Chapter 21
ARCHER
I’ve never known what it’s like to auction a pair of ten-year-old girls off, and fuck, I hope to never repeat the experience in the future.
But for tonight, at least, to assuage my need for irrefutable evidence—for me, not the courts—I go through the process of signing four men in to my bullshit event, have them purchase a paddle for fifty-thousand dollars cash, each, and sign a waiver acknowledging their money is non-refundable.
Once that’s complete, I know they’re dead men. All four of them.
Their presence here is enough to condemn them to death.
Their eager grins, enough to make me want to puke.
But when I start the bidding at two hundred thousand dollars for the first child, and Mihalis Salonen’s paddle shoots to the sky, a smug “five-hundred thousand” bursting from his tongue, he forces me to lock my whole fucking body in place.
Because I want to slit his filthy throat, and if I don’t maintain control of this shit show, Fletch might beat me to it.
“Six-hundred thousand!” A second guy, a face from the pile Minka already flapped in mine days ago, thrusts his paddle high above his head. “And I’ll keep going till it’s done.”
“Seven-hundred thousand.” Hildebrand Dirkse snarls. “And I make it known that tonight’s events are highly improper.”
A sudden case of guilt?
No.
“I already paid for my delivery.” He points a fat, threatening finger toward a large picture of a random kid I pulled from the internet and printed for our auction.
“She’s already mine. I was negotiating with another man, the deal was done, and the money had been transferred.
This,” he gestures along the row of four chairs, to his opposition within a bidding world.
“This is unacceptable. How dare you expect me to pay twice for something I already own?”
“You own nothing.” I drop my hands into my pockets and drag the pad of my left thumb along the smooth edge of Minka’s sparkling black rock.
My right thumb moves along the handle of a blade I so rarely touch these days.
“The man you were negotiating with? Anthony Agosti? He couldn’t handle the heat, dropped his shipment, and bolted. Now you’re dealing with me.”
“And who are you?” Dirkse sneers. “What makes you think you get to pick up where Agosti left off?”
“He’s the cops,” Mihalis hisses, leaning forward in his seat. “And a Malone.”
“I’m the guy who can bust you down for simply being here,” I add coldly.
“Legally, I can fuck you up, put you in a cage, and tell my boss I caught something juicy.” I cast my eyes Fletch’s way.
His gritted jaw and furious stare. “However—” I bring my focus back to the four.
“My endeavors go beyond the law. Money is, and will always be, my lord and savior. Which means I can lose a couple of those girls, take my money, smooth over the investigation, and make everyone happy. Or I can keep them for myself and hand you over to my lieutenant. Four fat fish like you? Ought to get me a nice raise, a promotion, front-page news coverage, and a sweet clap on the back.”
“And if I tell your boss you’re on the take, too?”
I bark out a loud laugh, startling three of my four fish. “Every perp in the history of forever talks shit on their way to lockup. Unfortunately for you, my lieutenant trusts me, which means he wouldn’t listen to a single fuckin’ thing you have to say.”
“Eight hundred thousand,” Mihalis declares, thrusting his paddle into the sky. “I’d like this to be dealt with expeditiously.” He settles back in his chair, smirking. “I have a date.”
No, you fucking don’t.
“Ishould feel remorse for what we did.” Fletch drags his seatbelt across and clips it into the catch, his movements jerky, his hands tight and tense.
He peeks across in the darkness, his stare warming the side of my face.
“I didn’t grow up in your world, and I’m not the son of a mobster, which makes tonight something that should haunt me for the rest of my life. ”
I bring my truck away from the curb now that Harrison has arrived to deal with the cleanup, and rejoining Copeland City traffic, I settle back in my seat and spy the time on the dash. It’s a little after nine. “Are you freaking out on me?”
“I should be.” He combs his fingers through his hair and exhales a noisy, huffing breath.
“I should be squealing like a stuck pig already. But they were arguing over little girls.” Gulping, his throat bobs with the movement.
“They were bickering, Arch. Over a couple of ten-year-old kids. What the fuck does a grown man want with a little girl like that?”
“They’re not capable of rehabilitation.” Which has been Minka’s argument all along.
“These men get their day in court, they receive a sentence not nearly long enough, and then they come out again, older, wiser, dirtier.” I tap the gas pedal and push through a yellow set of traffic lights.
“We don’t feel guilty for dousing cockroaches with bug spray. Or for stomping on a spider.”
“I don’t feel guilty.” He drops his hand into his lap and tilts his head back. “They had to die. For the seventeen girls we were originally assigned. For Mayet and the mission she would sacrifice her life for.”
Nausea roils in my belly, surging up to tease the base of my esophagus.
“For all their future victims,” he continues. “And fuck it, for my baby girl. This city is safer because those four bastards no longer breathe.”
“Agreed.” It doesn’t take long to move through traffic and into downtown, and since I don’t give a fuck about respectful parking, I don’t even waste time looking for somewhere legal to put my truck.
I drive us past the hospital, mostly quiet in the evening lull where temperatures are finally coming down, and the sun is, mercifully, packed away for another night.
Coming to a stop outside Minka’s apartment building and cutting the engine, I look across at my best friend, my partner, and clap his shoulder.
“You gonna be okay with all this? If you think you might panic and squeal to the brass, I’d appreciate a ten-minute warning. ”
He coughs out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he unsnaps his seatbelt and opens his door.
“I’m good. I’m a dad. That’s reason enough for me.
Besides—” He twists on his seat and dangles his leg outside the truck, but he peeks back at me and smirks, “Squealing on the mob usually leads a man toward freshly poured concrete.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I snatch my keys and slide out my side, slamming the door behind me, and when Fletch slams his, I hit the button on my key fob to lock it up. “Getting a little mouthy over there, Detective Fletcher. Smarter men know better.”
Music thumps inside the bar. Nine o’clock on a Friday night means Daisy’s evening is barely just beginning, but before Fletch and I can turn away and head inside Minka’s building, the door opens, and the music grows louder, then my big brother steps onto the sidewalk in his usual jeans and unbuttoned flannel shirt.
I didn’t tell him my plans for tonight, but then again…
he’s married to Aubree-knows everything-Emeri, so he looks me up and down and runs his palm over his short, trimmed beard.
I lift my chin in greeting.
He looks from me to Fletch. Studying. Cataloging. He’s so much like the Timothy Malone who came before him, it damn near makes me sick. But at the same time, he’s nothing like the Timothy who came first.
This Tim has a decent moral compass, for starters.
“Everything good?”
“Just doing our civic duty.” I play with Minka’s shiny black rock in my pocket and flash a pleased smile. “And then a little cleanup after that. Four tonight makes for nine down. Plus the one currently in federal custody.”
“Three left.” He strokes his beard and shifts his focus back to Fletch. “No squealing yet?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Fletch laughs. “No one is squealing. Can we go now?” He gestures toward our destination. “I’d like to see my daughter if it’s all the same to you.”
“Where’s Aubree?” I peek past Tim to the closed bar door. “Dancing on tables?”
He scoffs, almost completely silent as he strides forward and leads us through the door we want to go through.
“She’s not the dancing on tables type. But she’s a sit with her best friend while her best friend is going through some shit type.
She’s the barely fucking sleeping and ready to go back to work early, because she feels like her best friend is flirting with the very end of her rope and needs supervision type.
” He heads up the stairs in front of us, but he glares over his shoulder at me.
“She told me why you’re doing this, Arch. ”
“Of course she did. A man doesn’t have the luxury of privacy with chicks like her around.”
“Cordoza’s fleecing you.” He turns at the landing and pauses for a beat, forcing me and Fletch to stop, too. “He’s in control over there, but claiming this is necessary to bring everything back into line.”
“He’s protecting her.” I start walking again, driving him forward.
Even when she’s unconscious, I need to see my fucking wife.
“It’s messy and infuriating, and sending her away was the hardest shit I’ve ever had to do in my whole life.
But he’s not wrong—she’s family, she’s a Malone. That means the Malones screwed up.”
“Aubree’s calling bullshit.” He fires hard emerald eyes my way as we come around another landing. “She doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why, or where he’s leading this circus. But she’s calling shenanigans.”
“A sentiment I would normally respect, but Aubree considers The Godfather study materials for understanding the world her husband came from. Excuse me for not gambling my wife’s life on Al Pacino’s method acting.”
“I mean…” Fletch clears his throat, chuckling. “Let’s not dismiss that movie, though. It’s a cult classic for a reason.”