Gideon studied Preacher’s face. “What are your other plans?”
“Who are you, my goddamn mother? I got plans, okay?” Preacher made a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn the fuck around so I can finish.”
Gideon continued to study him, and Preacher rolled his eyes. “Dinner with some old friends. There, you happy, Mom?”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not,” Preacher said, but he wouldn’t look Gideon in the eye.
“Preacher, what -”
“Drop it, Gideon,” Preacher said.
Gideon turned back around. He hadn’t been a cop for all that long, but he’d already started to develop that tingling at the base of his skull that his partner, a twenty-five-year veteran named Maurice, referred to as ‘cop sense’.
The tingle was there now. So strong that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Preacher was lying to him. He didn’t know why Preacher was lying, but he had a bad fucking feeling about it.
* * *
“Tell me something.” Maurice glanced at him as he stopped at a red light.
“What’s that?” Gideon scanned the empty street around them. It was almost three in the morning and anyone out at this time of the night would be suspicious.
“How many ladies you get just because of those weird eyes of yours?”
Gideon laughed. “Knock it off, Maurice.”
“I’m serious. I’m fifty-two years old, and I’ve never met anyone with two different coloured eyes before. To tell you the truth, a guy with one blue eye and one green eye freaks me out a little, but I imagine the ladies go crazy for it. What’s it called again? The condition you have?”
“It’s called heterochromia and it’s not a condition. You make it sound like I have some sort of disease for God’s sake,” Gideon said with another laugh.
Maurice just shrugged. “The ladies like it though, don’t they?”
“Yeah,” Gideon admitted.
“Knew it. Ain’t none of the ladies ever take a second gander at my eyes. Guess that’s what happens when they’re shit brown in colour.” Maurice stepped on the gas when the light turned green.
“You starting to regret taking the extra shift?” Maurice turned left and cruised down the quiet and empty street.
“No.”
“You missed out on poker night.” Maurice scanned the street as he drove.
“Probably a good thing. The guys were getting tired of me taking their money,” Gideon said.
Maurice grunted out a laugh. “More like the ex-con taking their money.”
“The ex-con has a name.”
“What the hell kind of name is Preacher anyway?” Maurice said. “Sure as shit, he’s no fucking choir boy. I don’t care how good he’s been since he paroled out.”
Gideon frowned when Maurice pulled over and parked. “What are you doing?”
Maurice jerked his thumb to a car across the street. “Speak of the choir boy himself.”
Gideon squinted in the darkness. The car was parked well away from the puddle of light the streetlamp cast on the ground, but he still recognized Preacher. A man his size was hard not to recognize.
“What the fuck is he doing just sitting there?” Maurice said.
“I don’t know. I’ll find out.” Gideon opened the car door as Maurice settled back in the driver’s seat, already reaching for his phone. The sound of the Candy Crush music drifted out of Maurice’s phone and Gideon climbed out quickly, shutting the door to muffle the annoying music.
He crossed the street, tugging at his vest and turning his radio down. He stopped in front of the driver’s door. Preacher, his big hands gripping the steering wheel, stared grimly out the windshield. After a moment, Gideon rapped on the window. When Preacher didn’t respond, he rapped again. “Open up, Preacher.”
Preacher rolled down the window. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” Gideon said.
Preacher’s gaze dropped to his body cam.
“I haven’t activated it yet,” Gideon said. “Whose car is this?”
“A friend’s,” Preacher said. “Why are you working tonight?”
“I took an extra shift. What’s going on? I thought you were having dinner with old friends?”
Preacher just shrugged and looked out the windshield again. Gideon watched the bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. “Look at me, Preacher.”
“Just go, Gideon.” Preacher’s hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly, Gideon wasn’t sure how it hadn’t snapped.
“Preacher -”
“Leave, Gideon.”
Preacher’s voice was edged in bright panic. Gideon’s cop sense kicked in, that tingling at the base of his skull that made the world a little brighter and a little louder. He bent down, putting his face near Preacher’s. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
Preacher didn’t answer, but his gaze flicked to the right at the row of buildings before arrowing in on the road again. Gideon stared at the buildings. The street ran behind the back of a small strip mall. There wasn’t much in the mall, just a couple of higher-end women’s clothing shops, a Starbucks, a dentist office, and - Gideon’s stomach tightened - a jewelry store.
Preacher was parked on the street directly behind the jewelry store. Gideon gripped the window edge of the car and glanced behind him. He could see the glow of Maurice’s phone and see the vague shape of Maurice’s face as he played his Candy Crush game.
He faced Preacher again, pitching his voice low despite Maurice’s distraction and the emptiness of the street. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“If you’re my friend, you’ll get back in your car and fucking leave,” Preacher said.
“It’s because I’m your friend that I can’t leave,” Gideon said. “You working a job?”
Preacher’s jaw clenched so hard Gideon was surprised he didn’t hear molars cracking. “What if I am?”
“Don’t do this, Preacher. Not when you’re so close to being free.”
“I have to,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” Gideon said. “Your parole is done in two months. Don’t fuck that up.”
Preacher sucked in a breath. “I’m never gonna get a loan. If I want my own shop, I need money. This is how I get it.”
“This is not how you fucking get it,” Gideon said. “You think being a getaway driver for a bunch of two-bit thieves is gonna give you your dream? How’d that work out for you the last time you did this? Huh?”
Preacher didn’t reply, and Gideon reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Four years you were behind bars, man. Four goddamn years. You really want to go back to that place? Do you want to be that guy again?”
Preacher stared out the windshield, his shoulders as rigid as concrete.
“Drive away,” Gideon said.
“I can’t. I need the money.”
“Not like this.” Gideon glanced behind him again. Maurice was giving him an impatient look, and he raised his hand in a ‘one minute’ gesture. “I’ll help you get the money to open your own shop. I swear. We’ll find a way to make it work together. All you have to do is leave.”