100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (38 page)

Reaching back, I let my right hand rest on the cold stainless steel of Murphy’s GLOCK, just in case I needed to threaten him. “I’m not much on games, Jaws, so I’m going to get straight to the point. I need to know who The Ghost is.”

A chair screeched across the floor, and Jaws slid into it—directly across from me. Our knees touched. Too intimate. Familiar. And after the run-in I’d had with Nico Drake, I bit back the urge to panic.

“Ah, yes, the identity thief,” Jaws said. “He’s a chameleon from what I hear. Acts one way in public. Someone totally different in private.”

Even blindfolded, my face had to be clueless. “A chameleon,” I repeated dumbfounded. “I was thinking more along the lines of greasy.”

“No, he’s a chameleon, Jester, and I hear he likes good-looking girls.”

I mean, derr…what guy doesn’t. “So someone has seen him? They know what he looks like?” I asked.

“The someone I asked doesn’t always walk away with details, babe. I wish he did, but I keep him around for other things.”

I didn’t push for clarification. “Well, does The Ghost have a record?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Doesn’t it make sense that he would?”

“Not necessarily.”

My theory of Motor Oil Hair and Coffee Blot Boy was shot to mother-trucking heck. “Can you at least tell me if his name is Brantley McCoy?”

Jaws paused for a second as though he committed something to memory. “I don’t have a name, but I
have
heard of Brantley McCoy. Didn’t he knock off his roommate and steal his identity?”

Somebody needed to kill me or sedate me. I’d been right, and the fact Jaws had this knowledge didn’t set too well on an empty stomach—especially since the news and authorities had no idea of my suspicions about McCoy. I got the distinct impression Jaws might own Cincinnati—at least in the capacity that mattered to organized crime.

“Does The Ghost live in Valley?” I asked, not acknowledging that I’d come to the same conclusion.

“Yes, my source says he’s in Valley.”

“Which part of Valley? Mack County isn’t the biggest, but it’s still big enough.”

Amusement was in his voice. “Jester, I don’t know. Do you make it a practice to question authority?”

“Only when it’s stupid.”

Jaws’ chair shook with his laughter. “He’s the whole package, babe. Good-looking guy. Preppy. A real dresser. And a genius with a great future but is so greedy he’s bound to blow it. Apparently, he’s into some weird shit too. His date had on a nice white jacket. Leather and skin tight. When she wasn’t looking, he’d run his lips over her shoulder, smelling it…then licking it.”

“That’s not so weird,” I lied.

His deep voice went husky. “It’s weird, babe. You know it, and I know it.”

Noooo, pretty sure what I was doing was the weirdest.

In that moment, I got a peek into Jaws’ psyche. Although, he might feasibly play on the wrong team, it was a choice for him. He could hang on this side if he chose because his brain and moral compass hadn’t totally been fried. Still, the predator smell was like a stink on a skunk.

“Did you have anything to do with my best friend and me being the victims of road rage last night?”

His energy went ice-cold. “Qualify.”

“We were followed from my job for close to three miles. When we stopped at a red light, our bumper was tapped several times, trying to invoke a fight.”

His energy went even colder. “This I didn’t know,” he continued. “Did the cops reel him in?”

“I’m thinking they went straight to Dunkin’ Donuts. We haven’t heard anything.”

“You probably won’t,” he said. “The longer it goes, the less likelihood of finding the perpetrator. Do you think it’s McCoy?”

“He’s a good guess.”

“And why would he even know of you, Jester?”

“Because Vinnie almost killed him.”

“Backtrack, babe, you’re losing me.”

I sighed, “We broke into a house where McCoy was supposed to be living, and while we were there, we discovered evidence that points to him being the identity thief. Plus you can tack on the extra bonus of a decomposing skeleton in the closet. The skeleton turned out to be the real owner of the house, Bishop Fowler. The guy you were just referring to. Vinnie and I were set to leave, but gunfire rang out, and when I went out the back, I fell over another dead body named Nico Drake.”

“Same place?” he asked. I nodded. “I remember reading about this Drake kid’s death.”

“Yeah, but he was found dead at his own home. Let me assure you, I saw him dead as a doornail in Fowler’s backyard. Somebody moved him. I have all the dirty goods on McCoy, although I haven’t snitched. And there’s this girl named Madison Flannery that knows everything. She told me she wished Vinnie would’ve died when he fought McCoy.”

More thinking on his part, and then a tired sigh. “Jester, babe, you have one foot on a skateboard, the other on a banana peel. You need me.” I didn’t respond. “If you’re intent on continuing the cloak and dagger, then I’ll ask around. But you need to watch the game you’re playing. I almost didn’t make it in time before, and I hear you were shoved in the trunk of a car at the end of that day.”

Noooooo
.

No. No. Noooooo.

It felt like I’d been forced into a bottle that’d been corked.

Jaws wasn’t the man from the yellow Dodge Charger…
was he?
That man’s voice had been burned into the neurons of my brain. It was deeper than Jaws’ and sounded regal and poised—even though his demeanor was dark and ruthless. Jaws, I feared, had some Hannibal Lecter in him. And here I was, playing patty-cake…

I kept my voice even keel, not one bit of emotion found anywhere. “Was that you?”

“If it was me, I’d show you my face.”

I wasn’t sure I bought into that. “Tell me what you know about the man in the yellow Dodge Charger, Jaws. He has information about my mother. I know you know something. It’s leaking out of your pores.”

“The time hasn’t come for you to know yet.”

The air went still.

My pulse quickened…
yeesssss, I knew it!

I balled my fists, needing to hit something. I’d been chasing the truth about my mother since she’d been abruptly and wrongly taken away from Marjorie and me. That truth churned in my gut, and I wanted those answers more than anything. More than making Murphy proud. More than a relationship with Dylan. More than living on this godforsaken earth. Murphy and Red had more information than I did, but I gave up asking long ago. The mention of her name nearly disabled them, and as much as they loved me, I knew they’d lie to keep some secret they felt I couldn’t handle. Thing was, when I was shoved into the trunk of that yellow Dodge Charger, the man stared in my face like I reminded him of someone. I knew deep in my bones he conjured up memories of my mother.

Jaws gasped…I heard it.

Steeling my face, I didn’t chance a move because he was key to getting the answers I’d craved. Just when I thought I couldn’t be shocked more, he knocked me for a loop with the following statement. “It took some cast iron balls coming here, Jester, and I’d like to offer you my protection. But that’s going to take a relationship with me you have to make sure you’re ready for.”

The fiddle of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” started plucking between my ears.

I didn’t need eyesight to know his eyes were hooded, and his smile was wide and anticipatory. Anticipatory of what, I didn’t know, but I had a feeling he meant relationship-relationship. God help me, I was drowning in the deep end of the pool.

People have voluntary and involuntary reactions. The part of me begging for answers—for me, an involuntary need—pulled Murphy’s GLOCK out from my waistband, sticking the barrel in his face. “I don’t like getting played with, Jaws. And being your friend is a little too Stockholm Syndrome for me to consider comfortable. Show me your freaking face, or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

Jaws chuckled low in his throat, but nothing about his demeanor changed. So if I’d gone for the shock value, I failed with a crappy delivery. “Babe, you’re not the type to bring a loaded gun.”

Tears stung my eyes, and my chin trembled with anger. “You don’t know that, but listen to me now. There’s nothing I won’t do…
nothing
…to get to the bottom of what happened with my mother.”

Jaws removed the shaking gun from my hand, allowing it to clink on the floor beneath us. Placing both my hands in his, his thumbs slid over the tops of my knuckles in comfort. I latched onto his grip and yanked. Yanked with a silent demand that he comply. I felt a deep scar on his left hand, but when he realized that I had, with a soft squeeze, he withdrew. And with that, I knew he symbolically withdrew information too. I screamed and cried like I’d gone off my meds. After a few failed attempts to swallow the tears, I abandoned the effort and let them flow, my shoulders quaking in years of defeat. I clawed through pain, desperation, and guilt, knowing someone couldn’t possibly take it away—but hoping they’d just…ease it.
Ease it
, I cry.
I just wanted it eased
. Jaws had quit talking. After half a minute, I’d had enough. Ripping the blindfold from my eyes, I stared at an empty chair.

21. The Silent Treatment

V
innie made me swear on
his Grandma Mimi’s Bible that Jaws hadn’t touched me. Bean appeared to not even understand what that statement implied. In fact, undercover work seemed to sit well with Bean because all he did was talk about wanting to take Justice to the Winter Formal…get her a wrist corsage…“go big” and buy a Shirley Temple. Not the reaction I would’ve expected considering he and Vinnie had been held hostage in another room—heavily guarded (with guns) by Jaws’ people. Vinnie wouldn’t tell me what chip he’d cashed in to score me an in-person meeting, but I knew it had to be something big.

Yes, Vinnie had been acting—and I must admit, he had some chops. In fact, he was so distraught over his behavior that he held my hand the whole ride home. I didn’t need an apology. I needed to know what Jaws knew.

Rudi pulled my shift Thursday night in my stead. Murphy said if I couldn’t carry my sorry body into school, then by God, I couldn’t carry it into work. I understood his reasoning. Thing was, Rudi said Tito phoned The Double-B trying to reconnect with “someone named Jester.” If Tito decided it warranted an in-person visit, my days of anonymity would go the way of the dodo bird.

Switching off the lamp, I snuggled under the down comforter begging for REM. For some reason, I felt extra jumpy—a feeling that sometimes alerted me to danger; other times it was my conscience giving a lecture it knew I wouldn’t heed. Other than Jaws—which honestly didn’t spook me—I needed to lay the smackdown on Mean Girl, Madison Flannery, and tell her to kiss my you-know-what. I couldn’t allow her to have the last word, especially when Dylan had apparently been targeted along with me. In fact, she might be the key to everything. Why did I think this? She’d texted me four times, and as of yet, I hadn’t answered. Messages where she said,
You’re dead
.
You’re stupid. Watch your back
. And my personal favorite,
I’m going to take your boyfriend away from you
.

I’d just finished my nightly SKYPE with said boyfriend (he was suspicious why I’d missed school), but decided to round out the evening requesting a play-by-play of the day from Grumpy. Grumpy had surprisingly visited Red Mustang again, this time in the presence of Chevy Colorado.

“What’s wrong with you, Walker? You’ve barely listened to anything I’ve said. You’ve appropriately commented, but you just seem…holy crap…I’m afraid if I say
sad
…you might keep me up all night with the details.”

I was as nervous as a groom on his wedding night. But it wasn’t Jaws; it wasn’t Madison; it wasn’t The Ghost; my God, that left my totally FUBAR’d personal life.

I exhaled, channeling my inner-Eeyore. “Don’t pay any attention to me. No one else does. Speak.”

“Like I said, I tried another tactic. Perhaps I’m scary because this time both guys squealed like pigs. The guy in the Red Mustang crumbled first. It probably helped when I backed him up against the bumper of my truck and told him castration was next. When the Chevy dude witnessed his balls shrinking, he caved almost as quickly. Both swore they didn’t do anything to Coach’s car, and I believe them.”

You know, I didn’t particularly want to talk about happies, but when your BFFs were guys, you had to embrace your inner-bro and let the locker room stuff slide. “Did you mention Nico again?”

“Yeah, both were dumber than donkeys.”

Figures. “Did you get their names?”

“John Brown and John Smith,” he muttered. “Could you get more average American than that?”

Come the freak on. He had to be kidding. I’d memorized the list of tardy students backward and forward. No John Smith or John Brown had been listed. During interrogation, Grumpy also unearthed the name of the creepo guy in the van. I almost broke into “Jesus Christ Superstar” but was afraid Jesus would think I sucked.

“They know him as Young, Walker, and they said he’s kind of seedy. He’s the type that’s always trying to sell you crap.” I was 0-3 and struck out. And now I found out White Van was a weirdo who didn’t even go to our school. “Remember you owe me a date with Clementine.”

God. Save. Me. From. My. Stupid. Promise.

“I’m all over it,” I lied.

Three days later, I was still as lost as an Easter egg. Meh.

Finn and I ran into a little snag. Seems the school detected a breach in security—Finn swore he’d protected himself—but as a result of Valley’s new firewall, he couldn’t hack into the school’s computer system as easily. He promised he’d eventually get back in, but with basketball season and finals, he said it’d be a few weeks at best. I didn’t have a few weeks, folks. My wallet was in a slow bleed as it was.

That left Tito.

“It’s an old white van,” I told him. “Probably ten years old. Looked like a Ford. The driver’s last name is Young, and he doesn’t go to Valley although he lurks around. If he doesn’t own the van, then let’s hope he at least lives with the person who holds the title. Can you get his name? Possibly his digits?”