Page 36 of Dirty
Wait.
There.
To my right, camouflaged in the bushes at the side of the sweeping driveway leading up to the hotel, I spotted Lafferty’s busted up brown leather shoes. The guy nearly shit himself I yanked back a thick branch of foliage, exposing him. “What the fuck man! Can’t a guy take a leak in peace around here?”
There was nothing of Sera in him. Rather, there was nothing of him in Sera. She must have had her mother’s eyes, and her mother’s chin, and her mother’s cheekbones. Sixsmith Lafferty’s face was little more than paper-thin skin wrapped around a gaunt skull. His eyes were brown, dull and cruel. The deep wrinkles that bracketed his mouth had nothing to do with laughter. They were the result of a permanent sneer the man seemed to have perfected and was sending in my direction this very second.
“Funny. I didn’t know you could piss and hit a crack pipe at the same time. You’re very multitalented,” I shot back.
Sixsmith had dropped his hands down when I’d pulled back the branch, but not quick enough. I’d seen the glass pipe held up at his lips, and the curl of acrid smoke escaping down his nostrils right now was pretty damning.
Sixsmith’s sneer deepened. “You a cop?”
“No.”
“Then it’s none of your fucking business, is it?” He turned his back on me, which was his first mistake. There was a vast anger inside me. A lake of it. No, more than a lake. There was aseaof anger inside me, and the only thing holding it back was the high dam wall I’d constructed in my mind. The dam was high, and it was thick, and it had held back my anger for years. The dam was weakening with every second I spent in Sixsmith Lafferty’s presence, though. Cracks were forming, deep and jagged, and I had no idea how long the wall was going to stand. Sixsmith put the glass pipe to his mouth, holding a lighter to the bulb at its end, then drew in a stream of pure white smoke.
He didn’t hear me approaching. And he didn’t make a peep when I drew back my fist and slammed it into the base of his skull as hard as I fucking could. Sixsmith’s neck made a sickening crunching sound, and the guy crumpled into the leaf litter like his legs had just been taken out from underneath him.That’s right, asshole. Knocked the fuck out.
He wasn’t dead. I could easily have killed him with a punch like that if I’d really wanted to. All it would have taken was a little more strength and a little determination. I didn’t want Sixsmith dead, though. Not yet, anyway. He wouldn’t even be paralyzed when he woke up from his momentary nap. He’d have a raging headache, but aside from that he’d be fine.
I didn’t have much time. There were people at all the windows, now dressed for the wedding in their finest suits and dresses. I’d be noticed if I dragged Sixsmith’s lifeless body across the gravel turning circle that fanned out in front of the hotel entrance. I was going to have to drag him through the trees, around the side of the building, and then around the multitude of cars that had been parked as close as possible to the building. From there, I should be safe to sit down with Sixsmith and have a little, friendly chat with him. It wouldn’t take long.
Dragging Sixsmith’s limp, unresponsive body to his car, parked in the furthest spot possible from the hotel, was no fun whatsoever. Sixsmith looked like he weighed a buck sixty, but his bones must have been made out of surgical steel or something. He was a dead weight. I wasn’t exactly careful with him as I lugged him toward my destination; he’d be black and blue in a couple of days, and it’d take a solid week for his headache to disappear.
Sixsmith didn’t wake up when I dumped him next to his Chevy. He didn’t wake up when I kicked him with the toe of my boot, either. It took a firm backhander across the face to rouse him, and when he did wake up, he peered up at me, brows banked together, confusion swamping him.
“What the…fuck? You fucking hit me?”
“Yeah, I fucking hit you. And if you don’t keep your tongue in your head, I’ll do it again, bitch.”
Sixsmith slowly closed his eyes, manic laughter bubbling out of him, growing louder and louder. “You’re a fucking dead man,” he wheezed. “I’m gonna fucking kill you. This is my daughter’s wedding. I was invited here, you little shit.”
“Amy didn’t invite you. Amy doesn’t want you here. Neither does Sera.”
Sixsmith stopped laughing at the mention of Sera’s name. His adopted a blank, void stare, laced with…desire? A chill ran down my spine. Itwasdesire. Not a sexual kind of attraction, but one of dominance. “Sera’s here, too?” he rasped out.
“You’re not going to see either of them. You’re going to get in your car and drive away. Right now.”
“Like hell I am. I drove five hours to be here for this thing. I have every fucking right to see my kids. Who are you to tell me to fuck off, huh?”
“I’m Sera’s guest.”
“Ha. Herguest? Not her usual type, I gotta say. She normally likes her guys a little…older.”
I dropped into a crouch in front of him, resting my elbows on my knees, lacing my fingers together. “Can I ask you something?” I said softly. Sixsmith just frowned. He must have been thrown by the change in my tone of voice. “Do youwantto die? Because I’m getting the feeling that you don’t care about your life very much.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sixsmith snapped.
“If you did value your life,” I continued, “then you’d take one look at my face and know better than to utter Sera’s name ever again. You wouldn’t even think about her. You sure as fuck wouldn’t make another derogatory remark about her choice in sexual partners, because I can guarantee you that will lead you to a very bad place. Do you understand me, asshole?”
God, how much would I have loved to smash his face into the concrete, until there was nothing left but mangled meat and shards of bone? The dam inside my head had crumbled a little further, and my wrath was spilling forth. There was nothing I could do about it now. It was too late to try and ignore it. I had to be strong, though. I had no other choice. If I lost myself and killed Sixsmith here, there would be no escaping the consequences. My name was on the hotel’s guest register. I’d given them a copy of my driver’s license for their records. The place was steeped in Southern charm, and bygone hospitality was still a very real concern here, but they weren’t operating in the dark ages. I’d noticed at least three cameras in the lobby, not to mention the two I’d spied in the hallway this morning on our way up to the room.
So they had my ID. They had me on camera. They knew what I looked like, and they had plenty of footage to evidence that I was here today. Therefore, today could not be the last day anyone saw Sixsmith Lafferty.
“Tell them to come out here and make me leave,” Sixsmith said breathlessly. “Tell them…if they come out here and tell me they don’t want me here, I’ll go.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. We’re not having a conversation here. I’m telling you that you need to leave. You’re going to hear me and oblige me, or you’re going to end up in a shitload of pain. Your call.”
