I immediately burned the toy goat on my grill. Nothing sinister inside, no cameras, no needles. I gave Kix a thorough examination; he was fine.
Louis was the intruder. Had to be. He’d waited until I left the porch to offer jumper cables and he snuck in. Sonofabitch went into my kid’s room. Watched us fight through the blinds.
Sonofabitch went into my kid’s room.
Louis was an old pro at stalking. He would’ve worn gloves, or else touched nothing. He hadn’t been in the house long. A few minutes at most. I scanned everywhere, looking for other gifts, but didn’t find anything.
Timothy August came home, pink and pleased from his date. I didn’t tell him about our intruder. I swallowed Tylenol and took an ice pack to my room.
I slept. But not with any grace or bravura.
The next morning, Kix quietly ate bananas and dry cereal and he watched Paw Patrol. I drank coffee and plotted murder.
Manny returned without fanfare. His shirt was torn, his jacket missing. A bruise swelled under his eye and his lip was cut. Scratches and burns everywhere, like he’d been dragged. He got coffee and said, “Ay, migo. Back of your head is bloody. What happened to you?”
“Me? Happened to you?”
“There was a bad man. Needed apprehension.”
“Just one? By your appearance, he must’ve been a ninja. Or Darth Vader,” I said.
“He was resilient.”
“Ah.”
“Hear that? Resilient. Good, right?” said Manny.
“Sure. For a kid in seventh grade, that’s a good word.”
“Somebody hit in you in the head?”
“Russel Devine.”
“You’re joking,” said Manny.
“I am not.”
“Muscle Russel picked a fight with you?”
“Eighty percent sure. It was dark. He didn’t know it was me.”
Manny sat at the table. He tried to laugh at me but it made his face hurt so he quit. Even battered, Manny’s good looks bordered on cartoonish. “You hit him back?”
“He realized his error and took off before I could.”
“Russel mugs people now?”
“He was sent by Louis to scare me,” I said.
“Bet it didn’t work.”
“It did not. I am more angry today than I was yesterday.”
Manny sipped coffee. “Muscle Russel maybe moved to Mexico by now. Always been scared of you.”
“While he pushed me around, Louis came inside. Left a toy in Kix’s crib. Least I assume it was Louis.”
Manny lowered the mug. “Louis came into my house?”
“Our house.”
“Ese cagaleche entró en mi casa?”
“Our house. And that’s not a sensitive name to call someone,” I said.
“Mierda, Mack. We gotta kill him now.”
“Might. I need to visit Muscle Russel Devine. Make sure I got my facts straight.”
“Sí. Then we kill Padre Louis.”
“First I need him to tell me and the police what he knows about Alec Ward,” I said.
“He broke the rules. Came into my house.”
Our house. Jeez, said Kix.
Muscle Russel Devine got occasional work as a fitness model. He had bulk in the right places, made for a good photograph. But most days he worked at a junkyard in the morning, ripping cars into pieces for parts and scrap. A legitimate business that sometimes serviced unsavory clients. In the afternoons he worked out at a local mixed martial arts dojo and gym. He helped manage the place in the evenings, every other day.
We drove by the junkyard but he was gone. Found him at the gym.
The place wasn’t fancy, just free weights and a ring. No locker rooms, no saunas, no machines. Meant for fighters. A couple guys were at a bench press near the front.
Russel Devine was in the back, at the fighting ring. His feet were up, ankles crossed. Bright pink sneakers and a matching Nike tank. He was eating a salad with chicken. Talking with two other guys.
He saw me and Manny approaching and he lowered the fork.
“Ah shit,” he said. Like shee-yit.
“Russel. Easier to see you in the daylight,” I said.
Manny wondered, “That a racial thing?”
“It is not. It is a vision thing.”
Russel had two friends with him. There for support; I’d been expected. I knew them, they knew me. Some mutual respect existed. They kept their eyes on Manny, not pleased with his presence.
My head still hurt but the pain was a tight angry ball at the base of my skull, instead of a big dull ache. I pointed beyond the ropes. “Into the ring, Russel.”
Russel Devine was taller than me by an inch. Good breadth of shoulders. His arms were covered with tattoos and burned designs that were airbrushed out of marketing photos. He wore colored contacts that made his eyes bright green. “August, don’t be an jerk. I tole you. They never gave me your name.”
“Into the ring, Russel. Get on your gloves.”
“I apologized. Last night. We good.”
“We good?” I said.
“Fine, aight, you can hit me back. One time.”
“Get your gloves.”
“Hey, stupid and more stupid,” said Manny and he nodded at Russel’s two friend. “Go sweat somewhere else.”
“Maybe we stick around, Manny,” said the first guy. Around town he was called Johnny Roofer. Because, get this, he helped put on roofs in the winter.
Manny pulled his marshal badge. Walked in real close. Pressed the silver badge into Johnny Roofer’s cheek. Hard. Manny’s other hand was on the butt of his Glock. He pressed until Johnny’s head was against the wall, his lips smushed together. The other guy watched; most guys steered clear of Manny the Marshal.
“Johnny Roofer, you didn’t hear?”
He had a hard time answering. “Marshal—”
“Johnny Roofer, you didn’t hear me? I said go sweat somewhere else. You breaking probation? You behind on child support? You want me to beat you with my pistol? Want to spend a couple days in jail? Cause it looks like you do.”
“Marshal, we cool. We’re leaving,” he said. Through his mushed lips, it came out, arshaw, ee coo. Ee eevin.
“Shit,” said Russel again, watching the betrayal.
I got into the ring. Took off my jacket and gun. Placed them in the corner, and I pulled on gloves. Russel’s two friends moved to the far side of the gym.
“You acting a jerk, August,” said Russel. “Why you doing this?”
“So you don’t get to tell anyone you hit me and got away with it, Muscle Russel.”
“I’m not telling nobody.”
“This goes deeper. And you know it,” I said.
“Deeper?”
“You need to know. I need to know. The guys watching need to know. And then they need to tell everyone. You don’t hit Mackenzie August in the back of his head.”
Manny, watching at the wall, said, “You use third person now?”
“I’m angry and I have a headache. Not thinking clearly,” I replied.
“Ah.”
“Get your gloves on, Russel.”
“August! Knock it off. I got a shoot coming up, I can’t be boxing.”
“I’ll wear gloves. You don’t have to. Makes it fair,” I said. “You don’t get in this ring right now, I’ll come out and beat you worse.”
He ducked into the ring and made an unhappy grunt. “I ain’t a fighter, August.”
“What about last night?”
“I tole your ass, I didn’t know it was you. Times are tough, I needed some extra scratch. I model. I don’t box. This isn’t fair, August,” he said. With great and overflowing misery.
“Neither is hitting someone in the back of his head, Russel. Get your hands up.” I’d been angry for hours, adrenaline already hot and flowing. I closed the distance. He didn’t move, hoping a preemptive surrender would save him.
“August—”
Quick left, popped him on the nose.
“Gonna be a long few minutes, you don’t get your hands up,” I said.
He grabbed his nose. “Gee-zus.”
Hit him a left-right. The right was a tight hook, flush against his jaw.
Wearing brass knuckles, with the element of surprise, Muscle Russel could square up against me. Now, in the light of day, no chance. He wasn’t stupid; he was banking on me not beating the hell out of someone who refused to fight back.
He spat some blood. “August, you sumbitch, now my nose’s gonna swell. I don’t do this stuff.”
“You just sucker punch at midnight?”
“I said sorry! We good now! Okay? The hell else you want—”
Hard left into his stomach. Another right hook. His head snapped back and he fell onto his butt. Rolled to his side and held his face. Doing his best impersonation of a woebegone loser.
“This isn’t much fun, Russel.”
“You knocked my teeth loose, dammit.”
“Get up. Try to hit me back.”
“No. We good, so you can go to hell, August.”
“You talk,” I said, “and give me answers I want to hear about Louis, I’ll stop.”
“Cause I’m a damn snitch?”
“Cause you don’t wanna get hit anymore. And we’ll talk quiet so no one hears,” I said. “Louis sent you.”
“This stays between us, August.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it. I ain’t repeating a word to the police or anyone else. I’ll spend the weekend in jail first.”
“Yeah yeah.” I made a hurry up gesture.
“Louis talked to Hazel. Said a guy needed to learn a lesson. Hazel asked me to tag along.” He sat up, still holding his mouth together.
“Hazel? Guy in the Braves hat is named Hazel?”
“His real name’s…I don’t know, August. We call him Hazel.”
“You’re gay, Russel. That right?”
“You already knew that. Not exactly a secret, is it,” he said. “So?”
“Louis’s gay too.”
He chuckled and stood up. Held the rope for support. “Thought that was a secret. At least from ugly straight people, like your ass.”
“Hazel, too? That how you three know each other?”
“Yeah. Pink Mafia.”
“Pink Mafia?” I said.
Manny, close enough to listen, made a snorting noise.
“What? You jealous?” said Muscle Russel. “We’d let you in, Marshal. Trust me.”
“Louis is a member of the Pink Mafia.” I said it out loud. So weird I needed to hear it. “Secret group for gay men?”
“Obviously. And you can’t join. Just Manny.”
“Manny’s straight,” I said.
“Still.”
“Louis hired you to beat up the kid?”
“What kid?” said Russel. His nose made a honking nose when he talked.
“He’s a friend of mine. Jeremy Cameron, Saturday night. Ended up in the hospital.”
“Ah hell, August, I didn’t know,” he said.
“So you did.”
“Me and Hazel. But Hazel did the work, mostly.”
“Louis talk to you about abducting someone?” I said.
“Like kidnapping? No. I don’t do that shit.”
I glared at him. Gave him the good stuff. “You think Louis kidnapped Alec Ward?”
“Who?”
“Alec Ward. Good looking boy, still in high school.”
He frowned some. Touched his swelling lip with his tongue. “No he didn’t. That’s offensive, August. Being gay doesn’t mean you a pedophile.”
“I didn’t say it did. I’m not asking about an entire group of people. I’m asking about one man.”
“No. No kidnapping. Father Louis doesn’t hurt anyone,” he said.
“Yeah? My friend Jeremy Cameron spent the night in a hospital.”
“I said Louis doesn’t. Didn’t say nothing about Hazel.”
“Louis paid you.”
“Paid Hazel and Hazel paid me. But that ain’t why we did it. Father Louis’s part of the Pink Mafia. We help each other. ‘Sides, who cares about Jeremy Cameron. The sumbitch is a snitch.”
I pulled off the boxing gloves. “I care.”
“Why.”
“Because he’s willing to tell the truth. Even when it hurts.”
“The jerk’s a snitch, August. He’s trying to out someone. Trying to ruin Louis’s life.”
“He’s not outing. He’s fighting a predator.”
“Predator.” Russel said it with a mocking smile. “Grow up, August. Two consenting adults.”
I thought about hitting him again. I’d enjoy the crunch his nose made more without gloves.
I said, “A married supervisor hitting on an underling who wishes he’d stop? That’s a predator, Russel.”
“Wishes he’d stop?”
“Louis’s sexual advances are not welcome.”
He shook his head. “Not what I hear.”
“You heard it from a tainted source.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He took a step away and slid out of the ring.
“It’s not just Jeremy Cameron. Multiple persons are accusing him of sexual harassment. Is that acceptable in the Pink Mafia?” I said.
“Course not. We aren’t perverts. We a support group.”
I slipped between the ropes to leave. “I’m taking him down, Russel. He’s a predator and he’s gonna pay. Stay clear. You get it?”
“You got proof Father Louis molested some people?”
“Yep.”
“Damn. Aight, sure, I get it.” Russel moved in front of a mirror and looked at his nose. “Listen, August, for real, sorry about last night. We good. And about the kid we jumped, you know? Won’t happen again. We thought we were protecting someone.”
“And the abducted boy?”
“I swear on my mother’s grave. That ain’t the Pink Mafia.”
“Ask around. I need answers.”
“I hear something, I’ll call you. Or maybe I’ll call Manny,” said Russel.
I headed for the exit. Manny joined me and said, “Not a very exciting fight.”
“You go hit him then,” I said.
“Meh. Not my type.”