Page 22

ARSENI

H udson is already sitting at a table in the back when I get to the bar.

He’s in plain clothes today, which makes him look ten times closer to the friend I knew.

His blond hair is tousled, his baby blue T-shirt hugs his biceps.

He’s facing away from me, but when I approach the circular table for two, he looks up with his stupid grin that for some reason brings me instant comfort.

“Hey, man,” he says, slouched on the barstool while cupping a bottle of beer. “You still drink Coors?”

I eye the bottle in front of me as I sit down. Honestly? I’ve never given a shit about brands in my life. It all tastes like refreshing piss to me.

“Yeah, thanks.” I pick it up and take a pull for the sake of politeness, but after I set it down, I roll my neck and pull out my cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” he asks, as if cigarettes are only a teenage thing.

I pop one in my mouth and flick my lighter three times before it ignites over the tip of my cancer stick.

The nicotine does little to relax me, but it at least makes my bones stop itching.

I offer the pack as I exhale a cloud of smoke.

Holding up his hands, he shakes his head. “You look like shit.”

I toss the pack next to an ashtray in the center of the table. “Long day.”

Hudson checks his watch. “It’s mid-morning.”

My shoulders lift and fall. “So how the hell are you, Suds?”

His lips spread into a grin. A slow, knowing grin that reminds me how human I am. I swear I can lie to most in the Bratva, but Hudson sees right through me, even after all this time. That’s the power of history.

“You called me out here to ask how I am?”

I stare blankly as if I’m confused. Taking another drag, smoke collecting in my lungs allows me a few moments’ hesitation. I blow it out the side of my mouth then rest the burning cigarette in a groove of the ashtray. “You told me you wanted to get a beer, remember?”

“That’s what people are supposed to say when they run into old friends. I’m a cop now, Ars… You think I didn’t run your name as soon as I had a minute to kill?”

I don’t say anything. My heel taps against the metal leg of the stool as I think through my next words. Part of me just wants to spit out my questions and get this over with. The other part knows better. Hudson can read me because he knows me at my core. I know him just the same.

He looks around as if he thinks someone is eavesdropping, but the only people in here are us, a guy drinking at the bar, and the bartender busy staring at the forecast on a mounted TV. Hudson leans toward me. “What would your bosses think if they knew you were sitting with a cop?”

They’d think I should die. No questions asked. No chance to defend myself.

It’s telling that I’m here at all.

Again, I don’t respond. He knows I’m with the Bratva, but he isn’t stupid enough to believe I’d admit it. He managed to get a 17% in Algebra, but he’s got a graduate degree in street education.

“Whatever you want, it must be important.”

“It is.”

He lifts a hand, his eyebrows raising as if to tell me to get on with it. I flatten my palms on the table while leaning toward him.

“You know the old foster mom of mine we talked about the other day ... Margot Stevens?”

He nods.

“I read in the papers this morning that they found child pornography in her house.”

Hudson’s eyes gloss over a moment before lighting up. He jabs an excited finger at me. “Holy shit, right, that was her. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together. You know she’s on the run?”

“That’s what I read.”

Hudson looks around again. His voice is hushed when he speaks.

“Between you and me… What’s in the newspapers isn’t all she’s got a warrant out for.

There’s an eighteen-year-old rich kid who’s claiming they’ve been hooking up for years.

His parents put out a hundred-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who has information on her whereabouts. ”

I blink several times. “Who’s the kid?”

Hudson smiles. “Come on, man. You know I can’t tell you that.”

My head turns while I try to make sense of that, but I can’t. The guy stalking Margot would be my age by now. Unless she was lying.

But no, she wasn’t. No fucking way could she fake all that.

I shake my head. “Whatever information you have is bogus. Margot is innocent. Trust me, if she was a pedophile, I would know it.”

Hudson laughs. “Just because she didn’t wanna fuck you doesn’t mean she isn’t a predator, man… Although, that’s gotta sting.” He winks before taking another swig of his beer.

“I’m serious, Hudson… She’s being set up.”

He shrugs. “Okay, so? What do you care?”

What do I care?

Great question. Great fucking question.

“Are you really risking your life so you can tell me your old foster mommy wouldn’t let you smash; therefore, she couldn’t possibly be a pedo?”

“No… I’m risking it because I need a favor.”

He arches a brow.

“I need you to check Margot’s doorbell camera and the camera at her back porch for anybody entering her home over the last couple of days. Unless he came and left through a window, you should see a man our age who’s been stalking her for the last seven years. He planted the photos.”

“What?” Hudson smiles, but it’s stilted.

“I’d do it myself, but the place is being surveilled in case she comes back… Just tell the detective working the case you got a tip.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” He hitches his thumb. “We can go to the station now. They’re definitely gonna have some questions for you.”

I just stare at him until his eyes dim.

“Oh… Right,” he says like he’s just remembering why I can’t talk to cops. He ruffles his untidy hair and leans forward on his elbows. “Ars, is there something else you wanna tell me?”

“Like?”

“Like… Do you know where Margot Stevens is?”

I shake my head. “I got a no-reply email from her last night asking for my help. She thinks I’m the only person anyone might believe, given our history. And I believe her.”

Hudson’s lips twist while his eyes roam my face. I can tell he thinks I know where she is. I like the guy, but I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if the police started following me. It’s too bad there isn’t a cop's chance in heaven they could get a warrant to search Nikita’s house.

“Remember what I said about that hundred-thousand-dollar reward?” he hints.

“I don’t know where she is, Hudson.”

He stares at me another few moments before leaning back and lifting up his hands. “All right… I’ll give your tip to the detectives. Will we find prior evidence of this stalker ?” He says it like the word deserves quotes. “I’m assuming she’s filed reports on the guy?”

Turning my eyes to a ‘Welcome to Las Vegas’ street sign on the wall, I consider it. It doesn’t take long.

“No.”

She would’ve been too ashamed. If I had his name, this might be simpler, but I’m guessing it’s a little too late to insist on her giving it to me. It’s doubtful she’ll ever trust me again.

Her wounded voice enters my mind, making me flinch. She sounded more heartbroken than I’ve ever heard her when I left the basement. It was like I disappointed her. Like she expected more from me.

But it’s too late to be her hero. It’s too awkward to be her friend.

This is the best I can do.

“She went seven years of being stalked without ever making a report?” Hudson asks.

“She had her reasons.”

“Such as…” he twirls his hand, but I’m finished with the conversation.

He’s a good guy. I’ve always liked him, and if I’m honest, talking to him reminds me of all the things I don’t have in common with Luka.

It reminds me that there are people out there who get me, who’ve seen pain and have known what it’s like to fall to the slums.

And there are some, like Hudson and me, who were lucky enough to get a second chance at life. The world is cruel, but it’s kinder than I am. No one gets a second chance from me.

“Thanks, Suds,” I say, standing and throwing a couple of bills down. I pat his shoulder as I walk by and pull my hood up before walking out of the bar, hoping like hell my paranoid boss doesn’t have someone following me. He’d never understand this.

Hudson and I may be a lot alike, but we’re on opposite sides of the fence.