ve gotta go, Dad.”
“But─”
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” It’s the last thing I say to him before I shut the door behind me and drive as fast as I fucking can over to see Thomas and his thugs for some fucking answers.
This time, he’s gonna give me the right ones.
AN ARCHANGEL ON MY SHOULDER
(THOMAS FLINT, REDUX)
“THOMAS.”
All I see is the back of his head as I approach him in the street. He’s looking down at something. After he hears my voice, his head raises up. He takes a drag from his cigarette and blows it out, letting the smoke billow out in front of him.
The guy standing across from him leans to one side. When he sees me, he nods once to Thomas.
“Dice, get my gun.” He speaks easy. Scary fucking easy. That shit sends chills down my spine.
Not that he needs to know that.
Dice throws me a shit-eating grin as he strolls away to go retrieve Thomas’s weapon. I clear my throat and push forward with my purpose for being here despite the small pangs of fear growing inside my gut.
I swallow down the basic instinct to run. Instead, I say what I came to say.
“Listen, while we wait for your gun, I need to ask a question.”
“You’ve asked all the questions I want to answer, Stiles. If I were you, I’d leave. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Not gonna lie. It’s taking all I have to make my feet stay right the fuck where they are.
He shakes his head.
“Your funeral.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. Since I’m about to eat a bullet anyway, why don’t you humor me. Explain why you’re in bed with the R.P.D. and killing minors.”
Thomas freezes. So does everyone else who’s within earshot. They back away from him as he turns around to face me.
Fucking finally.
I’m more pissed than I am scared. He just confirmed my suspicions.
“That got your attention, huh?”
“What makes you think I’m killing kids, Jack?”
“Oh, are you offended?” I turn a cold stare toward him. “My bad.”
“You should explain yourself.”
“That’s cool. You want me to spell it out for you. Okay. Three cases over the past nine months have been tied to drug deals gone bad. All three kids were found with the drugs on them but no money. All three were mysteriously associated with your gang. And all of them”—I take a step closer—“every last fucking one, was either shot and killed or later killed by the good old boys in blue.”