Page 28 of Brew
“Is that what you did?”
Her question is blunt and between the eyes, but I answer honestly. “Yes. I had to. After my ex, things were really, really bad. Then they got better. I never stopped believing that there was a better future for me and my daughter. When others shot me down, I refused to believe it. Sometimes in life you do have to fight for the things you want.”
“Ugh, tell me about it,” she sighs. “I feel like I’ve fought for fucking everything so far in this life, and I’m still bouncing on bupkis.”
I pat her arm. “It’ll get better. Short goals to begin with; finding a job. Then, a place to live. Then, put some money aside for a rainy day. Things will look up, but it might not happen overnight.”
“You’re really good at this,” she says, laying her head on her hands on the desk. “I can see how it looks; I just got out of jail, but in my defense, the jerk deserved it.”
Of that, I have absolutely no doubt. Then she goes on to tell me all about how it began, starting with her ex. In some ways, she’s a lot like me when I was her age. Vulnerable. She trusted people who swore to keep her safe, when they didn’t, she lashed out.
What I’d hate to see is this incredibly smart girl in more trouble than she can handle. Maybe it’ll be good for her being here; giving her a job to do might keep her out of trouble. From spending the morning with her, I can see she doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. She just feels very passionately. I can relate to that.
“And he’ll get what’s coming to him,” I assure her. “Now. Shall I show you where the leaflets are that we need to printout for the mail drop? The prospects are coming to collect them before lunch.”
“Sounds good,” she says. “Thanks, Erica.”
I blink, caught off guard. “For what?”
“For treating me like a human being and not someone you just stepped on out on the sidewalk.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, genuinely meaning it. “It’s rotten that anyone would treat anybody that way. You don’t deserve that.”
And we get to work, side by side, like we’ve known each other our whole lives.
CHAPTER
NINE
Brew
We didn’t get lucky in Shreveport, but when I got back to the city, Big Papa changed all that.
I often head over to the fighting ring he runs underground, placing a bet or two, and I’ve even joined in a couple of times. When we were working undercover a couple of years ago for the MC, me and Haze stepped up and joined the ranks. Like most things to do with violence, I enjoy it. Never lost a fight.
“Picked up one asshole today hittin’ on underage girls in Union Station, thought you might like to deal with him since he threw your name in the ring when we brought him in.”
“My name?” I blanch. “Who the fuck is he?”
“Gareth Brown. Ring any bells?”
I think for a second. “No.”
“Says he served with you.”
“What the fuck?” No guys I served with would try to pick up underage girls, nor would they come into my city using my name like that.
“The crew have been watchin’ him for a while. Somethin’ was off when he came and put his name in the ring for future fightsa few weeks back. He’s a good fighter, but I don’t trust him. He’s dirty as fuck. Was braggin’ one night about knowin’ the Nomad Brothers,” he says. “Now that I think about it, he was probably just shootin’ his mouth off. I guess he shot his mouth off one too many times.”
“Where is he now?”
“Still here.”
Finally, some good news.
“Keep him there,” I say.
Big Papa laughs without humor. “Piece of shit asshole thinks we’re fuckin’ friends. Funny how lowlifes just assume because I do what I do, I’m scum like them. Thought you might like to question him before my guys do. He claims he was watchin’ two other guys, won’t talk to me, says he wants to talk to you.”
