about the money! I’m worried about you going to prison!”
Tires squeal as Cassel turns into the driveway and slams on the brakes before jumping out and then setting eyes on me riding on the man who looks a whole less snorty since hearing about my cleanup crew.
Cassel walks toward us. “Well… you two weren’t answering your phones and I was going to tell you that there’s now a price on Jackson’s head for any and all takers, but… I see you guys have figured that out on your own.”
“Is there a fucking bad guy forum or something?” Jackson asks. “How the hell is this a thing? I thought it was just a thing in movies!”
“Word of mouth, mostly,” I say. “For example, Tucker would hear it from some source and then he’d reach out to his guys and send out the ones who wanted the job. It’s not a written thing. But it means shit’s about to get real exciting.”
“Ex… Exciting?” Jackson asks.
“Guns, fire—I’ll finally get to try out that rocket launcher!” I say with wide eyes. I look down at the man I’m pinning to the ground. “Would you sit right here and wait for me to get my rocket launcher?”
The man is way past snorting level at this point. “You’re fucking crazy,” he says.
But before I can do anything fun, here come the police and ambulance to ruin my day. I punch the man in the gut just because I don’t get to torture him and he tried to shoot Jackson.
“Leland?” Jackson asks, clearly noticing my love pat.
“Huh? What? Where? When?” I toss the man’s weapon away from me and keep him held down while my hands are in the air as they descend upon us.
Nineteen
Jackson
“How ‘not good’ is not good?” Henry asks as we hunker down in a room at the police department. Leland said that sounded like the safest spot for someone who has a price tag on their head.
Leland, Cassel, and I are sitting on one side of the table, and Mila—the child we are babysitting for a family “friend”—is in the corner coloring. She couldn’t care less what’s going on; she seems to be having the time of her life. Which is sad because it tells me fighting and chaos are norms for her.
“Like seventy-five thousand dollars not good. That’s a lot,” Leland says. “I know movies make it seem as if hitmen get half a mil a pop, but that’s nearly unheard of. This is a big deal.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because you’re worth a lot, which I could have told you,” Leland assures me. “Although, they’re a little stingy if they think you’re only worth seventy-five. I would have at least paid seventy-six for you.”
Cassel turns to Leland. “Didn’t Jackass Lucas give you like half his fortune?”
“He did. I’m super rich,” Leland says. Sometimes I wonder if Leland feels bad that Cassel got the short end of the stick when it came to them and Lucas. Lucas raised them both but because Leland was more ruthless, he liked him more and didn’t care if Cassel lived or died. Lucas faked his death after Leland shot him as a teen. In his will, Lucas left Leland a big chunk of his money. We later realized it was how he kept track of Leland because Leland had to wait until he was eighteen to access it, so the accountant was always in contact with Leland.
But I notice that he pays Cassel ridiculous sums of money for things. Not that Cassel doesn’t try hard and risk his life for some of this, he does, and he deserves it, but Leland’s not that giving with too many others.
Leland’s phone beeps and he looks down at it. “Tucker is here.”
“Tucker?” I ask in surprise.
“Yeah, I need to talk to him.”
“This is… your handler? The man who gives you jobs and you’re inviting him into the police department?” Henry seems reasonably confused by this.
Leland’s eyes get big. “It’s okay, Daddy, I’m not going to replace you,” he says as he gets up and gives him a big kiss on the side of the head before hurrying off.
“You’re Leland’s dad?” Mila asks with wide eyes.
Henry sighs. “No! Only believe one quarter of what Leland says.”
She ponders that for a moment. “How do I know which quarter? Do I guess? I’ll guess,” she decides.
“Tell me again where the child came from?” Henry asks.
I’ve been prepared for this question, but I still feel like my face gives something away. “A… family… friend’s daughter.”
“Yeah…