Page 23 of Savage Temptation
His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second. Jagger kicks the legs of his chair.
“Talk!”
The boy shakes his head and sits back in the chair, his leg bouncing one hundred miles an hour. “Fine. What the fuck ever, alright? Look, I’m not proud of this, but I took something from Delmont’s office.”
The boy uses Oliver’s last name. I guess it takes the fear of the man down a notch.
The boy is the kind who talks with his hands and they are all over the place and wildly gesturing in front of him. “Let me just show you. Can I do that? Geez. You two.”
He goes for his back pocket and Jagger picks up his weapon, pointing it at the boy's head.
“Slow and easy,” Jagger practically hums in the calmest voice I’ve ever heard an armed man use, causing me to shiver.
We both look at him, but the boy is the one who freezes with his hand halfway to his back pocket. “Yeah. Alright. Damn, man.Yougotta take it easy. I’m just pulling out a piece of paper.”
His voice shakes as much as his hands do when he gives me the paper. I unfold it to find two, actually.
“What are these?”
I hold them up to catch most of the light from the bar at my back. “Hm. One has a list of times and locations and the names of clients.”
The boy juts his chin toward my left hand.
“That one is my delivery schedule. I pick up flowers, pop in a few baggies among the buds, and give them to the people on the list. Done. Then there are the random calls to the phone in my pocket. Like the college kids who ordered tonight. They only get my number if they ask the right question at the flower shops. They call and I’m wherever they are within thirty. Boom. Job done.”
Jagger scrubs a hand over his face. “Do you think this is a game?”
“And this one?” I hold up the piece of rumpled paper in my right hand, interrupting Jagger.
“I lifted that. Saw it stickin’ out of Delmont’s briefcase or whatever and thought he’d pay to get it back. An opportunity, ya know?”
Blood drains from my face. “An opportunity to die, sure. Because as soon as he has you in his sights, he’ll put a round between your eyes for those sticky fingers.”
I turn a wide-eyed look at Jagger who looks as stunned as I feel. But the boy only shrugs. I really do not think he understands the gravity of his actions.
I hold up my right hand. “What’s on this paper?” I demand.
“Port delivery dates, from what I can see. Yeah. Read it yourself, lady.”
“This is fucking unbelievable. You had a hand in killing those college kids and who knows how many more.”
That’s Jagger.
The boy shrugs, but doesn’t meet Jagger’s hard gaze. “Way I see it, they killed themselves by getting addicted. I’m here to earn money for my momma. Beginning and end of story.”
Jagger sent Bourbon home when we arrived. The fewer witnesses the better and all that, I guess. So if Jagger acts on the rage pulling at the corners of his eyes and lips, I’ll be on mop up duty.
Jagger takes the piece of paper from me. He walks over to the bar and reaches over, pulling something out. A shotgun? A shovel? I can’t really tell from all the shadows and weird angles of light. From the look on the boy’s face, he’s thinking the same thing I am.
But luckily for the boy, Jagger has other ideas.
He returns and slams the piece of paper down on the table and then tosses a pen on top.
“Write where I can find your mother and her phone number. There’s not a decent mother alive who wants their kid pushing dope to bring in the money. She’d rather live on the street than have that for her son. Believe me.”
He’s talking about his own past with his own mother. She worked three jobs and raised him on her own while never breaking the law. From the stories he told me, she made damnsure he walked the straight and narrow, too. How Jagger ended up as a Savage still baffles me.
“Wh…what for?”
