Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(86)

Right?

I close the door behind me and call him while I check the street for any cars that look like they don’t belong here. Of course, I get the f*cking voicemail.

“Kid.” My voice sounds jacked up. Stuck in the back of my throat kinda shit. “Call me.”

Maybe someone’s listening, maybe not. Better safe than sorry, though. And f*ck them.

I wait for a good hour, during which I call Tricky Ricky, who has nothing for me. I check drawers and files to see if maybe Stix left me a clue. Nothin’. I pretend-read emails and listen to messages, hoping maybe he just got lost, or held up, or f*cking had to pee. I don’t know.

By the time sixty minutes has painstakingly passed, I call him again.

Voicemail kicks in again, and I’m already out the door.

“I’m gonna assume you can’t answer for whatever reason. Or maybe you’re pissed off that I wasn’t answering earlier. I’m sorry about that. But, kid, answer the goddamn phone.”

He’ll call me back when he’s in cell tower range. Meanwhile, I should probably check Homeless Town anyway. Just to be sure.





X X X


I slow the car to a snail’s pace the closer I get to the neighborhood where I last connected with the kid.

Call it instinct, if you want. I call it self-preservation.

I park about three blocks away and hike it the rest. I find the same abandoned building he was in before and climb the stairs to the top. It’s empty. I sit at a window that looks like it was shot out by something and check out the area below.

There’s no sign of Stix or anybody else for that matter. So, I check the time, even though I know for a f*cking fact that it’s easily mid-afternoon. I take a seat on an old coffee table left here over the years, and I wait. Every nerve in my body tells me he isn’t gonna show, but I’m a thorough motherf*cker, and I don’t wanna take the chance of leaving if Stix might show up.

Another hour of my day goes by, and there’s no sign of the kid. However, as I’m about to call it a day, an older woman with a guide dog steps out from between a couple buildings. I’m sure, to anyone else driving by, if anyone was to drive by, that is, she doesn’t seem off. To me, she seems highly out of f*cking place, considering this is a homeless area, and the homeless, in general, don’t get guide dogs.

I watch her for a while out of sheer curiosity. I doubt I’m wrong, but you never know. It’s been known to happen.

Once.

Okay, three times.

She feeds some strays that come out of hiding, probably whenever they see humans, but not her dog. She straightens her pants like she can’t stand to be in this dirty ass outfit she’s wearing. Her head turns to her left then to her right before she talks to her wrist.

Bam.

Her stride is slightly faster than someone who might be blind when she heads back to where she came from. About a minute later, a car comes screeching out, and from behind the steering wheel, I see her remove the wig.

Him.

He removes the wig.

“The f*ck?”

As I fly down the stairs, I wanna kick myself for not staking this place out from the Chevelle.

By the time I get to the car, start her up, and head in the general direction of my mystery man, it’s too late. He’s gone.

“Dammit.” I bang the steering wheel and try to think.

The trip over here wasn’t the biggest waste of my time, at least. While I don’t know much more than I did when I arrived, my gut tells me someone has the kid, and they were expecting me to come look for him.

As my heart rate begins to pick up, I reach for my lucky cig. When I pull it out, I tap it on the dash a few times. I stick it in between my lips and pull out the lighter I keep in the ash tray. I go to light it, but then I stop. Because motherf*cker.

Mother.

Fucker.

How did I let this shit happen? Why am I still dependent on a f*cking cigarette for some piece of mind?

I push the lighter back into its hole and toss the cig onto the backseat, unlit. I pull my phone from my pocket and call Green.

“Hola.”

“Hey, it’s Stiles.”

“Really, I didn’t know that.” Sarcastic little… “Smartass. Look, the kid’s gone.” No reason to put off the inevitable.

“What do you mean? Gone.”

“I mean f*cking gone, Green.” Jesus.

“Again? Stiles—”

“I know, I know. And I don’t have a good feeling about this shit. We need to make something happen. Fast. Have you touched base with,” I shudder to even say the f*cking name, “Anonymous?”

“I did. And I think something’s getting ready to go down.”

“What’s the deal?”

“I was told to meet his contact at some place called Dusk ’til Dawn tonight. And that I’d get my instructions then.”

“You don’t know who the contact is? Was it Walker?”

“No idea. He said I’d know. I have a sneaking suspicion this is some kind of test for me.”

“Okay.” I breathe out.

D to D isn’t exactly what I’d call a family place, if you know what I mean. More like a keep secrets from your family kind of place. A cheaters club, if you will.

“Guess we’re having ourselves a date night.”