Shelby
“Rumor is your younger sister looks just like you. The night’s young and we’re just getting started. Why not invite her to the party?”
“She’s headed to Europe.” I quickly fabricate a lie. “Packed her bags, bought a Eurail Pass, and told me she’s getting the hell out of Oklahoma.”
I feel the blood drain from my face and I struggle to keep my composure. Jesus. Franco’s taking an interest in my sister. Someone has clearly connected the dots from her to me despite my trying so damn hard to shelter her from my business.
Shelby’s a small town, yet it’s not like she interacts with the outsiders who seem hell-bent on ruining our town. The mob. The Pricks who killed my father. We avoid assholes like them. Well . . . she avoids them. Not the hardest thing to do if you stay clear of the west side of town, where Franco has taken over one of the larger houses in town, and where I am tonight.
Madelyn’s focus must be on her grades so she can transfer college credits and get the hell out of Shelby. Bad enough her time is divided between school and Mama’s care, with her carrying my weight as well as her own. Guilt is the weight I’m bearing from not being around much to help.
Especially after this week’s bombshell.
“I’ve stopped taking the mebendazole pills,” my mother had informed me a few days ago. The side effects of the pills have caused her to become weak and frail, yet her backbone remains remarkably strong, so firm she is in her decision.
“You can’t . . .” I’d stiffened in the seat I’d dragged up next to her bed when she informed me of her decision to stop her treatment.
“The expense outweighs the benefit,” she’d argued, sitting up to fluff her pillow, taking my hand, then tearing my heart to pieces. “In life, nothing is as important as love. It’s what makes you get up in the morning, makes you see the goodness in others, makes you whole. I loved your father wholeheartedly. The man of my dreams, my one and only. I wish you and Madelyn find a love like ours. But for such keen brainiac, your father’s investment sense was severely lacking . . . by that, I mean it stank to high heavens. Thank goodness, my investment instincts turned out to be much more . . . equitable.”
“What do you mean?” I’d asked.
“You’ll see in time. But for now, will you do me this favor?”
“Yes.” Whenever she used that tone, you knew you were in trouble.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it. I fully expected to pay for these pink pills myself but I see you’ve beat me to it. I don’t know how you’re earning this money . . .”
“The Pitt offered . . .”
“Kylie. We both know you’d make a horrible waitress. And to make tips like this . . . whatever you’re doing has changed you. You’re distant, secretive—more so than usual—leaving home early and coming in late. I just want my daughters to be happy and safe, emotionally and financially. I’m doing my part, you need to do yours.”
“It’s not that simple,” I’d confessed.
“Life isn’t simple. But where there’s a will . . .”
“There’s a way. Fine. I just need a little more time.”
“Don’t we all, my dear. Don’t we all.”
Time. I just need a little more of it to convince Mama those pills will help, I thought as I headed off to Franco’s party, one I wrangled an invitation to from his girlfriend Veronica. The first real opportunity to act on my assignment. Yet with Mama’s announcement clouding my thoughts, I ignored something important.
I didn’t report in to Hayden three days ago.
Now it’s big news or no news for my employer, with me forced back to Hell Camp or whatever ridiculous consequence Hayden will be dishing out.
Still, I’m hopeful. Because at present, my target is liquored up, high as a kite, and having a sudden case of loose lips.
So far I’ve learned that business is booming. Franco’s distribution channels are expanding. With the amount of money he now has up front—which Novák is supplying—more product is being smuggled in from Mexico. His cut of the profit from drug distribution is making him a shitload of money. And wouldn’t you know it, but goddamn Sheriff Rush is receiving kickbacks in return for minding his own business. At this point, I’m not sure who the bigger asshole is.
Speaking of loose-lip assholes . . . I scan the room, searching for Francis, then scowl when I don’t find him. Yeah, I have a funny feeling I know exactly who’s been running his mouth.
In a short time, I’ve gotten Franco to talk. I just need to steer the conversation away from my sister and back onto a better topic—Novák.
I feel Franco staring at me. I’ve been quiet too long. Widening my eyes like I just remembered something important, I say, “You’re a successful businessman. Shelby’s too small a town for a man like you. I bet you travel around the world all the time. First class, too. No Eurail Pass for a man like yourself. Am I right?”
Franco takes the bait and I can’t keep from smiling.
“Fuck the trains. Chauffeur-driven cars is the way to travel. You can stop anytime and see the sights. Mix business with pleasure.”
I mentally cringe, not wanting him to elaborate on what pleasure-filled sights he’s seeing . . . except since he’s game for a discussion . . . “The Colosseum must be breathtaking?”
“My ancestors are likely to rise from their graves and pop a bullet in my head for admitting this, but I don’t get to Rome much. No, I go where business takes me.” His lively smile fades. “But I’ve only been to Europe a few times. My business associate does most of the traveling. He’ll be back again at the beginning of the month.”
“What a shame you can’t go more often.” I raise my glass of white wine to my lips. Take a sip and count down the seconds before continuing, “I would have thought Italy would be your playground.”
Come on. Tell me where.
Instead his smile returns.
“Playground, eh? I’ve got one upstairs.” He nods toward the stairs by the entryway. Like I’m going to jump at the opportunity to get close and personal with this polyester-wearing monster who’s a direct link to America’s drug crisis.
Damn it, he was this close to saying exactly where in Europe he meets up with his associate . . . Novák.
I’ve got to think fast. My assignment or not, there is no way in hell I’m going up those stairs. I consider the mixed drink he’s holding. Too late for topping it off with a little Kylie spritzer.
And where the hell is Francis when you need him?
My gaze falls on Veronica. Perfect.
“Whoo whoo, over here,” I holler, waving my arms over my head until I catch her attention. Mercifully, she heads across the living room toward us.
“Fuck. I was hoping for a taste of something different tonight,” I hear Franco grumble.
Yeah, how about I pop you one in the mouth? Offer up a good taste of blood on your tongue, you polyester pig. God, I’m frustrated. So close . . . he’d been so close to offering up information that Hayden would be really happy to hear . . . I think.
In the past month, while Francis cuddles up to Franco by chauffeuring him around Shelby—his former chauffeur home and healing from a fully recoverable and strategically placed gunshot wound to the thigh—I’ve been making friends. Specifically one friend, Veronica, Franco’s long-legged, well-endowed mistress. A pretty woman, with her toothy grin and full plump lips, which she clearly uses to her advantage.
God love her. Because not only does she join us and interrupt what was about to be an uncomfortable situation, she winds herself around Franco, plants a kiss on his lips, then says the best thing to ever come out of her mouth, “What are you two talking about?”
Big, powerful Franco stutters.
I smile at him, then say, “Europe. Did you know he travels? Private chauffeured cars and everything. He was just telling me about the places he’s been to.”
Franco looks relieved. Yeah, seems Hayden was right about how easily men can be manipulated. “I’ve been to Geneva twice.”
“That’s in Germany, right? I always wanted to visit Germany.” Veronica wraps her arm around Franco and rubs up against him like a cat in heat.
“Switzerland, my friend. It’s the home of the European United Nations. And sits on a huge lake, Lake Geneva.”
“I’d love to vacation on a European lake.”
“A very romantic city,” I add. Why not help a girl out, right?
“Not as romantic as Paris,” Franco interrupts. “I go there a lot, too.”
Veronica chimes in. “Ooh, Paris. The shopping . . .”
“It’s the City of Love,” I say.
Whatever her reply, it fades away as my attention turns to the distant sound of a motorcycle’s rumble. Something I find myself often waiting to hear yet never do. Until now.
I shake off my sadness and refocus on the next task at hand. Because instead of being worried about my phone call, I’m actually looking forward to reporting in to Hayden.
Finding Francis. Calling Hayden. Heading home to Mama and Madelyn. Ending my assignment and seeing Jaxson . . .
“Do you think on your next trip—” Veronica murmurs.
“Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room. You’re in good hands, Mr. DiCapitano,” I offer with a wink. No sense making an enemy out of the man when I’ve a chance at a faux friendship.
As I wander off in search of Francis.
I find the downstairs bedroom assigned to the chauffeur and push the door open. Time is ticking away. Time is precious. And what I need is just a little more time with Mama to change her mind about her treatment.
Which I might just be so lucky as to have after Hayden hears my updated news.
Once inside, I stop short.
Francis snatches his head up from the night table, wipes the white powder from beneath his nose with the back of his hand, and begins his lame denials. “This isn’t what you think, Kylie.”
“Are you freaking nuts? I warned you to be careful . . . if Hayden finds out . . .”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep quiet. He’ll know jack if you keep your trap shut,” he says maliciously. His eyes shift nervously to the dresser drawer then back to me. Then he begins straightening his pigpen of a room. A worm pen, for a worm of a man. Complete with grimy sheets and a musty, earthy smell that reminds me of a dried-up cow pasture on a hot sunny day. Jesus. How had things come to this?
Franco’s come to rely on Francis not only to drive him around Shelby like some rock star but to party with him like one as well. They’ve bonded over white-powdered baggies and bad driving. With my shit-for-brains partner getting in close and exactly where we want him. Though if Hayden has any idea screwed up Francis’s actually become . . . how he’s running his goddamn mouth . . .
It’s not just the drugs and his growing addiction. Trust is a key ingredient in any relationship, and I’m beginning to distrust his judgment. His perception’s become twisted. He no longer views the drug-dealing, coke-snorting asshole as the enemy. No, he’s been talking crazy talk, like they’re suddenly BFFs. I should have paid more attention when he’d begun looking up to Franco, like the polyester-clad mobster is some kind of father figure to him. Godfather figure, maybe. Francis’s always had sly, secretive weirdness about him. Like a kid looking for attention and who’s on the brink of spilling the world’s biggest secret.
This month had been a slow start for us. I’m the one who put a bullet in that poor man’s thigh. My idea, Francis’s in. And tonight my role in this assignment has finally begun to fall into place. And I catch him doing what? Getting high. Yapping about my sister—the jerk must have followed me home one day—selling me out to Franco?
“You won’t tell Hayden, will you, Kylie?” he begs in what clearly must be a brief moment of clarity.
I grimace and nudge by him to stand before the dresser. Yanking open the drawer, I snatch hold of the Ziploc bag of coke I’ve been pretty certain Francis’s hidden inside.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he cries out.
I don’t answer, too angry to speak. I brush past him, tugging my arm away from him before he can grab hold of it, and hurry to the bathroom. For a second, we struggle with the door, him on the outside and me trying to slam it in his deceitful face. I push against it with all of my weight, knocking him back, then sprint over to the toilet. Thank God for men and their propensity for leaving the seat up. In one slam dunk, I toss the means of his addiction into the bowl and hit flush.
“You goddamn bitch.” Francis attacks, launching himself at me as I turn and taking us both to the ground.
He’s managed to get my arms pinned over my head. I’m about to head butt him but instead stop struggling and frown up at him.
His face is beet red like a little boy in the throes of a temper tantrum. No way is this the same guy Hayden decided to trust with this assignment. The same guy selected to be my partner. Jaxson, where are you when I need you?
Jesus. Now what?
“You’re a coldhearted bitch,” he yells at me.
“And you’re a goddamn fool. You’re going to ruin this if you don’t get your head on straight.”
He spits and a goober hits my earlobe. I bring my head up and, in one fluid motion, head butt him. Hard enough where I see stars and I’m pretty sure I’ll have a bruise on my forehead. Francis clasps his head in agony and I roll him off me and clamber to my feet. Then, because of the goober, I slam my foot into his side. As a matter of fact. . . . I slam my foot harder into the same spot, this time for him telling Franco about my sister. He cries out in agony.
“Quit the coke. A matter of fact, the next time you get in over your head, call me. I’ll do an intervention on your behalf.” Kick your ass until common sense returns.
“You’re done.”
“I haven’t even started with you.” I sit back on my haunches and glare down at him.
“Hayden asked me why you neglected to report in this week.”
Great. I can’t wait to hear how he replied.
“Shelby’s a small town. I’ve a town car and a lot of time on my hands. I was wondering what happened to you. Started asking around—that woman at the Shelby Quick-Mart isn’t really much of a fan of yours.”
I stand and move away from him before I do something I’ll regret. Francis rises to his feet, then points a finger at me. “You breathe a word about this to Hayden and I’ll tell him. You’ve been keeping secrets, Kylie. Like that pretty look-alike gal of yours waiting for you back home . . .”
Red isn’t just the color of roses. Red is madness. Red is rage.
I launch myself at him, grabbing him by the conniving neck and pinning him against the shower-stall door. His throat contracts beneath my fingers, but I only squeeze tighter.
He blinks and stares at me with two bug eyes.
“Exactly what did you say to Franco about her?” I demand.
“I can’t breathe.”
“Shut up and answer my question.”
“Nothing. Just that you have a sister. How she looks like you, but . . . sweeter.”
“You got that right.” I squeeze harder and his eyes practically pop out of his head. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. Damn it. “If you ever mention my sister to anyone again, I’ll shoot you in the thigh like that driver then strangle you until you pass out. Nod if you understand me.”
Francis nods.
I release my hold, take out my cell phone, and check caller ID.
TORC . . . Hayden.
“You keep quiet about my personal life, and I’ll refrain from sharing your coke habit. Deal?”
“You’ll pay me a hundred bucks to replace what you flushed.”
I smack him across the face. “Forget it. I’m warning you, if you breathe a word of her to anyone, instead of your thigh, I’ll shoot you in the balls.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Leave.”
“What?”
The phone vibrates for the fourth time. My delaying answering it is only going to piss Hayden off more.
“Get out.”
Francis scrambles to his feet and stalks out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Good riddance. Given the present state of our partnership, I’d rather him not hear what I’ve discovered.
“Kylie,” I answer.
Dead silence. I sigh. Terrific.
“I’m in. And Franco’s been talking.”
“About?” Hayden demands on the other end.
“Making money. Novák’s been giving him money up front to purchase drugs to distribute stateside and sell at a huge profit. Franco’s cut is huge, so it stands to reason Novák is making a fortune as well.”
“Continue.”
I scowl. How does he know there’s more?
“I have two cities where Franco has been doing business. As far as I know, he had only one partnership and only one foreign contact. Novák.”
“What cities?”
“Geneva and Paris.”
“Did he say he meets Novák in either?”
I grin. “Not directly. But within the same conversation, he complained that Novák does more of the traveling.”
“Anything more?”
“Novák will return to Shelby the first week of the month.”
More silence. I tap my foot, waiting him out. A little perturbed my news didn’t warrant a “Good job, Kylie.”
At long last, Hayden breaks. “You didn’t you report in? It’s been three days. You’re in violation of your contract.”
“Amended contract, remember? I added two clauses?”
I hear him cursing on the other end.
“Don’t do it again.”
“An agreement is an agreement.”
The line goes quiet. But his farewell warning fills the room. “Not if you’re dead.”