Killer Season. Lara Lacombe
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Joey leaned against the cinder-block wall of the holding cell, trying to arrange his body into the least painful position possible. His shoulder hurt like hell—the drugs they’d given him at the hospital were starting to wear off, and the growing pain was making it hard to think.
“Can I get some meds to take with me? You know, for later?” he’d asked.
The nurse had merely rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Her reaction had pricked his temper, making him sit up a little straighter. “Hey, I’m a person, too! I deserve to be treated with a little respect!”
“How about you give him something to shut him up?” The big cop standing behind the nurse shot him a dirty look. “You’d be doing me a favor.”
The nurse gave him a smile as she turned to leave. “Wish I could help, but you know it doesn’t work that way.”
“Yeah, just my luck.” The cop watched her walk out of the room, his eyes glued to her backside until she was out of view.
Joey shook his head. “You’re pathetic,” he muttered.
“What was that?” The big man’s head swiveled around, and he fixed his gaze on Joey. “You got something to say to me, punk?” His eyes gleamed with anticipation in the fluorescent light, as if he was just looking for an excuse to get physical. Joey recognized the look. It was one he often saw before a fight broke out.
Part of him wanted to goad the other man. After all, a police officer would get into big trouble for beating up an unarmed, handcuffed, already injured man in his custody. But Joey was smart enough to know that the real world didn’t work that way. Cops protected their own, and if it came down to his word against the boys in blue, there would be no contest. And while he desperately wanted the satisfaction of mouthing off, it wasn’t worth the bruises. So, for the first time in his life, Joey listened to the voice in his head that told him to shut up. “Nah,” he replied, shaking his head. “Not to you.”
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve done all night,” the cop said, his tone smug.
He’d brought Joey back to the station then, and it had taken some time to get his mug shot and for them to finish all the paperwork. Then they’d led him to this cell and taken the cuffs off, leaving him alone for the first time in what felt like days.
The cinder-block wall was cool against his skin, and he pressed his forehead to it, appreciating the distraction from his aching shoulder. He was in a ton of trouble, but the impending charges of armed robbery and assault didn’t bother him. No, what scared him the most was his uncle’s reaction.
Uncle Sal was not a forgiving man. He ran Houston’s largest illegal gambling operation, and he’d acquired his power by combining sheer brutality with an astonishing lack of mercy. He didn’t offer credit, nor did he offer second chances. What he did offer was better payouts than the competition. It was enough of a temptation to keep people coming back for more, even though they lost more often than they won. And when they didn’t pay up? Usually a visit from one of Uncle Sal’s enforcers was motivation enough. Especially because the people who required a second visit never required anything again.
Joey shivered at the thought of his uncle’s face when he heard about this. It was enough to make him want to crawl under a rock and disappear, but that wasn’t an option.
He’d set out to rob the convenience store because the owner, Ben Carter, owed Uncle Sal. So far, the enforcers had been busy going after other clients, and Ben had escaped their attention. It was only a matter of time until they met with Ben, but in the meantime, Joey had seized the opportunity to prove himself to his uncle. He’d been dying to show that he could be an important part of the family business, and collecting on this debt would be a great way to start.
It was supposed to be a simple job. He’d go in, get the money and leave a message so Ben would realize what had happened. But everything had gone to hell, and now he was stuck here, trying to figure out how he was going to explain the situation to his uncle.
Maybe he could play dumb, he mused. Act like he didn’t know Ben was the owner of the store and that he’d done it for money. But no, Uncle Sal would be angry that Joey hadn’t come to him for help first. And he couldn’t pretend he was high. Sal would kill him if he thought there were drugs involved.
His best bet was to hope they threw him in jail long enough for his uncle to forget about him. Sal had a memory like an elephant, but out of sight, out of mind, right?
The jingle of keys interrupted his thoughts. “You got a visitor.”
Joey stood, certain he had misunderstood. “What?” No one knew he was in here, so who on earth would be trying to visit him?
“You heard me.” The cop sounded bored. “Approach the door, then turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Joey did as he was told, wincing as the movement pulled the stitches in his shoulder. Cold metal circled his wrists, and he heard the click of the handcuffs locking into place. Then the guard opened the door and gestured him out.
His thoughts whirled as the man led him down a long hallway. Who was waiting for him? Not his mother—she’d been gone for years, off to who knew where. And his brother was in the army, trying to make a life for himself. His friends didn’t know he was here, and he definitely hadn’t called Uncle Sal. Maybe this was some kind of mistake?
They stopped in front of a white door, and the guard opened it and led him inside. He pushed Joey into a chair, then locked his cuffs to a ring on the table, effectively trapping him in place.
“Thank you, Officer. That will be all.”
Joey turned to find an older man standing in the far corner. He wore a dark suit with a crisp, white shirt and held a leather briefcase in his soft hand. He smelled like money, and Joey distrusted him on sight.
The guard frowned but stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. Moneybags moved to take the chair across from Joey, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat.
“Do you know who I am?”
Joey eyed him up and down, giving him the evil eye. Normally, that look was enough to make people uncomfortable, but this guy appeared immune to the implied threat. “No,” he said finally, injecting the word with as much contempt as he could muster.
“My name is Richard Beck. I am an attorney, and I am here to represent you.”
“Why?” Joey’s suspicion deepened. A sharp-dressed lawyer just happened to show up looking for him? No way. This was not a coincidence, and he wanted to know who was setting him up and why.
“It’s what my client asked me to do.” If he was bothered by Joey’s attitude, he didn’t show it.
“Who’s your client?”
“Your uncle.”
Joey felt the blood drain from his head, and his limbs went numb. Oh, God. He knew. I’m a dead man.
He willed himself to sit up straight, knowing that this lawyer would probably report his reactions to his uncle. And while Joey knew he was in deep, he still had his pride. He refused to give in to the urge to whimper like a child.
“How does Uncle Sal know I’m here?”
“He has his sources.”
Of course. Naturally, Uncle Sal had eyes and ears everywhere. Hell, he probably had some cops on the payroll, which would explain how he’d gotten the news so quickly.
“And he’s sent you to help me?” The thought gave Joey some measure of comfort. If Uncle Sal was truly angry, surely he would have left Joey in jail to rot rather than send some high-priced professional to bail him out. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all?
Richard eyed him thoughtfully. “In a manner of speaking.”
What was that supposed to