Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
PJ
The Bar on the Corner (hand-painted sign, by the way) is a rotting wood-framed shack covered in a patchwork of particle board.
The place is sketchy even by East End standards, with peeling paint and the sort of structural integrity that makes me wonder how it’s still standing in a coastal town that sees at least a couple of hurricanes and tropical storms per summer.
An hour ago, my pimp, Brennan, went inside.
I’ve been waiting for him to come out. While I’d like to slip in and see what the guy’s up to, I know enough to know I wouldn’t blend in when I’m still wearing the clothes I wore for work tonight.
Besides, I suspect the door stamp comes with a side of tetanus.
My phone pings in the cup holder.
Fallon: Could you come over tonight? Watch a movie or something. It’s been a day, and I could use a friend.
Shit. My pulse jumps. I’ve been waiting for this.
“Fucking finally.”
I grab my phone to answer, but all of a sudden, my passenger door opens, and Brennan slides inside. The gun in his hand? Pointed right at me.
My body freezes.
“I feel like you and I are overdue for a conversation,” he says.
There’s no activity across the street at the bar. Nobody’s come in or out. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Newsflash, Nancy Drew, most business establishments have a back door, even when I’m using the term ‘establishment’ as loosely as I am now.
And, pro tip: if you’re following someone, maybe don’t do it in a car with a missing rear bumper and a sticker on the passenger door that says, ‘Mystery Spot.’”
Dammit, Evans. He put that sticker on there because it was on his list of places he wanted us to go someday. Couldn’t bring myself to take it off.
“Who the hell is Nancy Drew?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
No, but maybe it’s best not to say so. I nod to the gun. “Are you going to shoot me?”
Brennan lowers the weapon but keeps it resting on his leg. “I’d rather not. You’re popular with some of the regulars, despite your refusal to give up your ass.”
My phone lights up with another text. It’s probably Fallon, and I want to answer, but while I roll my eyes at Brennan’s dig, it doesn’t seem like the best time to get distracted.
He points to the hand holding my phone. “While we’re at it, maybe don’t text while you’re following someone at night. Your screen lighting up is like a giant spotlight.”
I swallow. “Helpful. Thanks.”
I’m good at reading people. You have to be when you grow up like I did. Addicts and foster homes and never quite knowing what someone else’s agenda might be.
Brennan, though, I’m never quite sure about him.
Simon says he’s an asshole but a fair one.
Brennan saved Simon’s life once, I heard, so maybe he isn’t all bad.
However, I also know he saw Evans before he went missing.
I don’t doubt for a second that Brennan’s the kind of guy who could and would make someone disappear.
He presents himself as an average businessman who runs a strip of shops on the dividing line between the nicer part of town and the area that gradually deteriorates.
He’s got a commanding build, tan skin, and a deceptively friendly smile.
If it weren’t for the tattoo of a bull on the side of his neck, he might look like the sort of guy who sells cars or real estate or whatever.
Now, though, in my dark car on the east end of town, where half the streetlights are busted, his eyes glitter with something dangerous.
He’s got the eyes of a predator.
My pulse shoots up another notch, but I’m trying not to let it show. “What can I do for you, Bren?”
“Don’t call me that if you don’t want me to shoot your dick off. Not like you’re using it, anyway. How about you tell me why you’ve been following me around these past few months?”
I ran out of money to pay a private investigator.
“If you knew I was following you, why didn’t you say something?”
“Thought I’d see where this whole thing was going. What were you after? Who were you working for? Maybe give you enough rope to hang yourself. Did some checking into your background. No obvious flags, but it sure seems like you’ve had an unfortunate number of people ‘accidentally’ die around you.”
“The air quotes are a nice touch.”
“I thought so. Now, I’ve got enough to worry about without one of the Hardy Boys tailing me, so it’s time to come clean.”
“Who the fuck are they?”
“Don’t make me reconsider shooting you.”
There’s a rapid-fire debate in my brain. If I come out and ask about Evans, he could lie. If I tell him nothing, and he gets pissed, the knife in my pocket is no match for the SIG in his hand.
“Clock’s ticking,” Brennan murmurs.
“Fine.” I pick up my phone and open the photo reel, scrolling to the same picture I usually show people. “You know him?”
I study Brennan’s face while he studies the picture. I’m looking for signs of recognition, signs he’s lying. Anything.
“I’ve seen him. He approached me about a job opportunity something like a year ago. We talked. He never came back again. Friend of yours?”
“Brother.”
Brennan shakes his head. “Try again.”
“We were in a foster home together after my mom was arrested, and he’s closer than anyone I’m related to biologically. He’s all I’ve got, and he’s missing.”
Immediately, I regret the vulnerability of that last statement. Brennan Doyle is a shark, and I’ve dripped blood in the water.
The thing is, though, when I care about someone, they’re mine. Evans is my family, blood relation or not.
My next thought is about Fallon. Whatever you’d call what we have, the way I’m the one he calls when he can’t sleep, the personal shit we share late at night, he’s becoming mine as well. I just need him to realize.
After a while, Brennan sighs and gestures vaguely with the gun. “Drive.”
“Is this where you take me to some plastic-lined warehouse and do away with me?”
He eyes me up and down. “Who knew straight guys were such drama queens? Just drive.”
An erection-inducing image comes up of Fallon on his knees with my dick in his mouth. The way he felt against me, naked in the shower while I was scrubbing his body and shampooing his hair. The way his entire body blushed when I asked him to finger his ass for me on camera.
Perhaps not as straight as I initially assumed, Bren. Think I’ll keep that to myself, though. If he knows about the deaths I’m connected to and about my mom, he’s already got way too much on me.
As I start the car and pull out, Brennan eases back in his seat. “So you think I had something to do with your foster brother’s disappearance, is that what we’re getting at here?”
“He had your name and number. He said he was tired of working two jobs and that you had promised him a lot of money. A few days later, he left our apartment and didn’t come back.”
“Wish I could help you, but I don’t have a clue what happened to him. Whatever else you think of me, I’ve got no reason to lie on that front. He did talk to me about a job. I gave him the same information I gave you when we met, and he left. Make a left at the stop sign up here.”
Even though I still think I’m probably chauffeuring my pimp to my murder spot, I do as I’m told. Part of me is still hoping I might glean some information from this little field trip.
“You didn’t think there was something off about the fact that he agreed to work for you and didn’t return?”
“Fuck no. You know how many guys show up in my office looking to make money, only to get cold feet? There’s a difference between the dollar signs that flash in their eyes when I tell them how much they could make and the reality of what it takes to earn that money.”
My body sags. Brennan could be lying, but he’s making an infuriating amount of sense.
We pass the East End Mission and cross the train tracks that cut the east side of Belle Argo in half.
I don’t go this way. The tracks sort of divide the parts of Belle Argo that have seen better days from the parts that have been entirely forgotten.
I’m not even sure the cops come to this part of town.
Brennan gestures to the entrance of North Fork Park. “Back in the day, this was a nature preserve. I guess technically it still is. Good place to see fireflies if you don’t mind wading through the homeless camp and the discarded needles.”
“Are you suggesting I look for Evans in there?”
“If you do, wear sturdy shoes and get a tetanus shot first. What I also know about this place is that a group of intrepid volunteers goes in once a week to distribute food and first aid supplies. Over the last year, they’ve reported six cases of longtime residents going missing, including two teenagers.
Police aren’t looking, figuring these folks either OD’d or wandered off. ”
“They said the same to me about Evans. But also, it’s kind of a transient population around here. It’s a plausible theory.”
“Definite possibility.” He gestures with his gun again. “Head toward Lake Belle.”
In many parts of Florida, waterfront property is a hot commodity. Lake Belle, however, is not. A handful of houses, either abandoned or at least looking that way, dot the surrounding road. Farther along, there’s a strip club, a trailer park, and a junkyard.
Brennan points to one of the run-down houses.
“Minnie Givens’s granddaughter goes to East End Magnate.
One Friday, she had a late rehearsal for Fiddler on the Roof and never came home.
She was a senior, just turned eighteen. Police told Minnie the girl probably ran off with a boy, but Minnie says Claire helped take care of her and wouldn’t leave without notice. ”