CHAPTER TEN
Sloane spent the next day wrapping up an easy case while also worrying—approximately every other minute—that she’d overshared with Perk.
Damn her and her big mouth.
Would he be scared off now? Would he figure she was a lost cause? Maybe it’d be for the best if Perk walked away. Before Sloane got even more vested in exploring the anomaly of feelings that roiled around inside her. That way, she could ignore what she was afraid might be happening—at least in her own head—and go back to her life as it was before; boring and predictable.
Sloane looked at the clock again.
Perk had promised to call her a little earlier tonight, after his day at school and after he’d gone over any findings with his FBI parents. But he’d laughingly promised it would be before he did his hated homework.
As fine as that was, Sloane couldn’t help but think it would be more judicious to meet, rather than continue to dance around via the phone. Perk might be able to give her adequate lip service, remotely, as to why he wasn’t turned off by her borderline misandristic personality traits, but he’d have a hard time continuing to pull the wool over her eyes in person.
Decision made, Sloane tidied her desk, wrapping things up for the day, contemplating heading home, when her phone rang.
Her heart leapt. It was Perk.
“Well, hello,” she answered chipperly. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for a few more hours, yet.”
“Which is why I’m calling,” Perk replied, with a modicum of disappointment in his voice.
Great. It was just as she had feared. Perk had thought about things all day, too, and was about to shoot her down.
Sloane girded for the hit.
“I’m so sorry, but I won’t have time to chat more than this tonight,” he began. “I’ve been invited to hang out with those boys from school I mentioned.”
After all the personal shit they’d revealed to each other last night, Perk had recounted his day; how a pair named Higgins and Thorpe had challenged and baited him, and how he’d tentatively won them over.
Wait. He was meeting…?
Sloane gave herself a mental slap.
Where was her brain? Of course he was. Not everything to do with Perk was about her. There was an important case to solve. Shit. She’d never had trouble focusing on a job before. It was time she got her head out of her ass.
“That’s great, Perk,” she managed to praise. “It sounds like you’ve already made some inroads.”
“I have.” He chuckled. “But get this. In order to gain their confidence, I had to smoke cigarettes with them in the boys’ room today while we took turns being look-out. I’ll admit I came home and used almost an entire bottle of mouth wash to get rid of the taste, but the nastiness was worth it. Or almost. The pair had just begun filling me in about various intrigues in school these days—not mentioning the money heists or the missing girl yet—but just as I thought I was making headway toward what I really wanted to know, we got busted by a custodian. Now I have detention every afternoon next week,” he groaned.
Sloane, however, laughed; buoyed up. “That’s an excellent place to dig for information, Perk. The kids who get detention are the ones who like to think they’re above the rules. And if they’re not directly involved in snatching Kaelyn, they may be at least ballsy enough to talk about what they may have overheard.”
“True,” Perk agreed. “And you’ve described the exact vibe I got from Higgins today. He wasn’t hedging his words or worried someone might hear him when he started opening up. Clearly, he’s been top bully for so long, he feels like he’s above being targeted if he opens his mouth.”
“This is great, Perk. So, where are you headed tonight?”
“Higgins basement. Apparently, he has a ‘sweet setup’ there where his parents don’t bother him.”
“Will you wear a wire?” Sloane asked.
“Already rigged up,” Perk confirmed. “Agent Smalley might not talk much, but he’s on the ball and has everything under control.”
Yup. That was Smalley alright. A dedicated and competent guy, albeit incredibly dour. Sloane had her suspicions that the “hat” the agent wore while in the office, wasn’t exactly who the actually man was. It was hinted around the coffee station that Smalley had some mad, hidden skills which the Bureau used, but lips—all around—were sealed. That both Sloane’s boss, Baskins, and Mizzay had recommended him for this joint op was interesting, since he wasn’t often out in the field any more. Yup. There was more to Smalley than met the eye, and Sloane would sniff things out, eventually.
The Bureau tended to age people prematurely, which made Smalley’s years undecipherable. Which made Sloane pause. Did she also look older than she was? Damn. If things with Perk progressed, she didn’t want to appear like an ancient hag next to all his youthful, Adonis beauty.
Aaand … Here she was back to personal shit.
Sloane gave a shrug, sucked up some fortitude, and went for broke.
“That’s good. But on another note, I, uh, don’t suppose you’d like to meet up somewhere that’s remote on Saturday. Just to go over the case, of course,” she clarified, cringing and hoping she didn’t sound needy.
Perk chuckled. “Hey. We don’t need any excuses to get together, Sloane,” he assured her. “I want to see you. For you. Not for business.” Still, he clarified. “But our hanging out has to be dependent on where the case is going. If I get an invite to any other teenage gatherings, we’ll have to postpone.”
“Of course,” Sloane readily agreed. “But I’m hoping you’ll find out something tonight that will speed things up.”
“From your lips…” Perk responded before getting back to their personal agenda. “So, where do you think would be best for us to meet? My place? Yours?”
Sloane had been so nervous proposing a get-together in the first place,she hadn’t even thought about logistics. Which was so unlike her. Dammit . She needed her head back. Which meant she needed to scratch the itch that was Perk, fast, or put some goddamn lotion on the bothersome rash and get the freaking irritation off her skin for good.
In response to his question, though, logistically a remote destination would be better than either of their Boston homes as a destination.
“Maybe getting together someplace neutral but far away would make more sense,” Sloane countered.
“Agreed,” Perk returned. “And I know just the place. My parents have a summer home on a lake right across the New Hampshire border,” Perk informed her. “It’ll be a little chilly in early December, but it’s not being used right now, and I can bring wood for the fireplace. How does that sound?”
Damned cozy, and probably dangerous, but Sloane gave herself a mental smack. It was time she finally stopped waffling and made up her mind about Perk one way or the other. She couldn’t back down now. Not until she found out if her lust-filled feelings toward Perk had sticking power, or could be assuaged and dismissed with one mad, frantic, sucking-face session.
“Great,” Sloane managed to eke out. “Address?”
Perk rattled it off, after which they settled on a time for their rendezvous, and determined that Sloane would bring breakfast. It all sounded very innocent and “picnic-y”, but Sloane had her alternate agenda tagged as a priority.
She hoped she didn’t scare Perk away.
****
Perk pulled his Volvo into Higgins’ driveway, checking to make sure he had the right address. He’d expected the rough-edged kid to live in a sketchy neighborhood. But this two-story, pristine colonial sat regally on a beautiful, tree-lined lot; the street filled with other gracious abodes. It looked like Higgins wasn’t really a hoodlum, just a wanna-be thug trying to outrun his upper-middle class existence. Interesting.
Perk went to the side door, slipped the backpack from his shoulders to his left hand, and knocked as he’d been instructed to do. A forty-something-year-old woman who looked like a PTO-attending, cookie-baking type mom, answered his summons.
“Oh. Hello. You must be here for Barry. He said he was expecting more company.”
Barry, huh ? That had to be Higgins.
“Uh, yes ma’am. We, umm, have a project we’re working on together.” It’s what Perk had been told to say if any grown-up asked.
“Of course. Of course.” The woman let him in. “I’m Stella Higgins, and you are?” She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, and he couldn’t help but notice she was checking him out with an appreciative spark in her eyes.
“Thomas. Thomas Perdudan.” He stuck out a hand, and hoped it was enough to take the inappropriateness out of the air.
“Nice to meet you, Thomas.” She accepted his shake with one of those lame, two-finger grasps before giving a half shrug, turning toward the counter to pick up a plate. “I made some brownies, if you’d be so kind as to take them to the basement with you?”
“Certainly,” Perk said, and switched his backpack from his hand to his shoulder, taking the proffered dessert.
“If you need anything else,” she replied breezily, a touch of lust back in her voice, “just call up. Mr. Higgins and I will be watching TV in the den.”
She turned on her heel and left the kitchen as Perk clutched the goodies.
Well, at least he had the woman’s approval, and now he wasn’t going to starve even if he was consuming empty calories. The homemade brownies were at least as nutritious as the fast food he’d been inhaling at his makeshift home. Perk had quickly learned that Smalley couldn’t cook, and Tertia was—although stellar in the kitchen—generally too busy; their temporary living room back in Waterston was evidence of that, strewn with a large variety of take-out boxes.
But…now what?
Perk looked around and saw several closed doors. He had to assume one of them led to the cellar and Higgins’ lair. He opened the first, tentatively, and saw a small, well-appointed powder room that smelled overwhelmingly like lavender.
Perk coughed and closed that door quickly, opening the one next to it.
Pantry closet.
Third times a charm, he thought to himself as he closed the closet and reached for the last doorknob.
Before he got his hand wrapped around the knob, the door swung open, almost hitting him.
“Dude. Where have you been? We’ve been waiting,” Higgins grunted.
And wasn’t it funny, this new version of Higgins? The gunky-toothed, sloppily dressed kid from the past couple days had disappeared, and in his place was a civilized version of what the kid projected at school.
“Uh, yeah. I got waylaid by your mother. She gave me these.”
He thrust the plate at Higgins who simply shrugged and took it like it was an everyday occurrence, which by the looks of the situation, might be true. There were other confections on the counter under various lids.
Perk was familiar with mothers who baked. His own made sure he always left with containers of goodies after he visited, citing the fact that he was too thin and didn’t eat nearly enough, even though that was clearly not true.
“Come on,” Higgins prompted. “Everybody else is already here.”
Perk wondered who “everybody else” was, but quickly found out as he descended into what could only be described as a teenager’s heaven. There were three male forms stretched out in various awkward positions of repose on an overly-large sofa, and there were…pinball machines, a big screen TV, shelves of video games, and every gaming-station known to man set up on a huge-ass coffee table. Colorful lights were strung everywhere, taking the place of bright overheads. The whole place resembled a club, minus the women and alcohol.
“You already know Thorpe,” Higgins stated, waving his hand at the reclining group. “The other guys are Sanders and Keiff.”
“Perdudan,” Perk responded to each with a chin lift and gave his last name, as it seemed was de rigueur.
“You said to call you Dude,” Higgins corrected.
“Yeah. That’s my nickname. Call me that,” Perk agreed.
It didn’t seem to matter to the others what Perk went by, as they all immediately attacked the plate of brownies Higgins had put on the table in front of them. Perk took a seat in an empty chair and joined them. It looked like there’d be no talk until the food was consumed.
A few, chewing minutes later…
“You wanna play Helldivers 2?” Thorpe asked Perk.
Shit. He totally did not.
Perk hadn’t kept up with his gaming; hadn’t actually played at all since he’d gotten out of the service where he’d kicked ass at Battlefield 1, but the game Thorpe mentioned didn’t ring a bell at all.
“Nah. Not right now,” Perk shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me some shit about our high school,” he prompted. “I figure you guys must know everything, like which teachers are cool, and which ones to avoid. And maybe even…” he gave what he hoped was a lascivious grin, “…which girls are bitches and which ones are easy.”
That started a round of information that was enough to blow up Perk’s brain. Including names and interesting biographies. He hoped like hell Smalley and Tertia were getting it all recorded so he could review it when he got home, because it was a lot to take in. The good news was, this bunch wasn’t at all reluctant to talk shit about school and the people therein.
Keiff sat up and brushed crumbs off his shirt and onto the floor. “Is Clark still bitching about the guap that disappeared from his bank account?” he asked Higgins with a sneer.
“Yeah,” Higgins laughed. “The fucking crybaby. I’m not sure if he’s for real or not, but he can fucking afford it. All I know is that he owes me for some weed, and he better come up with the dough, or I’ll end up taking some of his drip, whether he likes it or not.”
Drip … Perk searched his brain for any reference to what that might be, and came up blank. Luckily, Sanders clarified it with his next statement.
“Yeah. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind having that gold bracelet he flashes around.”
“Hell, yeah,” Higgins grinned. “That glo up will earn me some cred.”
The Gen Z slang was getting out of hand, so Perk brought the conversation back around to the guap, or large sum of money that had gone missing from the unknown Clark’s bank account.
“Somebody took money from your friend?” Perk asked as innocently as possible.
“ Acquaintance ,” Higgins qualified. “But yeah. Someone’s been taking money from a bunch of people we know.”
“And their parents,” Keiff put in. “Rumor has it, someone with mad computer skills is hacking into accounts somehow and draining their asses.”
Perk affected a worried look. “Has it happened to any of you?”
Higgins laughed. “Nah. We’re all g. We’re not mainstream or boujee enough, and we don’t have enough money to get hit. It’s mostly the bitchy Gucci girls and guys driving whips who are being taken. Them and their rich fams,” he snickered.
“So it’s all good?” Perk probed. “It’s only people who can afford to lose some cash? Nobody else is having any trouble?”
“Well,” Sanders’ face soured. “It was okay, I guess. It wasn’t hurting anybody too much until someone decided to mouth off to the principal and the po.”
“What do you mean?” Perk asked, hoping he looked suitable confused.
“You didn’t hear?” Thorpe said, sitting forward.
“Hear what?” Perk countered, still feigning ignorance. “I haven’t heard shit.”
“There’s this girl, Kaelyn. She’s kind of brat. People are saying she found out some stuff about the missing dough, and feeling all righteous, she went to the admin. Now she’s missing.”
“No shit,” Perk responded, hoping that expression was still part of the Gen Z vocabulary. “Does anyone know what happened?”
Thorpe looked at Higgins, and Higgins shook his head. “NGL, a bunch of us have our suspicions, but we don’t want our asses disappearing, so we’re keeping our mouths shut.”
Perk nodded his head as if he understood their reluctance, but this was good news. They knew something.
By the end of the night, with a little coercion, this group would be trusting him with what they suspected.