Page 84 of Malice and Surrender
“If only I could go back in time,” Roach mumbled, but he didn’t know how true that statement was. There were a shit ton of things in my life that I would’ve done differently if I could go back. “So what do you want to do? It doesn’t look like this shithole is planning on opening up.”
“Well, the car registered to his name is around back, so he’s got to be in there,” I said.
“You do know this is the Mamba’s territory? If they think we are down here working, they won’t be too happy,” Roach said, his eyes following every car that drove past.
“It’s not for work. This is personal.”
“Yes, I’m sure that will look wonderful etched into our tombstones.” He shook his head. “Might as well pay the guy a visit.”
Roach hopped out, and I followed. I hadn’t planned on this stakeout becoming any more than a watch-and-learn, but Roach was right. The fastest way to get what I wanted was to kick some doors down.
We casually walked across the road and stepped into the shade of the alley. It felt like the temp dropped ten degrees, not that it helped the wet and sticky feel from the humidity.
Roach was already pulling his lock-picking kit from his pocket as we rounded the backside of the building.
“Not exactly the Ritz,” Roach said as something furry scurried into the large pile of garbage.
It could’ve been a cat, rat or maybe a possum, but whatever it was, it was butt-ass ugly and moved fast. This entire neighborhood was one of those that should be burned to the ground so a developer could start over. I was sure that Derek would do it if Chase asked. The reality was the people that lived down here were exactly like my parents had been. School dropouts with too much time and too little skill. They were the product of the generation before them and the one before that. That mentality was learned. It was passed on like a hereditary disease that spread with each newborn. There were always exceptions to the rule, like I’d been or tried to be.
I didn’t want to live in a one-bedroom place, one cigarette away from burning down around you, if you weren’t shot by a stray bullet coming through your window first. I hadn’t wanted to live in a spot like this where I worried about my girl traveling at night, and you had roaches for neighbors.
My brow furrowed, and I glanced at my friend picking the lock. Okay, I still had a roach, but still.
I became what my parents had brought me up to be. A prison rat who ended up bringing home the biggest fucking roach of them all.
The door clicked, and Roach pushed open the door. The smell of mold and stale cigarettes was the first to assault me. Stepping inside, Roach closed and re-locked the door. We stood there and stared at one another.
“Do you hear that?” He asked.
“Yeah, I do.” There was the soft sound of rhythmical thumping and groaning from above our heads. Someone was getting lucky. No wonder he was late opening the shop. I nodded toward a door at the far right-hand side of the small building. “That way.”
We walked through the tattoo parlor that had certainly seen brighter days. The leather chair was ripped to the point that it looked like a rat had tried to eat it, and only with the help of the magic silver tape was it not in pieces on the floor. Boards hung on the walls with pictures of people that had come in over the years sporting ink.
“Hold up a sec,” I whispered.
Stepping around a few boxes, I reached the front of the shop where once upon a time, I’d spotted the tattoo that was now on my hand. My eyes bounced from one image to the other until I found it. Yanking the old and now faded photograph from the board, I stared at the artwork, the anger beginning to rise. It was just a hand image, and I needed to know who it belonged to.
“Let’s go,” I snarled as I marched for the stairs. The headboard was banging so loud that it masked the sound of our boots on the rickety wooden stairs. I thought my place was bad, but this place was falling apart at the seams. There were a few closed doors, but there was only one that was slightly open and sounded like a porno was being filmed.
Was it sick of me to like that I was catching this guy with his pants down physically and figuratively speaking? Maybe, but I didn’t give a fuck. Pulling my gun, I lifted my foot and kicked the door. There was enough force that when it smashed open, the handle stuck into the shitty drywall.
A woman’s scream echoed in the practically empty room as the man of the hour unceremoniously pulled the sheet up to his own chin, leaving her exposed. So much for chivalry, I guess.
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” I growled as Nick cowered. My eyes fixed on the woman’s face, and low and behold, there was Mrs. Collins. In a blink, I was transported back in time, and my stomach rolled a little, thinking about my time between her legs.
“Long time no see, Irene. Seems your habits of fucking around on your husband haven’t changed.”
“Get the fuck out of my place, man,” Nick yelled, sounding way too much like he’d just stepped out of the sixties and reefed one too many times. “I was kinda busy here.”
“I noticed. We’re not deaf,” I drawled. “The difference is, I don’t give a fuck.”
“Kai, is that you?” Irene asked, her eyes blinking quickly. What the fuck was up with that? Was she trying to wish me away?
“No, it’s Santa Claus, and he’s the Easter Bunny,” I nodded toward Roach.
Nick’s face paled a little, and I could tell the lightbulb had just switched on in his brain. He stupidly reached for his cell phone, and I pointed my gun at him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have amazing aim, and I will blow your cock off.” Nick’s hand froze, and then he slowly pulled it back. “Smart choice.”
