Golden Trail (30 page)

Layne and Colt hit the even smaller town
next to the ‘burg, a town right on the outskirts of Indy. It held a
Raceway and was a decent place, generally, but could get pretty
rough when the races were on. The ‘burg had J&J’s as its
hotspot, no other drinking establishments in town because every one
that sprung up failed due to people’s loyalty to J&J’s.
J&J’s wasn’t the only place to drink, there were restaurants
that had bars, but it was the only place people went to meet
friends, listen to the jukebox, play a game of pool and tie one
on.

This town wasn’t the same. They had tons of
bars, most of them rough due to their clientele being race groupies
or race hangers on. Layne swung into the one Colt informed him they
were going to and parked.

He switched off the ignition and turned to
Colt. “There a way we need to play this?”

Colt shook his head. “You don’t play Ryker.
He either likes you or he doesn’t. He likes you, he shares. He
doesn’t, we’ll know in about two seconds and then we’ll go have
lunch.”

Layne nodded and they both turned to their
doors.

The day was overcast with intermittent rain.
Even if there was sun, the light in the bar would be dim stating
openly to its customers that anything goes. You could fuck a race
groupie in the corner and not be noticed. You could also make a
drug sale or slide a blade into an enemy.

Colt led Layne to a corner table where a man
sat alone with his back to the wall and a bottle of beer in front
of him on the table. It was cold outside but the guy was wearing a
black tank top stretched across his bulky, ripped torso, jeans and
motorcycle boots and he wasn’t resting with his coat slung on his
chair. But he was lounging back in that chair, one of his long,
beefy legs straight in front of him, foot resting on its heel, the
other leg cocked with foot flat to the ground. He looked relaxed
but Layne knew he was alert to anything. He had two sleeves of
tattoos running up his arms, full on wrist to shoulder ink, both
sleeves slithering up his thick neck. He was bald, he was ugly and
it was easy to read he was not a guy you messed with.

“Ryker,” Colt greeted and didn’t hesitate
before he sat down at Ryker’s table.

“This guy a cop?” Ryker asked, his eyes
locked on Layne.

Layne took a seat at the same time he held
Ryker’s eyes.

“Nope,” Colt answered.

“Smells like a cop,” Ryker commented and,
even though Colt was a cop, he did this in a way that stated
plainly cops were not his favorite people.

“Used to be one, now he’s a PI,” Colt
replied.

Ryker’s eyebrows shot up and he kept his
eyes on Layne. “A dick?” That was meant to have two meanings and
Layne clenched his teeth.

“What he is, for the purposes of this meet,
is Gabrielle Layne’s ex-husband,” Colt told Ryker.

Ryker’s eyes cut to Colt. “Who the fuck is
that?”

“Stew Baranski’s woman,” Colt answered.

Ryker grinned, he knew who she was but he
still asked, “Fat bitch?”

“Ryker,” Colt said low.

“Dumb bitch.” Ryker refused to read the
warning.

Layne was done so he entered the
conversation.

“She and I have two boys, one of ‘em saw
Baranski hand off an envelope to Carlito at the house. Gabby tells
me Stew has troubles. You know anything about that?”

Ryker’s eyes sliced to Layne on the words
“two boys” and he waited a beat before he answered, “I know Carlito
is a fuckwad.”

“I know that too,” Layne returned.

“And I know Baranski is an assclown,” Ryker
went on.

“Yeah, you aren’t tellin’ me anything I
don’t know,” Layne informed him. “Not here to find out shit I know,
I’m here to find out what’s goin’ on because I’m not a big fan of
my boys witnessing Baranski makin’ a payment to a loan shark.”

Ryker grinned. “That wasn’t no payment.”

Layne didn’t like the sound of that.

“So what was it?” Layne asked.

“Wasn’t no payment,” Ryker answered.

Layne studied Ryker then looked at Colt.

“Ryker, you got somethin’, it’d help Layne
out,” Colt prompted and Ryker’s eyes went from Colt to Layne.

He examined Layne for a long time before he
asked, “Which one?”

“Come again?” Layne asked back.

“Which boy?”

Layne felt the muscles in his neck contract.
“Not sure that’s relevant, man.”

Ryker didn’t let it go. “The one that tagged
that sweet catch and, after, caught it from that dickhead coach who
should have his nuts in a vice or the one who can block like that
fat bitch pushed him out while he was wearin’ shoulder pads?”

Christ, this fuckin’ guy was a Bulldogs
fan.

“Jasper,” Layne knew at that moment it was
safe to say. “My older boy. The one who can block.”

“Got quick feet, hasn’t seen the ball in two
games,” Ryker noted. “You doin’ somethin’ about that?”

“All I can do,” Layne replied.

“And what’s that?” Ryker pushed.

“The School Board is investigating my
complaint,” Layne answered and when he did, Ryker threw back his
head and barked out his laughter, something Layne didn’t appreciate
all that much but he held his tongue.

When he was done, Ryker tipped his chin down
and leveled his eyes on Layne. “You give me the word, sport, I
might find it in me to convince the coach to let both your boys see
the ball. No marker to be paid, I’d give you that for free.”

Jesus.

“I like my way of doin’ it,” Layne told
him.

“Scouts not gonna get the full picture, your
older boy’s a senior, that motherfucker’ll fuck him up.”

“I still like my way of doin’ it,” Layne
repeated and it was far more firmly this time.

Ryker watched him awhile then he
shrugged.

Layne brought the matter back to hand,
saying, “How much is Baranski into Carlito for?”

“Nothin’,” Ryker answered immediately and
Layne’s brows drew together.

“Nothin’?” he reiterated.

“Nope, he
was
, dickhead’s shit at the
dogs, but he ain’t anymore.”

Layne felt Colt’s eyes on him and he turned
to meet his gaze.

Then Colt looked at Ryker. “You wanna fill
in that picture?”

Layne looked back at Ryker too and Ryker
leaned forward, putting a tattooed arm on the table.

“He got deep with Carlito, so deep he
couldn’t get out,” Ryker shared. “So, instead of Carlito takin’ it
out on Baranski the normal way, he put Baranski to work. Baranski
liked this work so now he’s doin’ it part-time.”

Then he leaned back and stopped talking but
Layne knew what he was saying and Layne knew why Gabby asked him to
take the boys for extra weeks, even though
she
probably
didn’t know why. Carlito was undoubtedly a frequent visitor and,
even if Gabby wasn’t full in the know, she’d read Carlito and
wouldn’t want the boys around that. And, lastly, Layne was
struggling against the urge to hunt down Stew Baranski and beat him
bloody.

He won his struggle and sought confirmation.
“Stew is Carlito’s enforcer?”

Ryker nodded once. “One of ‘em, yeah.”

There it was. Confirmation.

Fucking
shit.

“You are shittin’ me,” Layne whispered but
he knew Ryker wasn’t.

Ryker confirmed this too and grinned while
doing it. “Nope.”

Layne turned his head to Colt. “That
asshole’s livin’ with my boys.”

Layne was addressing Colt but Ryker
answered, “Yep,” and Layne’s eyes went back to him.

Then he told Ryker, “Done my homework,
Ryker, and Baranski hasn’t been payin’ bills and neither has my
ex.”

Ryker shrugged again. “Why would he? He’s
got a sweet ride. She’s fat and she’s nothin’ to look at but she
keeps him fed. Pays his bills,” he grinned again, “or maybe she
doesn’t but she tries. She’s good cover, all respectable, single
mom, two boys.” He tipped his head to Colt. “Means even the cops
don’t know about his leisure activities. Leaves him free to do his
job and gives him the opportunity he didn’t have before to use his
money and his take from Carlito to live his life as he wants to and
to keep his other piece sassy. Figure, he got hooked up with your
ex because no one else would suck his dick but lotta women will
suck your dick you got the money to pay ‘em to do it.”

“His other piece?” Colt asked.

“Yep,” Ryker answered.

“You know who that is?” Colt pressed.

“Don’t know her name but know she ain’t no
fat bitch, she don’t got no kids, she drives an ace ride that
Baranski bought her and also know she takes it up the ass because
everyone knows that’s the only way Baranski likes it.”

Layne swallowed the saliva this statement
brewed in his mouth, not needing
that
much information about
Gabby’s relationship with her fuckwad boyfriend.

Ryker was grinning at him and then he leaned
forward again and his grin disappeared.

“I’ll give you an extra bonus because your
boys can play ball,” he said. “Baranski won’t be cryin’ in his
cornflakes, your ex turns him out. But he’ll wring her dry before
he gets shot of her. She’s diggin’ a hole to keep him in her bed,
he won’t give one, single, shit he leaves her in that hole. You
want him outta her bed, wouldn’t take but a touch of pressure to
get him to go but that don’t mean he won’t leave her fucked up the
ass and I mean that in a different way. You want him gone, it’ll
take you about two fuckin’ seconds to make that happen. You want
him to pay, now that would be more fun
and
, since I’m
feelin’ generous, I could help you with that too.”

“How?” Layne bit out.

“I make it my business to know Carlito’s
business and I can give you the head’s up, he sends Baranski after
someone. You’re a dick, I bet you got cameras and, if you’re a good
one, I bet you can make yourself invisible. You take shots of him
leanin’ on someone, and he has a special flair with that, sport,
he’s Carlito’s top man, what you’ll catch him doin’ won’t be pretty
and that’s comin’ from a man who ain’t squeamish at the sight of
blood. You can use those shots to lean on
him.
You got
evidence, you shove it in his face, make the payoff somethin’
that’ll get your ex outta her hole and he’ll be gone.” He sat back
and clapped his hands. “Problems solved.” He smiled big and his
smile made him uglier. “You got a mind to do it, you could even do
some ass fuckin’ yourself, after he makes that payoff, your ex is
good, you hand over those shots to the pigs anyway. Baranski goes
down, only people would miss him are Carlito and his piece of ass
and, I’m just guessin’ here, but I bet neither of ‘em will take too
long to find replacements.”

Layne smiled at him.

Then he said, “I’ll give you my number.”

Dark and Wild

It was ten to six when Layne turned onto his
street and saw Rocky’s Mercedes parked, not in the drive, but at
the curb behind a white Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais circa 1987, Dev’s
ride.

She was early.

Layne was late.

He was late because he’d made the mistake of
calling his client who was dedicated to the belief her husband was
stepping out on her in an attempt to convince her that her husband
was
not
stepping out on her. This should have been a ten
minute conversation. It ended up being a forty-five minute
conversation during which she’d fired him and informed him that she
was hiring someone who would do the job properly. Layne wasn’t
broken up about this, mainly because she was coming the next day to
pay in cash.

He was also late because he stopped at the
liquor store. He meant to buy a bottle of red wine for Rocky but
ended up purchasing three and, because she hadn’t been of age when
they were together and he had no fucking clue what she drank
(outside red wine and fancy-ass beer, the latter of which he wasn’t
spending money on on principle), he bought bottles of vodka, rum,
gin, tequila as well as margarita mix and two-liters of diet cola
and tonic water.

When Layne pulled into his drive, the garage
door was up and the Charger was parked inside. Rocky and Dev
undoubtedly parked in the street because Layne was coming in and
Jasper had to go out to pick up Keira.

He pulled in, jumped down and Blondie jumped
down behind him. Layne opened the backdoor of the SUV and hefted
out the three carrier bags. He led the dog into the house and this
took effort because Blondie was crowding him in her excitement to
get to her boys, so much that they walked into the kitchen
together.

Blondie shot forward but Layne stopped
dead.

The vacuum was going and this was because
Jasper was pushing it around the rug in the living room. Tripp was
also in the living room, a dust rag in one hand, a can of furniture
polish in the other and he was working on the wood of the TV unit.
Rocky was still wearing her work getup, her back to him, standing
at an island that was cleared of mail, magazines, papers, used
coffee mugs, pop cans, beer bottles and other detritus. It now
appeared to be covered in vegetables and at the end was an enormous
bouquet of flowers. All the other counters had also been cleared as
well as wiped down. Devin was sitting on a stool opposite Raquel,
his fingers curled around a bottle of beer. When Layne walked in,
both Devin and Rocky were laughing.

“Hey Dad!” Tripp shouted, Jasper’s head
swung to him, Devin’s eyes went to him and Rocky turned toward him,
a knife in her hand. Blondie barked and attacked Jasper and the
vacuum.

“Have I entered a new dimension?” Layne
asked the room to which Jasper grinned as he gave Blondie a head
rub.

“Rocky says girls don’t like dirty houses,”
he shouted over the vacuum then Blondie lost interest in Jas and
attacked Tripp and Jasper grabbed the handle of the vacuum again
and started pushing it under the coffee table.