Deeper (The Deeper Chronicles #1) (10 page)

“Do you know the reason you come to Gavin?”

The question wasn’t answered.

“Because
my
product is the purest on the market. Been that way for a while now.”

“Yup,” Ro chimed in from behind Deron.

“I take pride in my shit. All I ask is that I’m paid what’s owed. You get your product.” Noah pointed two fingers at Deron. “Your customers get to do what they do. And I get my motherfucking money.” He pointed at himself. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Hell no,” Ro said, making the man jump.

Gavin nodded. “Sounds about right to me.”

“Especially for top-shelf product,” Cass said.

“Listen. We can work this out.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the wetness there. “I’ll make a few calls and get you the money.” His gaze dropped to the concrete when a rat ran past his shoes toward the body. His eyelids closed when others began nibbling on his cohort.

“So you have my hundred and forty thousand?” Noah took measured steps around the table. “I’m to trust that you have my money?” He laughed at the nervous Deron whose sight was trained near his feet. “Do I have
sucker
written on my forehead?”

Cass, Ro, and Gavin chuckled when Deron’s gaze swung up to Noah’s head.

“Listen, Mister, um...whoever you are. I’ll get your money. I got kids, man. A family. A wife to look after.”

Another man would have been swayed by Deron’s silent plea, a request for mercy and understanding. But this was Noah Adams, and those weren’t words he allowed into his world. Noah sat on the table again and faced Deron, judging the words uttered by a desperate man. But desperate men would say and do anything. Noah knew all too well.

“Family man, you say?”

Deron’s nod was quick, ruffling his curly hair.

“A kid?”

Deron nodded again, licking his lips.

“Kids was what he said,” Cass reminded Noah.

“Yeah, kids. I mean, I have one, but my brother, may he rest in peace.” He made the sign of the cross. “I take care of his kids, too.”

“Ah. Men, we have a genuine Good Samaritan in our midst.” Noah smirked. “If you’re so upstanding, why’d you try to stiff me? I have mouths to feed, people to pay, but you didn’t bat an eye at handing over a heap of nothing to Gavin. You took my product, tripled it, sold it, and lived like a fat rat while trying to fuck me over.”

Ro moved away from Deron. “Idiot.”

“Here’s a few facts about me: I love pussy—good pussy.” Noah grinned while his friends chuckled. “I love food, again, only the best, and I’m a selfish son of a bitch. Nothing makes me see red more than when someone attempts to take what’s mine.”

“Assholes.” Ro spat the word at Deron’s feet.

“Thieves,” Cass called out.

“Useless pricks,” Gavin added.

Deron’s attention bounced around to each voice that surrounded him. He staggered back with his hands covering his ears.

Noah stood. “Do you know who I am?”

Deron took his hands down and shook his head.

“My name is Noah Adams.” He pulled out his baby, his Sig Pro, from the back of his waist. The light hit the weapon, illuminating its sheen. Noah’s lips tugged upward at the sight. Eyeing Deron, he continued, “I show up when someone touches my shit without my permission.”

Deron made a sign of protection.

Noah raised his gun.

Deron took a step backward, waving his hands. His lips trembled at the steady aim Noah’s hand conveyed.

“Any last words?”

“I-I...”

Noah squeezed the trigger. The pop sound rang loud in the hollow space. The bullet hit the man’s head and pushed him backward with a loud thud on the ground. “I love it when they stutter.” Returning his gun to its place, Noah said, “Fucking asshole liar.”

“Finally. Don’t drag that shit out next time. You’re lucky I have DVR.”

“Whatever, Ro.” Noah peeked at the time on his watch. “We’re out,” he said while walking away.

“Wait. You’re not gonna clean up your fucking mess?” Ro teased, kicking Deron’s leg.

Noah was already at the door. “Let’s go, Gavin.”

The two men exited the building, leaving Cass and Ro behind. Though the night air was saturated with suspense, Noah displayed no fear as his shoes clip-clopped toward his destination. Very much in control of himself and his emotions, despite what had just taken place, he was aware of the flickering street light ahead and the drunk staggering in the opposite direction. Gavin was more cautious, walking ahead of his boss and friend while using the shadows from the other buildings owned by Accipiere as a cover from possible inquisitive eyes.

A block from the warehouse, Gavin approached the parked indigo-hued car that sparkled in the darkness. He pulled out the lightweight, handheld bomb detector that was just inches taller than a pen and swept the vehicle.

“We’re good,” Gavin said when the device beeped. “Keys?”

Noah threw the spare set toward him, which he caught with expert precision. Gavin unlocked the door, sliding behind the wheel, then turned the engine over. Satisfied, he gave a thumbs up for Noah to enter the car. As soon as Gavin pushed the key into the ignition, cymbals, drums, and the start of a famous song came from the speakers.

“Touch my radio and you’ll eat a bullet.” Noah stretched out his long legs before leaning back and closing his eyes.

Gavin tsked at his friend, but pulled his hand from the knob he was just about to lower. “You’re so sensitive tonight.”

Noah swayed his head to the orchestra-style musicians backing the singer.

“Come on, man. I’m tired of Ol’ Blue Eyes,” Gavin said as one of his friend’s favorite songs about their hometown blared through the vehicle. “I swear you’re trapped in an old man’s body.”

Noah’s silence was the only response he planned on giving.

About thirty minutes later, Gavin parked across the street from a home they were well acquainted with.

“You want me to come inside?”

Noah exhaled. “Give me that phone.”

“Tell him he’ll get a new one in two weeks.” Gavin pushed a black phone toward him.

Taking it, Noah left the car. He eyed the slender stretch of road between him and the house. At this time of night, the resident should be fast asleep but Noah still took the path he’s taken since he was a boy nearing eighteen years old.

He stuck to the side of the house, passing Harry’s vehicle parked outside in his one-car garage, then walked up the short stairs. The motion sensor light came on, revealing the chipped paint on the vinyl siding. Noah made a mental note to get painters sent over. His key was in his right pocket, and just like old times, Noah fished it out, pushing it into the lock. He smiled when the key turned with ease. A quick look down the length of the house revealed no one peeking from behind curtains out at him.

Noah entered the side door. He inhaled the familiar scents of pine, take out, and Harry Manning. Heading to the refrigerator, he grinned at the contents: one pizza box, a half container of milk, and a few cans of beer.

Nothing’s changed.

He pushed the refrigerator door closed and was again shrouded in the darkness in the kitchenette. Turning around, he took a few steps toward the living room, curious if Harry was indeed in bed.

Creak.

Noah’s sight dropped to the hardwood floor.

“Don’t move.”

The voice was steady, and Noah was certain the gun in the man’s hand was just as steady. The overhead light flickered on. Their eyelids both fluttered, adjusting to the bright fluorescent glare.

“You’re going to shoot me?” Noah moved past him and walked farther into the small home he’d missed.

“Noah?” Harry paused, but recovered quickly. “Can’t be too careful these days,” he said before lowering his weapon. Trailing behind Noah, Harry sat in his favorite chair then placed the gun on the table in front of him.

Noah dropped himself onto the worn blue couch. The cushions fit around his body like his own skin.
Just like I never left.
He breathed in the scent and reveled in his one-time refuge. Here, Harry’s idealism and belief in the old Noah pushed away the hardened man Noah had become. He used to enjoy escaping into Harry’s dreams.

“So, you’re here.”

Harry’s abrupt words dragged his attention and focus to the older man. He was surrounded by newspaper clippings, folders on the floor, and a notepad with scribblings that sat on the corner of a smaller table to his left.

“I’m here,” Noah acknowledged. “Thought it’d be best.”

Harry scrutinized Noah as if trying to come up with an action plan. He nodded once before opening the closest folder to him, shoving an article at him. Noah glazed over words like ‘overdose’ and ‘danger’ with disinterest.

“Ever hear of a drug called Higher?” Harry asked once Noah’s gaze lifted to his.

Noah sat back in the couch, his stare fixed right over Harry’s shoulder.

At Noah’s blank features, Harry picked up a mid-sized brown paper bag and dug through it. “I’m about to show you something.” His aim was perfect, landing with a soft thwack on the table.

Noah raised a brow at the rectangle of waxy paper in front of him.

Harry thumbed the front, where a miniature Statue of Liberty was printed, and right before Noah’s eyes, a symbol that looked like an umbrella with two sticks appeared. “An informant came to me with this information.” At Noah’s folded arms and stiff shoulders, Harry continued, “I was told this one is super potent. Like the good shit, Noah, whatever the hell that means. But people are dying. All over the city, they’re dropping like flies when they shoot up.”

Noah blew out a breath as the other man fiddled with the envelope and made a lot of noise putting it back in the evidence bag.

“It’s got to be laced with something fatal.”

“Is this why I’m here? For conjectures, Harry?”
Fucking unbelievable.
“Remember two years ago when you washed your hands?” Noah stood up. “You said those words for a reason. Remember them.” He fished out the phone from his pocket, throwing it on the low table.

Harry looked down then imitated his stance. “You have to help me. Whoever they are, they’re bad people.”

Noah’s laugh was harsh. “I’m one of those bad people.”

Harry grimaced. Noah guessed the man didn’t like to be reminded of the truth.

Noah headed back the way he’d come.
This was a waste of time.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. When things were good between them, Harry used to always maintain a professional distance, never coming to Noah for information about or from his contacts. Their relationship was strictly about a friendship that spanned more than a decade. Harry was an officer of the law, and outside of the two times he’d willfully broken the law in Noah’s favor, they’d never crossed those lines again.

I guess shit has changed.

“You’re just going to leave?” He heard the censure in Harry’s tone. The man’s heavy feet patterned his on the wood floor. “You won’t do anything?”

“Anything like what, Harry? Why should I give two fucks what these mysterious people are doing to make their buck? Nobody is a saint in this thing,” Noah said with a hand on the door.

“But they’re using—”

Noah’s fingers gripped the gold knob.

Neither of them moved for a while.

With his back to the only person he considered the father he never knew, Noah’s shoulders sagged. “Harry...”

The floors groaned when Harry stepped away from Noah. “What happened to the boy I knew? What happened to the man who went to serve for his country overseas? I know you, Noah, and this isn’t you.”

Noah unlocked the door. “That’s where you’re wrong. You see what you want to. Always have. I told you when I came back who I was, who I am. This is me, Harry.” He sighed. “I’ll do some poking around.” He’d regret the decision. Noah could feel it already. “But once I do, I’m washing my hands.”

Repeating the same callous words that had been tossed at his ears two years ago didn’t bring Noah any vindication. Suddenly, he was tired and ready to leave the place he’d once called home for a brief time.

Noah stepped over the threshold without another glance.

Here he’d thought his old friend wanted back into his life.

“Noe,” Harry called out.

The September night’s temperature had significantly dropped. The wind howled in Noah’s ears. The man’s silhouette greeted him when he spun around. Harry held the door open.

“I told you then and I’m telling you now. I know you. I know your heart.”

Noah’s lips tightened.

When would Harry get it?

Who he’d become was in his blood, as part of him as the color of his eyes. Hell, if Afghanistan had taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t be anything else but the man who wasn’t fit to walk through Harry’s front door.

Noah expelled a breath. “Give the guys a call. They miss you.” Then he walked away.