Page 12 of Fractured Fear

I keep my face blank. The little shit is always trying to get a reaction much like Rio does. He should know by now I’m not easy to rile up.

“Have you heard anything about Cain?”

He lets out a low whistle. “Still going for the big fish, huh? Mr. Hot Shot bagged himself a serial rapist and now thinks he has the balls to take on the head honchos?”

Still no reaction. I have perfected my poker face over the years. I had to at a young age. Reactions meant more pain, so I keep my face empty of emotion. Not even a blink.

Understanding that he’s waiting for payment, I give it in terms of a promise. “I’ll go pick up your mom and hold her for twenty-four hours.” Hank doesn’t fault his mom for her job, but he doesn’t like that she has to do it. Hank has always seen himself as her protector.

Once when Hank was seventeen, I had to pull him off of Fat Bruno, Alice’s pimp, after the dumbass backhanded Alice in front of Hank. Fat Bruno ended up with two black eyes, a fractured cheekbone, and some gnarly bruised ribs. I threw the kid a bone and shoved the pimp out the door and told him to forget it ever happened or I would bring him into the station and spread the word that he was a snitch. I knew Hank would be tried as an adult if charges were pressed. Thankfully, Fat Bruno left quietly, but he didn’t leave Alice alone. She was back out on the street the next night.

Like I said, survival of the fittest.

Plus, who calls themself Fat Bruno? The guy’s real name isn’t even Bruno. It’s Arthur.

Hank doesn’t bite at my first offer. He never does. You don’t survive the streets of New York without learning how to haggle.

I stick out my hand discreetly slipping a hundred into his. He nods then offers up his info. “All I know is he’s taking healthy women and kids.” His eyes wander to the left a little so I narrow my gaze. If the foster system taught me anything, it’s how to read someone. I had to if I wanted to avoid the wrath of Teresa and Michael.

“What else?”

The muscles in Hank’s neck strain. “That’s it, man.” He’s trying to hold out and be a tough guy, but he always caves. If he doesn’t give me information, then he won’t have me to help with his mom. So again, I wait. Some people will relent and all you have to do is wait them out, and I know Hank will give in. He needs me gone so he can see more customers.

Two minutes go by and Hank starts tapping his foot. I begin my countdown.

Three, two…

“I’m not sure if it’s true. Probably just a rumor.”

There he goes giving me just what I need. Good Hanky Boy.

I grunt, not giving anymore prompting than that to continue.

“Cain has some ink on his forearm. A skull with a snake coming out of its eyes surrounded by lilies.”

Giving him a quick nod, I turn on my heel without any parting words. I may have a soft spot for the kid, but that doesn't mean I’ll coddle him.

He’s tough. He doesn’t understand kindness. In Hank’s world, no one gives without expecting reciprocation.

I slide back into my car and eye Liam’s fingers drumming away rhythmically on the center console.

“So…what now?”

“We go arrest a prostitute.”

Liam rears back and stares at me like I have lost my mind. He’ll soon understand that I lost that over twenty-five years ago, along with my heart and soul in a two-story brick house in the suburbs of New Jersey.

CHAPTER 5

SPENCER

The rest of my day flies by uneventfully. Alma gets more plates done, Paul makes a set of teacups to match his teapot, Hayes adds more shape to his monster of a vase, and I teach the day camp how to make a coil pot. Still no progress on the pieces for my exhibit. I think if I bang my head against the wall, an idea will come to me.

I checked a few items off my to-do list. But, of course, there’s more to add by the end of the day. By that time I’m tempted to fall asleep on a work table, but I force myself to lock up before I tumble into bed.

When that damned five a.m. alarm goes off, I’m ready to question my choices. Do I really need to go to the gym today?

The unfortunate truth is yes.

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