Chapter 73 Jackson
Jackson
Jackson’s vision begins to swirl. Ethan Swift isn’t Ethan Swift?
The bartender’s words ring in his head. Said his name was Charles. Never caught his last name.
Jackson has to make sure they are actually talking about his Ethan. “My name’s Jackson by the way,” he says, holding out his hand.
The bartender grips it, shakes it. “Troy.”
“So, just to be sure we’re talking about the same person, Charles, or whatever the hell his name is, was he a furniture maker?”
“Bingo. Among other things. Many other things.”
“But why would he go by a different name? Maybe because he’s in the closet, didn’t want it to get out—”
At this, Troy cackles. “Ha! No. That’s not it at all. It’s because he was trouble, with a capital T. And left town as soon as he was found out.”
Jackson lifts his beer, slams the rest of it. “What do you mean, exactly? What did he do?”
“That man,” Troy says, “is a thief.”
Jackson twirls his beer glass on his coaster.
“Lemme get you a refill—”
“Yes, please.”
Troy pulls the lever of the draft, releasing pale-gold liquid. It sloshes in the glass after he slides it toward Jackson.
One more sip, then Jackson asks, “What do you mean? Like he held up the bar? Pickpocketed?”
Troy hangs his head, shakes it, grins. “Oh, if it were all that simple. No, higher level than that. His little business,” he says, using rabbit ears, “is a front. Those high-end pieces of furniture? Sure, he makes them, sells them. But they’re just a way to get into people’s houses.
Rich people. Like stealing jewels out of the panty drawer. ”
Everything Troy says tracks for Jackson. Ethan’s charm, their need to move from town to town.
Holy shit.
“Wanna know the worst part? The vilest part? At least, to me, anyway?” Troy asks, leaning in, lowering his voice.
Jackson nods, not knowing if he does, in fact, want to hear the worst part.
“He’d come in here, seduce some of our wealthiest clientele—and our most closeted—gain access to their homes under the guise of making custom pieces, rob ’em blind, like I said, jewelry, that sort of thing. Then, if they caught on, he’d threaten to out them. Or worse.”
Or worse.
He threatened to kill Jackson. He knows just what Troy means.
“You seem so nice, I’m sorry he got his hooks in you.
” Troy folds his arms across his chest, leans back against the bar.
“And I understand how he did it. Believe me. He was the hottest thing that ever walked through here. And the most manipulative. I woulda hooked up with him myself, but the whole Bible thing? Freaked me out, honestly.” He shakes as head as if he’s swallowed something distasteful.
This makes Jackson chuckle, but all he really wants to do is die. And cry. He can’t believe he was such a fool. “Did anyone ever report him to the police?”
“No! How could they? And out themselves? This man is a bona fide hustler, a grifter, and as soon as enough people put it together, started whispering, he hit the road.”
Jackson’s mind spins, the beer fizzing in his gut.
He downs the rest of his glass. He’ll need to stop after this one to safely make it back to the hotel, but whew, this is a lot.
He wonders if Ethan’s been brazen enough to steal from the Chambers yet.
Or from Charleigh’s house during the party.
All those connections he made that night… The whole town is ripe for the picking.
Anger spears through Jackson as he relives Ethan shoving him down, threatening him, like he’s disposable. Like he’s nothing.
Well, Jackson will show him just whom he’s fucking with.