His face pales a lighter shade of white than usual. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the guy show even the slightest bit of emotion. At least, not since we were kids.
“Maybe you have some kinda deal with some of them. Or all of them. I don’t fucking know. Maybe you’re a snitch. Not my fucking business, and quite frankly, I don’t really give a shit. But now, another one—someone I’m personally responsible for, I might add—is missing. I’m not taking it too goddamn lightly, Tom. So tell me where the fuck I can find him, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
He thinks over what I’ve said for a few seconds as Dice returns with the requested gun. My heart is beating so hard I’m surprised no one sees it. Or hears it.
Lucky for me, I know how to stay cool on the outside while I’m freaking the fuck out on the inside.
Years of practice.
Flint puts a hand up to Dice and narrows his eyes at me a little. I try to breathe. It’s not easy, and the air is so thick I could chew it. If I had an appetite, that is. When Thomas waves his lackeys off, my heart begins to slow again.
They leave us. Dice, in particular, is hesitant, but Thomas gives him a pat on the shoulder and tells him something, quietly. Dice, makes a good name for a pet, don’t ya think, does as he’s told.
Good dog.
Thomas motions for me to follow him, and I do, but I’m acutely aware of where my car is at all times. No harm in being prepared to make a quick run for it, if need be.
“You don’t want to be here, Jack.”
“Preaching to the choir, Tom, but I need some fucking answers, and I don’t exactly have the kind of time on my hands to dick around, so…”
He stops abruptly and faces me head on. He studies my eyes, my face, my stance. With a drop of his shoulders and a shake of his head, he lets out a small puff of air.
“My brother was one of them.”
No clue what he’s talking about, or why he seems to think it’s important to this conver-fucking-sation.
“You don’t have a brother.”
“Had.”
“Have, had, whichever. I’ve known you since we were kids. You never had a brother.”
“I did, though, Jack.”
He doesn’t say another word. He just holds my stare. His face is withdrawn, like he’s sick at his stomach.
Funny because it’s not unlike the way I feel every time I think about…
Mikey.
That’s when it hits me. Only it doesn’t make sense.
“Your last name is Flint. There were no Flints on the list.”
He nods as he takes a drag of his cigarette, and I’m not gonna lie, I might be salivating. A little.
“Different fathers. Different state.”
He flicks the butt out into the night air.
“Which one?”
“Robert Decker. My baby brother,” he confirms in a low voice.
“How did I not know, or anyone else for that fucking matter, that you had a brother?”
“Nobody here knew he existed. I knew he’d be a bargaining chip someday. I just didn’t plan on the police exacting that bargain, otherwise, I would’ve taken further precautions.”
“Precautions?”
“Unlike you, it didn’t take me long to figure out how this world works, Jack.” He’s talking about the wonderful world of drugs, of course. “My mother left my father for one of many extracurricular activities.”
“He cheated.”
Thomas nods. “One of these relationships resulted in my brother. I didn’t know about him until I was older. When we found each other, I was already making hand-over-fist in my current business. I had the means to give him things I never had.”
What a fucking sweet heart.
“College.”
“Precisely. He was a senior when they caught up with him.”
He starts to walk again.
I follow but I don’t like it.
The Chevelle is becoming smaller and smaller. My concern is growing larger and larger.
“Who’s they, Tom?”
He doesn’t answer me straight away. Instead, he decides it’s story time.
“Back in the day, detectives would harass my people on a daily basis.”
“That’s surprising. Police giving gangs a hard time. Go figure.”
Thomas gives me a look of warning for the sarcasm. It’s more than likely gonna get me killed someday.
Hopefully, not today.
And don’t think it escapes my attention that he specifically said detectives.
As in, Nick is a fucking detective.
I really fucking hope he doesn’t have anything to do with this shit.
“About five or so years ago, that harassment switched gears from getting drugs off the street to getting money into their pockets. It started out with two of them, then another joined in, then another. I’m not sure how many are in on it now. It’s enough, though.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to make sure we sell exactly what they want, when they want, and how often they want.”
I hear the words he’s saying. Hell, I’ve thought it a thousand times myself. But to face the fact that it’s truth? That’s not something I was ready to take on today.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why drugs were not a problem, Stiles?”
I lift a shoulder. “Never really my problem until recently.”