“If you see or hear anything else out there…” Free let his words trail off, not needing to repeat why God told him to do this.
Did this mean that maybe he could be potentially recruited to the task force or something? But he wasn’t a detective. Not yet anyway. Mason didn’t have time to think about that too long. He had to get to work.
“Tell God I’ll do what I always do out there. I was only asking around about the Halucanax because it’s also my neighborhood, and I don’t want ’em taking over where I live just as much as you guys.” Mason shook his head. “But narcotics is not my division.”
“Your division is whatever God says it is,” Free said, dead serious.
Mason swallowed thickly, then nodded his head once.
Free tapped his tablet, and the array of monitors all lit up, displaying a montage of live videos of his and Clark’s beat. “Be careful tonight. I’ll be watching.”
How the hell did Free watch all of them? Mason would never know.
Jesse
Jesse was nursing his fourth cup of coffee at a small diner and ignoring the evil glances his waiter continued to throw in his direction. He’d been sitting there almost two hours, but it wasn’t like he was holding up the nonexistent wait at the door. It was easing past midnight, and besides him, there were only two other guys, maybe truckers, sitting at the counter. The older man—possibly the owner—had suspiciously eyed Jesse’s duffle bag and his leather coat from the moment he sat down.
Jesse needed to hold tight to the few bucks he had, but he didn’t want the man thinking he was about to run out on his meatloaf special. He placed a twenty and a five on the table in plain sight in hopes to buy himself a little more time. It was at least a ten percent tip. He was about to wave the man over when his cell phone rang, scaring the crap out of him.
He yanked it out of his pants pocket, noticing he only had ten percent left, and quickly swiped to answer the unknown call. “Hello.”
“Oh, thank god you’re alright!”
“Worm!” Jesse yelled, then snapped his mouth closed when his server spun in his direction. Jesse grabbed his bag and hurried out of the restaurant, walking in no direction as he fired off questions. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been stuck out here on the streets for twenty-four hours. I stink, I’m exhausted, I haven’t—”
“Jesse. Stop!”
“Where the hell are you, Felix?”
“I’m in jail, damnit!”
Jesse stopped so abruptly he tripped over his own feet, almost going down to the pavement. He dropped his bag and stumbled forward, just barely catching himself. “Shit!” He got the phone back to his ear. “Why are you in jail? When?”
“Look, I don’t have a lot of time, okay? I’m using someone else’s phone,” Worm said. “I was on my way to get you from the station when I made a quick stop around the corner.”
“Stop where?” Jesse moved toward a bench that looked like a public bus stop and dropped down, unsure he could stand and take the bad news.
“Let me finish,” Worm huffed. “I stopped to meet with a couple friends so I’d have some extra cash to help you out. And I got picked up by some narcs.”
“Narcs?”
“Yeah. The other guys took off… I didn’t. Well, I did, but I got caught and damn near decapitated by a detective in a bow tie.”
Jesse’s head was starting to pound. “Worm, I swear to hell.”
“I can’t really go into a lot of detail, okay? I don’t have that kind of time. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you yesterday, but they took my cell phone, and I couldn’t have contact with anyone. They allowed me one phone call, and I called my dad collect… but he didn’t answer,” Worm said sadly. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. But don’t worry, I’m gonna fix this and get out of here.”
“Worm, were you selling drugs?” Jesse fumed, not believing what he was hearing.
“Jesse,” Worm hissed. “I can’t talk right now.”
“Okay.” Jesse’s leg bounced repeatedly. “So now what the hell?”
“Where you been staying?”
“Where do you think? I been walking around like a damn lost runaway.” Jesse sighed. He wasn’t even going to add to his friend’s stress by telling him he was almost mugged. “Maybe I should just call Aunt Sonya and beg her forgiveness and go back—”
“No! No, please don’t, Jess. I’m so fucking sorry, but I can fix this. I swear. I was able to get you on my approved visitation list.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means just stay in a hotel for tonight and—”
“I have less than fifty bucks.” Jesse rolled his eyes, though a steaming hot shower and a warm bed would sure do him good. He heard a deep voice in the background speaking before Worm came back on the line.
“Jess. I have to go now. Come to the county jail on Peachtree at eight in the morning—that’s when visiting hours start—and I can talk to you then. I have a plan. I’m going to get out of here and help you just like I promised I would.”
Jesse hated how vulnerable he was beginning to feel. He wasn’t an idiot. People didn’t get to just walk out of jail. “And how are you going to manage that?”
“I don’t want to, but I think I’m gonna have to make a deal with God.”
Jesse scoffed. “That’s your plan? To pray the crime away.”
“Man, I wish I was talking religion.” Worm sighed. “But I’m talking about the God.”
Jesse was silent. What the hell?
“Just be here in the morning. And get off the streets tonight—it’s not safe for a sweet guy like you,” Worm said right before the line disconnected.
Jesse quickly powered down his phone to save the few minutes he had left and sat on the bench with his head down. He was contemplating if he wanted to save his money in case Worm’s plan—that was nothing more than a riddle—fell through and he had to somehow get back to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, on a few dollars and hope.
“I don’t think there’s a bus coming anytime soon, fella,” a male voice grumbled a few feet away, startling him so badly Jesse nearly fell off the bench.
Jess hollered out, clutched his chest, then his bag that had lain forgotten at his feet. He hurried and picked it up in case he was going to need to run again.
“What you got in the bag?”
Jesse opened his mouth, but his “excuse me” was choked back as he got a good look at the man that was asking him questions. Jesse gaped at the police officer standing directly in front of him. Though it was dark, he was still able to see the man’s hard lines in his face and his uncanny Tom Selleck mustache.
“Um, nothing. Sorry. I was just leaving.” He stood and hefted his bag, but the officer put one hand close to his weapon and the other outstretched toward Jesse’s chest. He halted and opened his arms. “Whoa. Hey. There’s nothing in here.”
“You got nothing in a full duffle bag?” the officer asked nonchalantly. “Then do you mind if I take a look inside it?”
Jesse frowned, not saying anything. What was with this city and luggage? Why the hell did it feel as if he was being targeted? If the officer had a right to search his bag, he wouldn’t have asked. “No. I don’t see why that’s necessary. I was sitting here on a public bench doing nothing.”