Page 36 of Wicked Tricks

“A foster kid?” I asked.

Ren nodded, “yeah. Poor kid, her parents were murdered when she was six. Seems her father was involved in some mob dealings.”

“Who are these people?” There was a photo of a young couple.

“Her foster parents, she lived with them until fourteen.”

There was a newspaper article among the documents, with a headline about rising domestic violence and murder.

The victim was found hours later in the family home, after a neighbour had called the police to report a domestic disturbance. The couples’ foster daughter was found unharmed and was later taken in for questioning.

The suspect had fled on foot and was apprehended by police the next day.

“You think this was her?” I asked, holding the print out of the article.

He nodded, “I think so, she disappeared after this. There’s no further school records, other foster families, addresses - nothing.”

I kept scanning the documents, searching for something that could be of use to me. Frustrated, I closed the file and threw it across the table.

“We better get going,” I said, “get all this packed up and ready to go.”

“No worries, boss.”

He smirked as I grabbed the file again before exiting the room.

I headed straight for my office, and spent more time pouring over the limited information I had.

“Hello, son,” a voice startled me from the door.

“Uncle Gregory,” I stood, closing the file, “how are you?”

I crossed the room to shake his hand, and he gave me a stern smile. He didn’t answer me. Making his way to the couch, he sat down with a deep groan. Leaning toward the side table, he slid open the drawer - retrieving a cigar and a lighter. Lighting it, the room filled with smoke and he patted the empty seat on the couch next to him.

He had slick dark hair, with silver roots, and was dressed in a well tailored suit.

Gregory was my mother’s brother and Robert’s father.

He was also another Family elder who was disappointed by my new role, and who took any opportunity to tell me that I was doing things wrong. Even my father used to admit that Gregory had a massive chip on his shoulder, even though they were close friends.

It was plain to see where Robbie got his entitled attitude from.

Gregory was the same age as my father - and a loyal soldier throughout his life.

“Let me guess,” I sighed, sitting down, “Mum asked you to talk to me.”

He smiled, taking a long inhale before passing the cigar to me.

“You know she worries,” he said plainly.

I nodded. It was true.

“Yeah,” I said, inhaling a puff of smoke, “she never bothered Dad like this though.”

He sighed and looked toward the ceiling, “your father kept a much tighter reign, son.”

I looked away, bracing myself for the lecture.

“Tell me boy, what’s going on?”

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