Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
THEN | JAX
Ivan and I are both in the back seat, which already tells me everything. Who the hell sits in the back of their own dad’s car? Only two reasons: fear or hate. My money’s on the second one.
I glance over at him, noting that his palms are sweaty and his knees are moving up and down in a nervous tick.
“So,” I say, loud enough to make sure they both hear me. “Did you ever find your dog, Ivan?”
He chokes. Literally chokes. A single, pathetic cough turns into another, then another, until he’s having a full-blown wheezing fit, face turning a nice shade of purple.
I thump his back with a little more enthusiasm than is probably medically recommended. “Easy there, man. Don’t die on me. Then I really will get blamed.”
“You okay there, son?” Detective Rosen doesn’t even look back.
“I’m fine,” Ivan wheezes, shooting me a glare. He knows exactly what I’m doing. He knows I know.
I smile sweetly and lean forward, wedging myself between the seats. “Shame, really. What kind of dog was it again?”
“Yappy little thing,” Rosen grunts.
“A terrier, sir,” Ivan mutters, staring at his own hands.
“So, pretty small?” I say, tapping my fingers on the edge of the seat. “Easy to… slip into a backpack?”
Ivan shifts so hard he damn near puts his knee through the door panel. I sink back into my seat, still drumming.
Rosen’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, landing right on me. “You got something to say, St. Clair?”
I shrug, all casual-like. “Kind of weird though, right? Losing a dog the same night you decide to, I don’t know… break into the school lab?”
My elbow accidentally bumps Ivan’s. He jolts like I’ve hit him with a taser.
The steering wheel jerks. “What the hell did you just say?” Rosen snaps.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, holding up both hands. “Forget it. Dumb joke.”
Ivan kicks my foot. “Shut up,” he hisses.
I kick back, putting my weight into it. He makes a satisfying little grunt of pain.
“Perhaps, it’s time we look for a real dog to take in. A shepherd. A Doberman. Hell, even a mutt with some goddamn spine. What you think son?”
Ivan flinches.
Rosen grunts and takes the next turn hard enough to throw me against the door.
I lean forward again, resting my elbows on the front seat like we’re all old friends. “Oh—I forgot to congratulate you Ivan. Sisk said yes, right? To the Formal? You must be absolutely thrilled.”
Ivan goes rigid again.
Rosen raises an eyebrow, actually looking back now. “You?” He actually lets out a short laugh. “You got a date?”
Ivan nods.
“Huh,” Rosen mutters. “Don’t tell me it’s the dancer.”
“You got it,” I answer. “You must’ve done something right, sir. Ivan here’s the real champ. I’m pretty jealous myself.”
Rosen snorts. “What’d you do, offer to do her homework or something?” He shakes his head. “Must be a hell of a favor.”
Ivan’s face hardens. His eyes flick to mine, full of promises he’s too much of a coward to keep.
I should feel bad for him. I do. For half a second. Then I remember—what kind of person ditches their dog for a favor from The Pit?
“You keep talking like you’re not heading straight to the station,” Ivan spits. ”Aren’t you eighteen already? They could actually lock you up this time.”
I let out a real laugh. “Your dad knows how it works, right Sir? Take me in, make a little show of it—then I walk right back out. It’s a dance we both know.”
I glance at Rosen in the mirror, catching his eye. “Pretty sure my grandfather covers half the city budget, maybe even your salary, sir.”
Ivan stares at his father hoping for something that says I’m wrong, but I’m not.
I smirk, letting the silence hang for a beat before I twist the knife. “Or who knows… maybe I’ll follow in your dad’s footsteps. All this quality time we spend together—feels like it’s rubbing off.” I wait, then add, “Sir.”
Rosen grunts but doesn’t correct me.
We ride the rest of the way in the awkward silence.
I think about bringing up Ivan’s fingers, but I’m sure his father noticed.
And like Sisk and the whole damn school, he just shrugs it off with the “science experiment” bullshit.
I guess everyone thinks Ivan is too much of a pussy to go through with it, to actually bargain with The Pit.
He might be a pussy, but he sure as hell did it.
* * *
We pull into the cracked parking lot of the Tar City Police Department, North Division. Rosen doesn’t even turn around when he says it: “Ivan. Inside. Wait for me in my office. I’ll file St. Clair in, then take you home. Maybe we’ll swing by the shelter, see if it’s some mutt’s lucky day.”
Ivan mumbles something that might pass for “yes, sir” and scrambles out.
Before Rosen can turn his full attention to me, another patrol car arrives in the lot.
Two big cops get out and I watch as they haul a guy from the back.
He’s built like a brick shithouse, his face a roadmap of old fights.
He’s not struggling, just letting himself be moved.
“You think this matters?” he says, as they drag him toward the doors.
“Go ahead, lock me up. The Pit’s already got what it wanted. ”
One of the cops grunts, shoving him forward. “Yeah, we’ll see how funny it is when you’re in a cell.”
“It took my brother already,” he says to the cops. “It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than me and him before it’s done.”
They disappear inside, the heavy door thudding shut behind them.
Rosen finally turns to me. “You. Inside.” I open the door, but he stops me with a sharp: “Wipe that smug grin off your face first.” I stop with my hand on the handle.
“I might not be able to lock you up for real,” he adds, “but I can make it real believable that you put up a fight, and I’m damn good at my job.”
I nod slowly, letting the taunting grin melt into something more respectful. I give him a sharp, crisp salute. “Yes, sir.”
Inside, Rosen waves me toward the side hallway. “Rourke’ll handle you,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m out of patience today.”
Perfect. Exactly what I wanted: an opportunity. “I know my way,” I say, already moving.
Two doors down past the coffee machine that’s permanently out of order, past the wall of dusty plaques and faded “community first” posters. I knock on the door with his name stenciled crookedly across the glass.
Rourke looks up and I step in.
“The fuck you did this time?” he asks, skipping the formalities.
“Does it matter?” I take a seat without asking and prop my boots up on his desk, fishing a piece of gum from my pocket and popping it in my mouth.
Rourke’s chair screeches back as he shoots to his feet. Fast and angry. He’s playing his part well.
“Get your damn foot off my desk.”
I don’t move right away. I cock my head and chew slowly.
He leans over me. ”You think I give a damn about your last name?”
I blink, all innocent. “Sorry man.”
He grabs my ankle, and yanks my foot down. I let it happen. Wouldn’t be as fun if I didn’t.
“Your grandfather doesn’t sign my checks, kid. Not anymore. And your daddy’s reputation doesn’t mean shit in this office.”
“I didn’t bring them up.” I wink.
Rourke stares at me pissed off.
I tap my fingers lightly on the edge of the desk. One, two, three beats. “So… what’s it like?” I ask, real casual. “Being one of the only people in Tar City who knows what The Pit really is?”
I see his neck tighten. His whole stance shifts, just barely, from pissed-off cop to cornered animal.
“Watch yourself.”
“I am,” I say. “Very closely. Been watching all of you. The way you clean things up. The way people disappear and no one asks where.”
Silence, so I push it further. “Formal next Saturday, you know?” I keep it harmless, as if I’m just making conversation. “Funny how everyone’s talking about it. Like something’s gonna happen. Again.”
Rourke’s eyes darken.
“People say it feels like the same energy, you know? Full moon and all. History repeating itself.” I tilt my head. “Knotted hair girl and all that.”
His fist slams the desk so hard it rattles my chair.
“Her name was Cynthia, you little shit.”
I flinch—just a twitch. But he sees it. He has no idea I already know her name. No idea I know she was his girlfriend.
“What happened to her?” I ask.
Rourke stares me down. It’s like I just pulled a bone from somewhere I shouldn’t have been digging.
“People are saying she did it to herself,” I go on, softer now. “She bargained with The Pit, then it came to collect. Payback, right?”
His jaw is a clenched fist. “You think this is a game?” he asks. “You think you’re the first little punk to come digging for answers he can’t handle?” He gets right in my face. “You have no fucking idea what you’re playing with, St. Clair.”
I hold my ground.
Then he adds the one thing I wasn’t ready for. “Maybe you should ask your mother.” He lowers his voice. “They were best friends. Weren’t they?”