“That one,” Mason said, pointing to a less-maintained older white two-story house. “See that window up in the gable?”
“Above the second floor?”
“Yeah, that’s where we slept. It’s an attic. No fucking insulation. Hell, rarely a light. It was cold as a witch’s tit in the winter. We moved in during the autumn. Thankfully, we’d left before summer hit.”
“There weren’t enough rooms in the house?”
“No, there were. Maples’s room was on the first floor. We weren’t allowed in there. The second floor had three or four others. I don’t remember. He didn’t want us using the rooms. We slept in the attic like fucking mice, making beds out of discarded clothes and blankets. I’d cut his throat for that alone and sleep like a baby tonight.”
The other Sparrow vehicle parked behind us.
Compared to the other cars on the street, our newer models stood out like sore thumbs.
“Let’s do this,” I said, reaching for the handle.
“Just a minute.” Mason pulled out his phone and accessed an app we’d created. He could see the location of our men. We’d done as Sparrow said and secured backup. We had two Sparrows on foot in the alley behind the house and two others in another vehicle across the street.
Mason typed out a message.
“There, we’re all on the same page.” Mason turned to me. “I’m going to make him confess.”
“I won’t stop you.”
“Just go with it. I promise, it’s worked before.”
Considering his life as Kader, my agreement could be for a wide range of plans.
The car doors slammed as we both stepped from the cab. I walked around the front of the SUV and met Mason on the street. For only a moment, we both stared up at that third-floor window. Seeing it tugged at my chest.
My Lorna deserved a castle, not a fucking attic.
“I used to climb out of there to get us food,” Mason said.
Seeing the house caused the rage within me to simmer. Each consecutive bit of information added heat. The simmer was nearing the boiling point.
Together we stepped up onto the porch. A television playing some sort of talk show sounded from behind the closed door. Mason stepped forward to knock.
We waited as I tried to assess the sounds from within.
“He lives alone?”
“Never saw where he married,” Mason replied.
A woman not much older but more haggard than both of us came to the door. Her dirty oversized shirt hung from her thin frame. Her legs were covered with leggings with holes in the knees and runs. Despite the cool autumn morning, her feet were bare. On her hip was a baby in what my nose told me was a dirty diaper. I wasn’t a good judge of age; the kid was maybe nine or ten months. The woman’s gaze first came to me. Her lips made a straight line as she scanned me up and down.
That’s right. There’s a black man at your door, and if my fucking thoughts were confirmed, I’d bulldoze this dump—a little Forest Gump on you.
“What do you want?” she finally asked.
“I’m here for Gordon Maples,” Mason said.
Her eyes went to him.
With his scars and tattoos covered, he could be almost handsome.
“Why?”
“He won a million dollars.”
Without moving a muscle, I internally snickered. I’d never questioned Mason about his years as a mercenary, but I had a hard time imagining it was this easy. Then again, taking down an international terrorist wasn’t the same as gutting a child predator.
“Dad,” she called, yelling behind her. “Some men are here. You won something.”
She opened the door wider as the volume of the TV grew louder, and an elderly man hobbled our direction. Much like his daughter, his clothes were dirty and stained. I tried to look away from his pants.
Shit, had he wet himself?
“What?” he asked, his voice raised over the television as he came closer.
His yellowed teeth, raspy voice, and shaking hands were clues that he was a contributor to the lingering stench of tobacco and alcohol that seemed to permeate from the paneling and carpet.
“I didn’t enter no contest,” he said, steadying himself by holding the door.
Mason looked at his phone. “Are you Gordon Maples?” He then rattled off his birth date.
“Yeah, but—”
“Your name,” Mason interrupted, “was entered by a...” He paused, appearing thoughtful as he scrolled. “Oh, here it is. ...by a Nancy Pierce.”
The man’s gray eyes widened as he yelled, “Turn off that damned TV.” He turned back to us, his tone now skeptical. “When did she do that?”
“Sir, our contest never expires. I can’t see here when you were entered, but if you want to turn down your prize” —Mason reached for my arm— “we’ll leave.” My brother-in-law looked at me. “Tell them to rip up the check.”
“I’ll do—” I began.
“Wait.” Mr. Maples opened the door wider. “What did I win?”
“May we come in?” Mason asked.
Maples didn’t look at him, but his eyes were on me. “Both of you?”
“Yes, sir,” Mason answered. “It’s a condition of our company. We don’t want any unsubstantiated claims.”
Maples opened the door wider with a grunt.
The overpowering stench of the house hit my nose with more impact as we stepped through the threshold. As I looked around at the old paneling, the stairs headed up, and the worn furniture, it took every bit of self-control not to wrinkle my nose. Knowing Mason and Lorna had lived in this dump hurt my heart. My mother, grandmother, and I moved to a smaller home after my father died, but never had we lived in filth.
“We need to verify a few things,” Mason began. He nodded toward a dining room table. Or I believed that was what it was somewhere below the mess. The surface was piled high with stacks of papers, newspapers, magazines.
Hey dude, the world has gone paperless. Try it.
Maples led us that direction.
As Mason pulled out a chair, he continued the farce. “So you confirm that you, Gordon Maples, are familiar with Nancy Pierce?”
“Yeah, I knew her.”
“Knew her?” Mason asked as I cleared a chair and also sat.
“Yeah.” Maples’s eyes were on me as if I may steal a two-week-old newspaper. “Why is he here?”
“This is my associate,” Mason answered. “And he’s as invested in this visit as I am. Isn’t that right?”
Oh, the question was to me. “Or more so.”
“Now,” Mason looked back to Maples, “back to the entry. It’s invalid if you haven’t had contact with Ms. Pierce in the last sixty months.” Mason started to stand. “We’re sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
Maples stood. “No, wait. Yeah, I’ve seen her.”
“In the last sixty months.”
“Well....” He seemed puzzled at the time frame.
“Five years,” I volunteered.
“Yeah. She lived here.”
“In the last five years?” Mason confirmed.
“Off and on for fucking ever.”
“You supported her?”