Chapter Twenty-Two
Front Row Seat
Kingston
I slept better than I had in a long while. It was crazy how pulling on something as small as a trigger could release so much stress.
It wasn’t taking Paxton out specifically that had done it, there was nothing personal to the matter. It was more the idea of my being the one to have enough power and balls to decide when his time was up.
Birdman had no business leading the Saints, but I’d let him serve as a fall man for as long as possible. I’d let him believe whatever suited me, if he wasn’t in my way.
I showered, shaved, and put on my best jeans before heading over to Forty’s house.
The place was surprisingly normal, save for Kennedy’s missing car. I came to a stop where it normally would have been parked and stared at the door. It was tightly shut, and the shades were still drawn.
There weren't any detectives or drama to be noted.
“What the fuck?” I scoffed, unable to hide my disappointment.
I sauntered up the sidewalk and knocked on his front door.
Forty mumbled something beyond the door that I didn’t quite catch, but it was enough to alert me to his presence inside. He was still groaning when he opened the door and squinted against the early-morning light.
“What the hell do you want?” he grumped, once he was finally able to fix his gaze on me.
“G’morning to you, too, Prez.” I winked and didn't fake the smile.
The knowledge that I could have blown his ass away before he even got the sleep cleared from his eyes almost made me giddy.
I could have, it was my decision not to.
A fact that made me twitch in all the right places.
He made a low sound that almost registered as a growl, before leaving the door open and venturing into his house.
“Kennedy,” He gruffly bellowed.
I followed him inside, where he silently trudged toward his bedroom. I wasn’t offended, I knew he was still waking up. I turned the coffee pot on and prepared for the show to come.
An unexpected muffled sound of a female voice left me suddenly edgy.
“You got company?” I called after him, “Ey, I’m just here to see Ken…” My words trailed off when Roach appeared at the top of the steps.
“Kal will be out in a minute.” She smiled, tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, and went to the coffee pot. A soft, but pleasantly surprised, giggle escaped her when she discovered it brewing already.
“Thanks,” she chirped.
“You bet,” I awkwardly mumbled.
Kal made his way down a short time later with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was unlit and he was doing a pocket dance in search of something.
“You just put those fucking pants on, how the hell did you lose your lighter already?” I laughed.
He raised a lazy shoulder and groaned as he lowered himself onto the kitchen chair opposite of me.
“Say again?” he asked, his voice still carrying an edge of morning gruffness.
“You lost your…”
“I’m not talking about the lighter, dumbass. What the hell did you just say about my daughter?” He stared at me like I was some species of bug he’d never seen before.
The smile froze on my face, and I tried to look somewhat apologetic, “She’s a good girl.”
“She is, which is why I want you to cut this shit short and stay away from her, Kingston.” He probably would have kept right on chewing my ass, despite the sudden knock at the door, if it hadn’t been followed by the distinct sound of a police radio.
We both got up when a second round sounded against the door.
“Should I…?” Roach hitched a thumb.
“Open up, Sheriff’s Department,” someone official sounding called from the porch, before a third round of pounding began.
Forty jerked his chin up, saluting her idea.
Roach glanced back as she reached for the knob, and Forty gave a discreet little nod.
“Got that one trained, eh?” I teased, before growing quiet and straining to hear.
“We need to speak to Kalvin Kohl.”
“I’m not sure–”
“Ma’am, this is urgent and not the time for games. If you know where he is, you need to tell me–”
He didn’t get to finish his threat, Forty jerked the door open and confronted the man, scooting Roach back with his forearm as he did so.
“Stop bumbling and state your business, son,” he demanded.
When the officer swallowed any retort, and lowered his gaze, Forty abruptly stepped back a bit. His shoulders tensed, and I could tell he exactly when he realized that this wasn’t the usual shakedown-style encounter he normally got out of local law enforcement.
“Kalvin, I’m Detective Todd Barrows with the southern Illinois gang task force. I'd like to speak with you for a moment, if I could.”
“I don’t know anything about gangs, that’s some Chicago shit.” Kal instantly started shifting his head in denial. “And I don’t have anything to do with Chicago or anyone in it.”
“You’re not being accused of anything, nor are you suspected. This isn’t that kind of house call. If we could speak in private, just a moment…”
I could tell by the way Forty’s grip was biting into the door frame that he already knew what time it was.
“Listen,”
“Mr. Kohl, I handle homicides within my unit.”
Forty took another step back, abandoning his post at the doorway, though he didn’t take his eyes off the detective. The man had a lot of balls, too, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, leaving whatever backup he’d brought out on the porch.
His gaze shifted from me to Forty, “Is it okay to speak in front of–?”
“Is he dead, or do you suspect him of killing someone?” Forty got straight to the point, and I respected him for it.
The detective cleared his throat, lowered his gaze, and stiffly nodded. “We found what we believe to be the body of Pax–”
Forty didn’t stick around to hear anymore, he tore through the kitchen and retreated to his room.
The detective looked remarkably uncomfortable as he wet his lips and glanced back toward me.
“Don’t look over here, I’m not family.”
Roach stood at the kitchen entrance, gnawing her lower lip and openly contemplating which way she should turn.
“Ma’am—” the detective began.
“She doesn't know shit, either, she’s just a cock sock.” I gestured toward the door, “Probably best if you give him a little space. He didn’t take it so well when his wife passed away a few years ago. I can’t imagine this will be any easier on him.”
The detective didn’t seem surprised by my disclosure. He glanced toward the door, and I smiled.
It froze on my face when he looked back and asked, “Who are you, by the way?”
“Thought you weren’t here for suspicion?”
He bobbled his head without committing to a denial, “I said no one suspected Kalvin Kohl of involvement. I don’t know who you are.”
“Don’t you need suspicion of a crime to demand identification?”
“Demand is a strong word. I was merely asking your name, is there a reason you don’t want to offer it?”
I laughed at his lame efforts to steer me. It was as pathetic as the way he was trying to take in my patches without really directly eyeballing my cut.
“My name is Kingston Crowe, and I don’t have anything to hide. I’m seeing his daughter, Kennedy. Anything else you want to know, Detective?”
He exhaled like he had all day to play with me. “Not yet, but I’ll keep you in the loop if that changes, sport.”