Page 38 of Brick

“Was he dead or alive?”

“I’m not sure.” Finally, the bluster disappeared.

“Brick?” Sucre asked quietly.

“Dead.”

Sucre moved his face so close to Tre’s, he could have kissed him. “Let me make sure I understand this. You killed somebody who owed me money. You didn’t get my cash. You didn’t even try. And what? You left his fucking body in the middle of a public place?”

Silence.

“Answer me, niño,” he breathed.

“Yes, sir.”

For the first time, Sucre turned his head to face Brick, but his hand stayed planted firmly at the base of Tre’s neck. “I assume you took care of this, Brick?”

“Of course.”

“Where is the body now?”

“In the bed of my truck, parked out back.” He dug out the two twenties he’d lifted off Bennie. “This was all the money he had on him.”

“Bring it to my office. Bring Tre too. Someone will take care of Bennie while we all…talk this through.”

He knew Tre would be getting a lesson from Sucre tonight, but he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to watch. He nodded at Sucre’s words and guided Tre to the back room. The kid eyed the bed but didn’t ask any questions.

Sucre joined them a minute later, loosening his tie as he came in the door. “You want to help me deliver this lesson, Brick?”

“No, sir. I don’t.” The very thought of it turned his stomach.

The boss lifted his eyebrow as he hung his jacket on the back of a chair. Brick almost never told him no, but the man had asked him what he wanted. He took a chance with the truth.

“All right, but if this lesson doesn’t take, I might need your considerable, ah, assets to help drive home the message next time. Now get out of here.”

Tre looked like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Brick dropped Bennie’s money on one of the chairs, then backed out the door.

“Drop your pants, boy,” Sucre purred. “This is going to hurt.”

***

Brick spent twenty minutes in the shower, trying to wash off the horrors of the day. It never worked, but he couldn’t stop trying. His skin turned red and raw from how hard he scrubbed, but nothing could erase the mental picture of what would happen to Tre tonight or the memories of what the kid did to Bennie.

He’d seen a lot of fucked-up shit in his life, and he’d learned to lock it all up in a box inside his head. The box didn’t usually leak until he was alone. Right now, it threatened to explode.

Wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants, he ambled to the fridge and grabbed a beer. The cold, crisp taste normally helped soothe him, but tonight, he didn’t think anything could distract him from the vile images crowding his mind.

Nothing, except Olivia.

He glanced at the clock on the microwave and shook his head at the display. Only nine o’clock. He would have guessed closer to midnight.

Early enough she was probably awake. She’d given him her number. He could call her.

But what could he say? Hey baby, I watched a guy get beat to death tonight. How was your day?

He shook his head and carried the cold glass bottle to his bed, where he propped himself up against the pillows on the headboard. His phone sat right there on the wobbly nightstand, a tempting distraction from the nasties assaulting his brain.

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