Say No More (Alison Payne #10)

PROLOGUE

Thomas Warren stood by the window of his second-floor office in the community center.

The window looked down on the basketball court in the recently renovated gymnasium—it had been a long time coming.

Thomas never thought he would ever be the type of person to sit in an office doing paperwork, but that was what he had spent the last hour doing.

Not only had he never thought about it, but he hadn't considered it at all.

He hadn't ever considered being stuck in an office and knew it was not for him; it was a foreign concept for him at one point in time.

Everything was different now. He was responsible for numerous at-risk youths, and he would do everything in his power to give them the best chance at a better life.

As he stood at the office window, looking down at the basketball court, he watched one of those at-risk youth.

Mark strode around the basketball court like a fighter in the ring. There was no ball in his possession—the game was long over. Thomas couldn’t see the boy’s features from his vantage point, but he was sure the teenager’s eyes were filled with fire, and his nostrils were flared.

Thomas watched as Mark stormed over to the row of folding chairs that had been set up court-side.

Mark didn't hesitate. He kicked the seat of the first one, knocking it over, and that fueled his fire.

He picked up the second one and tossed it aside.

His bravado grew, and the third one was tossed into another chair, knocking them both down.

Mark stopped and stared at the wall, breathing heavily.

Only his shoulders moved up and down, and his chest puffed in and out.

Then, he turned his head and looked up at Thomas, perhaps noticing him for the first time.

Thomas held the boy’s gaze, feeling the anger radiating from the boy.

Thomas didn't look away, even though he knew he was being challenged.

Eventually, Mark shook his head and looked away. He headed for the door, not picking up any of the chairs he had thrown, and when he reached the end of the row of chairs, he swiped the last couple with his arm, knocking them over before he stormed out.

Thomas remained at the window for a few moments more before he grabbed his keys from the desk and locked the door on his way out.

He didn't leave immediately in order to find the boy, but he did hope to run into him on his way out.

He made his way downstairs, smiling at the fresh paint in the stairwell.

It was another thing he had never imagined himself doing: smiling at fresh paint.

When he got to the main hallway downstairs, he walked slowly toward the exit.

Not long after, he heard a cough from behind, and then heavy footsteps as Mark walked past.

"Hey!" Thomas called before Mark reached the door.

Mark sighed audibly but turned to face the man assigned as his mentor, one of many at-risk kids Thomas tried to help.

"You doing okay?" Thomas asked.

"What do you care?" Mark shot back. "What do you want? You think I’m going to stand here and apologize to you or something? You expect me to go back and pick up the chairs?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, I don't expect any of that. I just want to know if you’re okay."

Mark scoffed. "What are you? A shrink now? You want to get inside my head? You don't want to be in there."

"I’ve already been in there." Thomas tapped his temple. "I used to be just like you."

"What, and that—" Mark began.

Thomas held up a hand. "I’m not saying that I know what it’s like to be like you, Mark, and I’m not saying I had it as hard as you, I just want you to know that I understand some of what you’re going through."

Mark scoffed again before flashing a wry smile and shaking his head. "You don't know crap, man. That’s all you grown-ups want to do. Lecture us about life because you have all this wisdom, right?"

Thomas chuckled. "Don't come to me if you want any wisdom. That’s something I’ve lacked severely throughout my life.

When I was your age, I was already in a gang.

In another two years, I was in jail for assault.

Three years after that, I was in jail again.

This time, for possession. I had that sentence extended for almost killing a man in prison.

Don't even know why I did it. The order came from outside. "

Mark looked like he was trying to put on a brave face, but he had paled a little, and his wide eyes showed surprise.

"Yeah, well, none of that’s my problem, is it?" Mark asked.

"No, and I hope it never is." Thomas smiled. "Listen, we all have stuff going on, yeah? The tournament’s tomorrow, and we’d love to have you play, but if you do anything like that during the game, you’re out, alright?

I don't want to do that to you, but I will. I won’t tolerate any of what I saw back in the gym, okay?

So, did you get it all out back there, or do you need to go back in and toss around some more chairs? "

"I can go back and clean up if that’s what you need. I just don't need you hassling me."

"Go home," Thomas ordered. "I’ll pick up the chairs. Lord knows people had to clean up after me enough times. Just go easy on yourself."

"Yeah, whatever," Mark said.

He hesitated a moment, and Thomas thought the boy was going to apologize or say goodnight, but he turned and left, pushing through the door and escaping into the dark night.

Thomas smiled as best he could. It was about all that could be done most of the time. Then, he doubled back toward the gym to tidy up before he left for the night.

As he was picking up the chairs, a faint memory gripped him of a time when he had thrown a chair. It hadn’t been a folding one, but a creaky wooden one in a bar that had hit the wall and cracked. Perhaps a bar wall—he was drunk at the time, and the memory was fuzzy.

Thomas was standing down to pick up the last chair when someone spoke.

"Thomas."

The name was stated. It wasn’t a question, more like a way for the visitor to show they knew his name.

"Yeah," Thomas groaned as he picked up the last chair and set it straight at the end of the row. He stood up and turned to the figure, seeing the gun in their hand for the first time. "What do you want? There’s nothing of value in here."

"There’s something of value," the person said. "Depending on how you look at it." The gun was waved, signaling Thomas to move from the chairs to the center of the court.

He had dealt with guns before and had guns pointed at him.

He wasn’t afraid to be held at gunpoint, but with how easy it was to kill someone with some slight pressure added to the trigger, he didn't disobey.

Most conflicts could be resolved in this situation if you listened and found out what the other person wanted.

The figure stepped closer, pointing the gun at Thomas’s chest. "Turn around."

"I don't want to do that," Thomas said defiantly.

"Turn around, or I’ll shoot you in the chest, and you’ll get blood all over your precious basketball court. Won't you think of the children?"

Thomas thought of Mark. Had he left right before the figure had entered?

Was he safely on his way home? Thomas grimaced at the intruder, then did what they said, but not before studying their face and exposed skin.

He didn't recognize the person, and there were no visible tattoos to indicate gang membership.

"Down on your knees," the figure said.

"So, you can execute me?"

"I said, down on your knees."

Thomas heard the conviction in the voice, and he did as he was told. Had they come for him now after all these years? They could have gotten to him at any time over the past five years, so why now?

He listened, waiting for the figure to step closer and thump him on the head. He didn't believe the person was there to shoot him. There was no silencer on the gun, and there would surely be people close enough to hear a gunshot. If the figure got close enough to him, he might be able to—

He never heard them coming. He only felt a coldness in the back of his neck that spread through the rest of his body.

I can't get blood on the basketball court. There’s a tournament tomorrow.

That was the last thought that went through his mind before he slumped forward onto the wooden floor.