3
There were two grunts and some moans of pain muffled by cloth or something worse.
“What do we do now?” Dumber asked.
“First we take her to Twitty, I guess. Look out there and see if that twatty little girl at the reception desk called the cops.”
There was a hesitation as Dumber followed directions.
“No,” he whispered. “No, she’s gone down the hallway somewhere.”
“Well, then,” MacGruff decided, “time to go. C’mon, Retty—this time you’re the package.”
And then the men were gone, and Jackson was left texting frantically on his phone.
Are you keeping everybody in the rooms?
I’m not stupid , Cody replied. I got the receptionist too.
Thanks. She’s a sweetheart.
Name’s Honey, I’ve heard.
Jackson listened for a few heartbeats, and far away he heard a door slam.
That them? he asked.
Think so. Three more minutes?
Yeah. I don’t think they’d think twice about taking out folks at a rehab center.
Fuckers.
You don’t even know.
As his fingers flew, he heard a quavery voice in the dark.
“Can we go yet?”
“Two more minutes,” Jackson said softly. “We need everybody hidden until they’ve pulled away. They’re manhandling an injured woman—they might not move quickly.”
“Should we call the police?” she asked shakily.
“What would happen if we did?” he probed, although he planned to call Fetzer and Hardison just as soon as they were in the clear.
“I’d lose my health-care license,” she said. “I treated that woman without a doctor’s supervision. I gave her painkillers I’m only supposed to give addicts when they’re having severe DTs, so I misused medications—”
“Why?” Jackson asked, feeling safe enough to straighten his legs and start to scooch out of the tight confines. “Why would you do that for her?”
“She… she kept threatening to pull the license on the facility” came Cora’s almost tearful response. “This is the only rehab facility for two miles, and it’s one of the most heavily trafficked in the city. She… her friend—”
“Twitty?” Jackson asked, because yeah, he’d caught that.
“Her name is— was —Melanie Schnarf,” Cora muttered resentfully. “And God, the worst thing that ever happened to me was lending her a pen in an English class we had together at Florida State.”
That brought Jackson up short.
“You know her? Twitty? The person in charge?” He remembered Cowboy’s terror, how “Twitty” had seemed bigger than life somehow, right down to the ridiculous name.
“I knew her,” Cora said, and Jackson heard disbelief and disgust in her voice. “Just enough for her to remember my name when she moved to Sacramento. God, when I found out her and her fucking Moms for Clean Living were holding up my funding, I almost committed my own damned crime spree.” She let out a breath. “They told me they’d push it through. All I had to do was let Retty have access to the facility, to the groups.”
They were standing by now, and Cora started to rip off the bloodied gloves she’d still been wearing as they’d hidden.
Jackson held up a finger as he hovered by the door and gave the room a once-over before motioning her back into the infirmary.
“What was she doing here?” Jackson asked as she put on another pair of gloves and started to clean up the bloodied gauze on the floor. Jackson didn’t have gloves, so he shook out a trash bag and held it open while she cleaned.
“Looking for blackmail,” Cora said without hesitation.
“You know this because…?” He was pretty excited about how much this woman was talking, actually. Perhaps Retty could have not been such a twunt if she hadn’t wanted Cora to spill like a waterfall.
“Because it’s what they did in school,” Cora muttered. “I worked the student union medical office to help pay my tuition, and it got me hours toward med school. I loaned Twitty a fucking pencil, and she said, ‘Hey, aren’t you the girl who gives out tampons,’ and that was it. Her entire fucking clique showed up, one at a time, to get free pads, except they didn’t just get pads. They’d stay. They’d slip into the bathroom, or into one of the cubicle stations while I was busy with something else, and pick up on… well, fucking everything. Who was going on the pill, who was getting an abortion, which guy had the clap, how many girls he’d given it to. Next thing you know, Twitty’s getting elected student body president and getting into the rich girl’s sorority when she didn’t have the grades, the brains, or the charm.”
Jackson moved the bag to catch a particularly vicious throw, and then whistled through his teeth. “That’s harsh. Was that how Retty got into her group? Blackmail?”
Cora ripped the plastic sheeting off the gurney with unnecessary force. “Retty? She’s been Twitty’s lapdog since middle school. I think—and I could be wrong here because neither of them talks about it—but I think Retty’s mom sucked Twitty’s father’s dick. I’m not sure if it was once, or if it kept going while Retty’s parents were still married. I know Twitty’s father paid for Retty’s tuition, and there seemed to be pressure to include Retty. So Twitty made her the… you saw her. The enforcer. She was never smart enough for college, but….” Cora shook her head and shoved the sheeting in the bag.
“What?” Jackson asked, wondering when the rage and the adrenaline would wear off and Cora would quit talking.
“Everyone has pressure points, whoever you are,” Cora said shortly, and Jackson got it.
“What was yours?” he asked, no judgment at all.
“I let them listen,” she said angrily. “I mean, I didn’t let them. I didn’t realize what was going on at first. But once I realized what they were doing, I told them to stop, and they just laughed and told me if I didn’t want to lose my job, my scholarship, everything , I needed to help Retty pass her sophomore year so they could get out of my hair. And I caved. I….”
She rummaged under the sink by the window and came back with cleaning supplies and paper towels. Jackson continued to follow her around the small space, wondering when Cody was going to get there.
“Did you ever stand up to them?” he asked. He was curious what happened to rebels. He got peer pressure—hell, he even got secret societies.
But he’d been a whistleblower, and his fellow boys in blue had almost killed him.
Multiple times.
What happened to a girl in med school trying to pay her way?
“I… not at first,” she said, scrubbing at the blood Retty had shed until her paper towel shredded. “I-I might not have, but when my favorite professor….” She let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging as she pitched the savaged paper towel mass into Jackson’s bag. “My favorite professor—hell, everybody’s favorite professor—he didn’t do anything,” she said, giving a twisted smile. “One of Twitty’s crowd accused him of getting a girl pregnant. The school nurse—remember, my employer—called him in to see if there was truth in the matter.” She shook her head, and the expression on her face was so heartsick Jackson wanted to hug her. But he needed to hear the story, and Cody had already texted that he was on his way.
“What was the truth in the matter?” he asked softly.
“The truth was they made up the rumor when he wouldn’t sleep with the girl. He was gay!” Cora said bitterly. “And I overheard him say it—my receptionist desk shared a vent with my boss, and usually this wasn’t a problem, because I didn’t tell people other people’s secrets. But this time Retty was in there, in the bathroom, borrowing a pad—for real—and the next thing you know, it’s all around campus and….” She shook her head. “It was thirty years ago,” she whispered. “Thirty years ago, when people didn’t understand. Not in the South. They were going to fire him, but he… he hung himself instead.”
“Oh God,” Jackson said, his stomach knotting just hearing something like that. “That’s… that’s terrible—”
“The day I heard, I lost my shit in the nurse’s office. I told her about Twitty’s ‘sisters,’ coming in for blackmail. About how I hadn’t realized that’s what they were doing at first, and how Retty had been in the bathroom that day. She must have heard.” Cora shrugged. “I lost my job. Lost my scholarship. My parents managed just enough money to move me as far away as possible, and I got a degree in social work instead of medicine.” She glanced around the now pristine medical room, her face twisted again. “I thought I was doing some good,” she said hollowly, “and then… oh goddammit. Retty walked into the room and told me Twitty hoped I enjoyed my break. And the next day, my funding was under threat.”
Long-suppressed tears began to fall from the woman’s exhausted, hollowed eyes. “That’s me. Just one more weakness to exploit. Nothing more.”
“That’s not true,” Jackson told her, his own rage seeking to explode in his chest. “Don’t give up—”
“But maybe save the pep talk,” Cody muttered, slipping into the room. “Honey’s calling the cops, and I don’t know how you want to play this.”
Jackson grunted. “ Shit . We can’t be found here,” he muttered. “Cody, they came in and took Shitbag Retty—”
“The guys in masks and Kevlar? Well, that was nice. Did you get a chance to talk to her?”
“No,” Jackson told him. “But this nice woman did give us some good information. The thing is, they’re taking Retty somewhere—the guy said she was the package now, and I told you about that kid, Caleb, and—”
“And you’re worried Retty’s people are making kids disappear,” Cody said grimly. “Yeah, I get it. If Retty’s the package, we need to find the package. Why aren’t we telling the cops, again?”
“Because what happens to our witness if they know he’s a witness?” Jackson demanded. “What almost happened to you ?”
Cody’s eyes got big. “Not a cop anymore,” he muttered. “Things to remember when you’re not a cop anymore.”
“I’ve got some cops who won’t push us on the wit,” Jackson told him, and outside he heard the unmistakable squawk and rumble of a radio. He could almost see the flash of the strobe light coming through the wall.
“But we don’t know if they’re outside,” Cody said. “Got it. What do we do now?”
Jackson grimaced. “Cora?”
Cora, social worker and font of information, turned her tearstained face to him. “You’ve got to go?”
Jackson pulled out his card. “You only get this if you promise not to give it to anybody coming through that door.”
“Are you going to bring Twitty down?” Cora asked, her eyes and jaw hard.
“Like the giant on the beanstalk,” Jackson promised grimly. “You’ll hear her hit four states away.”
Cora’s smile was unpleasant, but Jackson figured she got to be bitter at this point. “Let me know what I can do to hack that thing down.”
“I promise,” Jackson said. “Now please tell me there’s a trellis outside the storeroom window.”
“Watch out for spiders,” she said, without the slightest bit of play. “Black widows love that shit.”
“I fucking hate spiders,” Gabriel muttered. “And I hate you, Jackson, for making me do this.”
“Too bad,” Jackson told him, darting through the infirmary and toward the storeroom. “You fed me and let your cat make sweet lurve to me—I think we have to be friends now.”
“Only if we live,” Cody promised direly, closing the storeroom door behind him as Jackson opened the window. Together they stared down, and Jackson realized that they weren’t two stories up—the bottom story had a vaulted roof. They were nearly three stories up.
“No promises,” he muttered. The day was still gray and cold, but at least it wasn’t pouring rain. He leaned over, scenting the damp breeze and realizing how stifling the rehab center was inside—it felt like his entire day had been dogged by stale tobacco and urine.
Using the fresh air as a goad, he reached for the trellis under the ivy and tugged, grateful when it held tight to the crumbling mortar of the brick facade that took over for the stucco in the back.
“It’s a good thing we’re both scrawny as fuck,” Cody muttered, watching anxiously as Jackson slid out of the window and shoved his feet through the foliage to find the ladder. “If either one of us were fighting weight, this thing would collapse.”
“I’ll have you know,” Jackson said, his words coming carefully as he chose his hand- and footholds, “I haven’t weighed this much in a year and a half.”
“What happened—” Cody was watching him, scrambling down the same way Jackson was, only letting Jackson go first. “—a year and a half ago?”
“Dirty/Pretty Killer,” Jackson breathed.
“Oh my God,” Cody muttered.
“What? You’re going to fall?” Jackson glanced up in a panic, partly because he didn’t want Cody to break something if he hit the ground from this height and partly because he was afraid the other man would take him down.
“No!” Cody panted. “I just remember that case. I forget sometimes. I got rescued by a legend.”
“Ouch!” Jackson jerked his hand back as something scratched it. Anxiously he searched the dusty, twisted vines of ivy for a tiny black nightmare with a red splotch on its back, and he breathed out a sigh of relief when the real culprit revealed itself.
“Spider?” Cody asked, his voice rising in a way to let Jackson know they were a particular fear for his new partner.
“Nail,” Jackson muttered, wincing at the jagged little cut. “Don’t worry.” He took a step down and then sideways. “I’m the proverbial canary in a coal mine. If it gets me, it won’t get any—”
“Ouch!” Cody exclaimed. “Vicious sucker. Does that make us blood brothers?”
“Holy Jesus,” Jackson muttered. “No. Yes. Whatever. I think it makes us dangerous in close quarters. God.”
“What does that—augh!”
Jackson watched in horror as Gabriel’s foot slid on the wooden slat his own had just vacated, and Cody Gabriel went flailing, falling past Jackson to land on his back with a solid oolf on the wet pile of leaves that had been pushed up against the house.
“Well shit,” Jackson said, finishing his clamber down and leaping the last couple feet to the ground. “Gabriel? You okay? Speak to me, man!”
Cody blinked up from his back with the air of a man counting ribs. “That was fun,” he said. “I think I’m okay. My back might be feeling it in the morning.”
“You okay with ibuprofen?” Jackson asked. Some people in recovery refused it—he did on principle, because watching his mother spend her life down the rabbit hole had left a mark.
“Yeah,” Cody said, reaching up his own wounded hand for Jackson’s, both of them dripping blood onto the loam. “Pain relief is perfectly acceptable.” He winced as he stood, and Jackson went to brush leaves from his back.
“We can probably get you a hot/cold pack while we’re at it,” he said. “It’s time to check in with Ellery and let you change.” He grimaced. “You’re gonna want to—”
Cody grimaced, his shoulders twitching, probably because he felt the damp seeping in through the ragged hoodie he’d put on over his grubby garden clothes.
“Tell me there’s no cat shit,” he begged. “I can take anything but cat shit.”
“Nope,” Jackson said, flicking two tiny slugs off his shoulder. “Nothing but this snail on your ass.”
“Ew!” Cody swept his hand down, and Jackson grimaced as the he heard the shell crack, and then the poor thing went flying against the house.
“I could have gotten it,” Jackson told him. “You didn’t have to kill it.”
Cody Gabriel grunted. “I’m sorry, Rivers, but if you’re not going to grab my ass romantically, I’d rather you not touch it professionally.”
“I’m not that kind of private detective,” Jackson said, taking a step back with his hands up. “Now come on before the cops sweep around the house.”
With that they took off across what was a reasonably vast yard, fenced off by hedges and peppered with picnic tables, empty now in the cold and damp wind.
“Not a bad place,” Cody panted at Jackson’s heels. “Can think of worse facilities to recover in.”
“Yours was better,” Jackson said, his wind better. “You running in the morning?”
“Yoga,” Cody replied on a burst of wind.
“Add some cardio,” Jackson told him as they scrambled around the hedge so they could loop around the block and get Jennifer. “If you only run when something’s chasing you, you’re gonna get caught.”
“My God, you nag,” Cody breathed after a few steps. “Do you nag Henry like this?”
“Henry was in the military for eleven years,” Jackson told him, his blood thrumming happily under his skin. “I do five miles in the morning to keep up.”
“Brag, brag, brag,” Cody muttered and then was silent as he struggled to keep up with Jackson.
Jackson used his time to think, mulling over the possibilities of what they’d learned from Cora, and the weird, oddly deep relationship Twitty (who would always remain Twitty even though Jackson knew her real name now) and Retty (whose real name he still didn’t know) seemed to have.
What would it take to do somebody’s dirty work for over thirty years? he wondered. Retty had shown no remorse, no worry for the people she’d been after. Her entire focus, even when the cleaners had come to get her, had been to finish up with Twitty’s orders.
Did Twitty share the same weird devotion? he wondered. Where did it stem from?
Had she issued the order for Retty to be the next “package,” or had that come from somebody else?
So many questions—Jackson really needed to check in with Ellery to see what he’d discovered.
He felt the pull strongly enough that he’d started the minivan and pulled out his phone before Cody even hopped in.
“Don’t leave without me—hey!”
Jackson took a picture, reveling in his surprise and, keeping his foot on the brake, dialed the number, putting the phone on speaker so Cody could be in on the planning.
Which they never got to because two sentences in, he could hear the glass breaking and Ellery’s obvious concern, and then the line went dead, and Jackson was standing on the accelerator, shoving Jennifer across town while Cody still scrambled for his belt.