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No. Travine and the DeLuca council's doing.
“Yes,” I lie and he nods.
When she unlocks the door to the padded room, Jackson plugs his nose. “Oh, hell.”
Hell indeed. Ford's huddled up in a corner, rocking himself in a pile of his own piss and shit. There's snot and drool covering his face and the life in his one eyeball has severely diminished.
The nurse points to the door. “I have to get back to my rounds.” She stuffs a folder in my hand. “Please don't tell them it was me.”
Jackson makes a face but I turn my attention to Ford.
Ford babbles some incoherent nonsense when we approach him and I can sense the uncertainty Jackson now feels as he looks around the padded room. “I don't know, Ricardo. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he doesn't deserve this...but there's something awfully unsatisfying about beating the shit out of someone who's currently sleeping in a pile of their own shit.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think he's suffering enough. Besides, he's so out of it, I don't even think he'd register the beating we came here to give him in the first place.”
And therein lies the monumental difference between Jackson and me.
Jackson has empathy and compassion for people, including those who don't deserve it—I have absolutely none.
Not unless it's someone I care about, and that's one hell of a short list with only a handful of people on it.
I lean over so I'm directly in front of Ford's face and clap my hands. “Hey, buddy. How's life been treating you?”
More drool drizzles out of his mouth and he grinds his teeth. Yeah, Ford's still in there somewhere.
“I heard you tried to kill yourself, special agent.” When his one eyeball co
He closes his eye and I pull out a needle.
Jackson looks at me. “What are you doing?”
“Poor Ford here wanted to kill himself.” I jab the needle into Ford's arm and push the plunger down. “I'm just helping our friend out.”
“Christ,” Jackson mutters. “You brought me here to help you commit murder? Did you miss the fact that I recently got out of jail for that shit?”
“That's not why I brought you here.” I hold up the needle. “It's just a sedative. The real fun will happen when his meds are out of his system and he wakes up and realizes he's chained up in my basement...which you won't be around for.”
He looks down at a passed out Ford. “You sure that's really what you want to do?”
I barely manage to hold back my grin. “Positive.”
Jackson grabs one of Ford's shoulders and I grab the other. That is until Jackson's fist goes sailing into his face and I hear something crunch.
“You sure that's really what you want to do?” I ask tauntingly.
“You can't be the only one who's allowed to have some fun.” He looks around. “Now how the hell do we get this smelly motherfucker out of here without anyone noticing?”
We walk out of the padded room and into the adjoining room. “Stay here, I'm go
When I return, we load him up and I head for the laundry room I noticed at the other end of the hallway.
“People will notice us taking a stretcher with what they presume to be a dead body out to my car,” I say when he gives me a look.
“But they won't notice us taking a laundry bin out to your car?”
I open the laundry room and grab an oversized bin. “They will, but it won't draw as much attention. They won't fully register what they saw until after we're long gone.” I stuff Ford inside. “Personally I would have preferred a garbage bin but Ford's too tall.”
“I gotta say, it's a little u
“All in a day's work.”
We start walking down the hall and I give the same nurse from earlier a warning look when we pass her on our way to the back exit.
“Should we tie him up?” Jackson questions when we reach my car.
“Why?”
“Gee, I don't know, maybe so he doesn't wake up in the middle of the car ride and lunge for you while you're driving?”
I press a button on my key and my trunk pops open. “No way in hell is that rancid, one eyed-Willy getting in my Mustang.”
He chuckles as we throw him in and I slam the trunk. “Yeah, I should have guessed that.”
When I pull up to the apartment complex to drop him off he turns in his seat and looks at me. “Travine—”
“Will be handled very soon.”
“If you can't do it for whatever reason.” He exhales sharply. “I'll find another way to get it done.”
A sense of uneasiness fills me and I look him in the eyes. “No you won't, Jackson. Don't be stupid, you have a girl and a kid on the way to think about. I've got this. Have some damn trust in me.”
“I trust you, Ricardo,” he says solemnly. “I just have this feeling in my gut that I can't shake lately. Like something bad's go
He rubs his face. “I hadn't heard from her that week and my conscience was nagging at me to call her or stop by. I kept telling myself I would, but I was too preoccupied with training for the fight...and the next time I saw her she was dead.”
He rubs his hands on his jeans. “I don't know why I'm having this feeling of déjà vu. Or why I can't seem to shake it, but I can't help but feel like I'm about to lose someone I love.” He looks up and swallows thickly. “It's keeping me up at night.”
I take a deep breath and force myself to look him in the eyes. “You're not losing anyone, Jackson. Just the opposite. You're nervous about becoming a father, it's perfectly normal for you to be anxious.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “But you're go
“No,” he says. “I'm the lucky one...I have Alyssa and my son.” He closes his eyes at the same time my heart squeezes. “Shit. I'm sorry—”
“Don't apologize for being happy and don't apologize for being a good person, Jackson.” I rub the back of my neck. “We need more men like you in the world and I'm glad you're going to raise one.”
“The world could do with a few more men like you too, you know,” he says and I snort.
“Yeah, I don't think so.” I turn the key in the ignition. “I better head back before Ford ends up dying from heat exhaustion instead of a bullet to the head.”
When he steps out of the car I say, “I don't want you to worry yourself about the Travine thing anymore. I'm handling it.”
After instructing my men to take Ford out of my trunk and chain him up in my basement, I head inside.
And run right into Lou-Lou.
I try to side-step her but she's relentless. “You owe me a conversation,” she says, the ice thick in her tone.
I place my hands on her shoulders, move her out of the way, and continue walking.
I was serious regarding what I told her the last time we spoke. It also hurts too damn much every time I'm around her.
But worse than that? It makes me have that one moment of doubt that I can't afford to have anymore.
I've made my decision, this is the only way.
I hear the sound of something breaking and shattering behind me, most likely a vase. “That's getting really old.”
“So is you ignoring me.”
“I'm not ignoring you. I just don't have anything to say to you.”
She starts walking beside me. “That's fine with me, because I have plenty of things to say to you.”