Turn On A Dime - Kade's Turn (22 page)

The kid grinned, his teeth very white in his face. “Man, you flash that kinda cash ‘round here, you won’t make it an hour.”

Kade took a step closer to the kid. “I grew up on these streets, so I know all about the home boys coming up behind me. They’re about fifteen feet back now, right? So if you don’t warn them off, I’m going to do it the hard way.” Moving aside his jacket, he let the kid get an eyeful of the metal at his side. He watched the kid’s throat move as he swallowed, then the kid flicked a hand in a wave-off gesture.

Glancing in the side rearview mirror of the Mercedes, Kade saw that the two teens who’d been creeping up behind him hesitate, stopping in their tracks. The lookout waved again, this time more urgently, and they backed off. Kade smiled.

“Good choice,” he said. “Make a bad choice, I’ll find you and make you wish I hadn’t. Do what I ask and you get a hundred bucks. Easy money. Understand?”

The kid gave a jerky nod. “Yeah, man, I got it.”

Kade had printed out the service photo of Bowers, sizing it to something he could slip in his pocket. Now he pulled it out and showed the kid. “Ever seen him before?” he asked. “Take a good look.”

The boy frowned, squinting as he studied the photo, then shook his head. “Nah, man. I ain’t seen him.”

One down, God knew how many left to go. Kade heaved an internal sigh. Too much to hope for that he’d get a hit on Bowers right away.

“Alright,” he said. “See you soon.”

At this hour, the streets hadn’t yet come fully awake, the residents still recovering from the deeds done the night before. Kade slipped inside a dingy bar that advertised three dollar beers and “fully naked girls.” The “girl” in question looked more mid-forties and wore a G-string, perhaps in concession to the fact that it wasn’t yet noon.

She danced on a stage, clinging to a pole, and swayed to the strains of George Strait. It was an odd pairing that made Kade pause, raise an eyebrow, then give a mental shrug before heading for the bar.

The man serving up drinks looked as tired and droopy as the dancing woman’s breasts and he cast a jaundiced eye Kade’s way before sidling over.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“A bottle of Bud and some information,” Kade replied, sliding a twenty across the bar.

The bartender grabbed a frosty brown bottle and popped the cap. He set it in front of Kade, eyeing the money. “You a cop?”

“Do I
look
like a cop?” The man didn’t reply. “I’m looking for someone.” Kade flashed the photo. “Seen him around?”

The guy didn’t even look at the picture. “Nope.”

Kade stared at him. The man didn’t bat an eye.

Picking up the bottle of beer, Kade drank it down. It was ice cold. When the last drop had been drained, he flipped the bottle, catching it by the neck, then smashed it against the bar. It took some skill, breaking a beer bottle. They’re tougher than they look and mostly just bounce right off whatever they’re hit against. But Kade had a lot of practice from a time in his life when weapons were whatever was handy and his life depended on his own creativity.

Reaching over, he fisted a handful of the bartender’s shirt and hauled him off his feet, pressing the jagged edges of the bottle to his throat.

“I ain’t a cop, so I won’t have any problem slicing you from ear to ear,” he snarled. “So maybe you wanna look again.”

The man’s rheumy eyes were wide, their bloodshot depths filled with fear. He gave a jerky nod. Kade let him go and he slid back down until his feet touched the floor. This time, he gave the photo a good, hard stare.

“I seen somebody kinda like him,” the bartender said. “But it’s been a few days.”

“How many is ‘a few?’”

“I seen him Tuesday night,” he said. “Yeah, Bev was workin’ that night. He came in, looked like he was waitin’ for somebody, but they never showed. He left after an hour maybe?”

Well, that was more than Kade’d had before. He gave the bartender a chilly smile. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

And so it went. From bars to strip joints to dealers on the street, Kade flashed Bowers’ photo all around the underside of Indy, but he got no more hits after that first one until early that evening.

He was sitting on a barstool in a place that looked like the health department hadn’t visited in at least a decade, sipping another beer from the bottle. At least with a bottle, he could be moderately certain the contents were what they were purported to be.

Kade had forgotten, or maybe just hadn’t wanted to remember, the feeling of despair and hopelessness that hung in the air of these kinds of places like a cloud of cigarette smoke. It covered him like an invisible film, filling his lungs as he breathed it in, sat like a thousand pound weight on his back.

This was where he belonged, where his future lay. It didn’t matter if Kathleen and Blane were over. How could he possibly hope for someone to overlook his past, especially someone as pure and innocent as Kathleen? If she knew some of the things he’d done, she’d be horrified. Revolted. She’d never look at him the same way again.

That’s what he couldn’t get out of his head. The kiss last night, the way she’d gazed up at him with those blue eyes so full of trust. How she’d cuddled in his arms—the arms of a killer—and asked him about his past.

She’d cried for him.

There were many things a woman like that would cry about, and Kade was the least deserving of her tears. He’d made his choices and he didn’t flinch from the consequences. If it hadn’t been for him quitting the FBI and sticking next to Blane like his shadow for the next six months, who knows what would have happened?

“So you’re just going to hang out here?” Blane asked. “Two weeks ago you quit the FBI, tell me you’re going ‘freelance,’ then move back into your old bedroom?”

Kade shrugged. “What can I say? I miss Mona’s cooking. How’d you sleep last night?” He’d heard Blane cry out in his sleep, then get up and pace the floor. It had been nearly four in the morning before the sounds had quieted.

Blane looked away. “Fine.” His abrupt reply fooled neither of them.

“You know, maybe you should talk to someone,” Kade said.

“I’m fine.”

The way he said that had Kade dropping the subject. “Hey, let’s go to the shooting range today,” he suggested instead.

Blane seemed to think about that for a moment. “All right,” he said at last, which was how the two of them found themselves alone at the shooting range at ten o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday.

Cautious and edgy at first, it took Blane a while to relax. Kade gave him a hard time like he always did, comparing his target to Blane’s and dishing shit.

“I think you’ve lost your touch, brother,” Kade teased. “I’m definitely the better shot.”

“Bullshit,” Blane retorted. “Fifty bucks, best of three.”

“You’re on.”

They loaded new targets and Kade saw a few other men come in to the range and set up not far from them. Blane did, too, but he didn’t say anything.

Things were going fine, he and Blane competing to see who could land the best round, until the other guys got to shooting. The range echoed with their shots. Kade barely noticed, until he saw the sweat beaded on Blane’s forehead and upper lip.

Concerned, he stopped shooting and set aside his weapon. Blane was reloading but he seemed to be having trouble. When Kade stepped closer, he saw why. Blane’s hands were shaking.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Kade shouted over the noise of the gunshots. The ear muffs made hearing difficult, so he touched Blane’s arm. Big mistake.

Blane reacted instantly, spinning around and shoving his elbow into Kade’s chest, then smashed the back of his fist into Kade’s nose. The blows took him by surprise and knocked the wind out of him, but Kade stayed on his feet. He grabbed Blane’s arm just as Blane raised his gun. Pushing Blane’s wrist back but stopping short of breaking it, Kade got close, shoving Blane into the confines of the shooting gallery cubicle until they were eye-to-eye. The gun was between them, the deadly muzzle pointed toward the ceiling and Blane’s finger on the trigger.

“It’s me, man,” Kade said urgently. “Take a breath. It’s me.” He kept as tight of a hold as he could on Blane’s wrist, the heavy bones and muscle straining against him. If he had to, he could stop Blane, but Kade would have to hurt him and he didn’t want to do that.

Blane’s eyes darted around before finally landing on Kade’s. Now that he was up close, Kade could feel the heat radiating off Blane. He was sweating, and it wasn’t even hot in here.

Kade waited, tense, but Blane’s gaze finally cleared and he relaxed. Gradually, Kade loosened his grip on him, then took the gun from Blane’s hand.

“Get me out of here.”

Kade barely heard Blane’s hoarse request, but he could read body language well enough. He didn’t even pause to collect their weapons, just tossed a “Grab our gear for us, Johnny, I’ll be back,” to the guy behind the counter on his way out the door with Blane. The other men had paused in their shooting and watched silently as they left.

Once in the car, Kade started the engine and turned on the air, then let it sit idling with the air conditioning running full blast. Blane had his elbows braced on his knees, his hands covering his face. He didn’t speak.

Flipping the mirror down on his visor, Kade looked at his reflection. Blood dripped from his nose and he felt carefully at the cartilage. Sore, but not broken. He’d like to keep it that way. It was a point of pride for him that, as many fights as he’d been in, he’d never had his nose broken. And it would totally suck if it happened to be his brother who finally did the honor.

“You okay?”

Kade glanced over at Blane, flipping the shade back up as he did so. He frowned. “Dude, I’m fine. I think you’re the one we should be worried about. It’s time we talk about it, like it or not.”

“If I talk about it, I have to relive it.”

Kade could relate to that. There were parts of his past he never wanted to talk about either, but then again, his past wasn’t encroaching on his present. Blane couldn’t say the same. So he was brutally honest.

“Next time, I may not be able to stop you,” he said. “Another second—any hesitation on my part in there—you would’ve dropped me. And while I realize that there’ve been times you’ve wanted to kill me, I’d always hoped you didn’t mean that literally.”

Blane was pale underneath his tan, his green gaze steady on Kade’s.

Kade reached in the seat pocket behind him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Blane, who took it, before shaking one out himself. Thumbing the lighter, he lit the cigarette, then tossed the lighter to Blane who did the same.

“I keep having this dream,” Blane said after a few minutes of silent puffing. “It’s you and me. We’re in some alley fighting off a couple of guys.”

Kade went still.

“One of them has a knife, goes after you. Next thing I know, he’d dead at my feet.”

Forcing himself to act normal, Kade took a drag of the cigarette. Blowing out the smoke, he said, “Well that sucks. Maybe you should watch some porn before you go to bed or something. You’d have better dreams.”

But Blane didn’t laugh and the silence between them grew thick. Kade took another drag, glancing out the tinted window.

“It’s not a dream, is it,” Blane said. “It happened. That night, two weeks ago, when we went out. I didn’t notice until the next day. My knuckles were bruised and there was blood on my clothes. Not my blood.”

Shit. Kade slipped on his sunglasses, still staring out the window as his mind raced, trying to figure out the best way to handle this.

“I told you we got in a fight,” Kade said, keeping his gaze averted.

“But you’re not telling me everything.”

Kade didn’t reply. Heat radiated off the asphalt of the parking lot, the midday sun cooking the blacktop. It was a stark contrast to the chill of the air inside the car.

“Tell me what I did,” Blane insisted. “Did I hurt someone and just can’t remember it? Kade—” He grabbed Kade’s arm, forcing Kade to look at him. “Did I kill that guy?”

Kade stared at his brother, at the man who’d given up so much, who’d saved him, taken him in with only the bond of blood between them. That bond had grown from blood into trust, loyalty, and brotherhood. He opened his mouth.

“You didn’t kill him. I did.” The words fell out of their own accord though once said, Kade was glad of it.

“What are you talking about?”

Kade shrugged. “Those jerks were waiting for us, ambushed us. The guy had a knife and slashed at me. I retaliated. You tried to stop me, but were too late. I hadn’t intended to kill him. It was just the heat of the moment kind of thing.”

Blane stared. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Why would I lie about this?” Kade asked, avoiding the question. Lying to Blane wasn’t something he enjoyed doing, but he’d much rather take the fall than his brother. If Blane knew he’d killed someone, he’d want to turn himself in to the cops. No way in hell that was going to happen, no matter what Kade had to do. Blane wasn’t going to spend the next twenty years of his life in a prison cell.

“So is that the real reason you quit the FBI?”

Kade shrugged again. “Kinda hard to enforce truth, justice, and the American way when you’ve slit someone’s throat in a back alley brawl. I may be a murderer, but I’m not a hypocrite.”

Blane winced at the word “murderer,” but Kade knew he wouldn’t turn him in, not his little brother. It was a ruthless move, to use Blane’s love and loyalty for Kade against him, but it was also necessary.