Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(25)

Perfectly fine.

“Let’s go.”





X X X


On the way to King and Tenth, I call the Trickster and give him a heads up that I’m on my way with a favor I’m gonna need. He hems and haws with the best of them but eventually agrees to let the kid stay in his back room for a couple days.

There’s gotta be someone out there the kid’s related to. And if there is, I’ll find them. It’s what I do.

The only problem? Stix is still soaking f*cking wet and that doesn’t bode well for the leather seats.

Detour time.

“I’m gonna pick up some dry clothes for you on the way.”

“Why not just stop by Donnie’s place? I can grab some─”

“No can do, kid.” Rule of thumb, people: If you plan on leaving town because you suspect someone’s after you, don’t go home. That’s the first place they look.

Not that I think Stix has anything to worry about. I’m pretty sure the idea of him being in any kind of danger is all in his head, but better safe than sorry.

“What about all my stuff?” He’s genuinely concerned. It’s obviously the first time he’s actually thought this whole taking off thing through tonight.

“What stuff?”

“Like, my clothes for one, and my bed. My Xbox?”

“Oh, you won’t be seeing any of your stuff again for a while, my friend. Least of all your Xbox.” I’m not trying to be a dick here. I’m simply laying it all out for him. If he’s pulling one over on me, he’ll go home. If not, then maybe he really is concerned for his life.

He doesn’t push the topic, which tells me there’s a chance he’s on the up and up.

“Who is it you think you’re running from if it’s not Flint?”

The shrugs are back. Awesome.

“Just playin’ it safe, I guess.”

“Yeah? Safe from whom, Jimmy?”

He talks to the window. “These cops showed up at the funeral. Asked a bunch of questions. Someone pointed them in my direction. I didn’t stick around to find out what they wanted.”

They could have been touching base with Donnie’s next of kin. To be honest, though, I don’t know if I would have stuck around either.

Maybe I can poke around inside Nick’s head. See if he knows anything about the brother of Donnie Leary. We’ll go from there.

“I can’t even brush my teeth?” Jesus, this kid. He goes from worried about his life to worrying about his teeth? Really?

“I’ll get you some essentials when I’m picking up the clothes.”

“You will?”

“Why not.”

“Sweet, I need─”

“Up-up-up!” I hold a hand up to the kid. “I’m not taking orders here. I’ll get you the basics. The rest you’re gonna have to live without until you’re settled somewhere.”

He slinks down into the seat and crosses his arms. He kicks the dash with the heel of his boot for good measure.

Classic pout. A move I previously thought was primarily for toddlers. Clearly, I was wrong.

“Break my dash and I’ll break you, kid. Comprende?”

He rolls his eyes. I take that as a yes. The rest of the drive to Target is quiet.

I need a f*cking cigarette.

Where is the damn thing anyway?

Ah.

I pull it out and place it between my lips. Relaxation courses through me when I taste the tobacco. It’s a welcome familiarity but it also reminds me of all the reasons I gave up the habit in the first place.

Pissed at the weakness that continues to creep up on me every once in a while, I take the cig out of my mouth and toss it into the ashtray. That leaves me with one last thing to tackle tonight.

Target.

Then I’ll deal with the fact that I’m a f*cking nanny now.

Man-nanny.

Manny.

I’m not a f*cking nanny.

I don’t shop for myself, much. When I do, I’m pretty quick about it. Shopping for someone else? This should go well.

“Stay here.” I lock the doors and remind the kid he needs to stay low. Not that I think whoever’s looking for him will be lurking around Target this time of night, but you never f*cking know.

Inside the store, I head straight for the men’s section, but before that, I pick up a six pack of Stellas because, hellooooo, I need a drink.

Actually, I need to get the f*ck drunk. Pronto. Maybe that will make up for the fact that this day couldn’t possibly get any shittier.

About thirty minutes into this shopping spree, I’m the self-proclaimed king of mannies. Not only have I grabbed the kid some jeans, socks, and tighty-whities, but I also nabbed him a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a thing of shampoo, soap, and a loofa.

What? It’s better for your skin.

I maneuver the cart through aisles that don’t have much traffic on my way to cash out because I hate dealing with people in department stores. I’m also doing some math in my head, calculating how much this shit is gonna put me out. In the middle of crunching numbers, I come to a screeching halt when, lo and behold, I nearly run over the genius who’s decided to take a nap in the middle of the home aisle.

I’m about to lay down the law of department store naptime when I realize who said genius is, and I have to laugh.