Page 40 of Simon Says… Fight (Kate Morgan Thrillers #11)

She took a look inside the van, but outside of parcels and a clean deck at the bottom, there really wasn’t a whole lot here to see.

When she got into his van, he popped his head around, looking worried.

“I’m just looking to see what’s behind the parcels,” she explained.

He shrugged. “More parcels, that’s what I do.”

“Right,” she agreed, as she hopped out and looked at the vehicle, then nodded, trying to maintain a casual tone. “You ever do any fighting?”

“Fighting?” he repeated, looking at her. He held up his hands, revealing damaged fingers. “Nope, God no. Ever since I got these so busted up in an ugly fight ten years ago, I avoid as much physical contact as I can. I’m not made for it.”

She just nodded as she looked at his fingers. “Are they painful?”

“Only when it rains,” he muttered, glaring down at his fingers. “But, for the most part, I’m good with it.”

“Got any family?” she asked casually.

He looked at her, his gaze narrowing. “You can’t really still be thinking I’ve been doing something wrong?”

“I don’t know what to think at the moment,” she admitted, keeping her tone cool. “But we obviously have a situation, and I feel the need to ask questions.”

He groaned. “Yeah, so, for family, I’ve got a brother, and he’s…” Oscar sighed. “He’s in a home. It’s one of the reasons I’ll probably never retire. He’ll always need some help.”

“What happened to him?”

“He used to be a boxer, and he got the shit kicked out of him. My brother was up against one of those fighters who was nice enough, but, when you get them in a ring, they take out their temper on you. Anyway, he took a real beating, and that ended up causing permanent brain damage,” he explained.

“So, he’s mostly a man-child when he’s having a good day and a vegetable when he’s not,” he shared, glaring at her.

“Not everybody has nice sweet lives, you know?”

“I do know,” she declared, “and I do understand. I’m not trying to make your life difficult, yet I have a job to do.”

And, with that, whatever defensiveness or stubbornness he’d had in him faded away, and he nodded.

“Look. Just ask your questions. I really don’t care.

The only thing I care about is making sure you don’t hold me up.

I can’t get off schedule. If I can’t get my parcels delivered on time, things can get ugly, and I can’t afford to work for free. ”

“Do you often offer your services for free?”

“Not on purpose, but, if I screw up somewhere along the line, then I don’t have a choice. I generally offer them a free pick-up, free delivery, or something,” he said, with a wave of his hand.

She nodded and he continued.

“You’ve got to keep your customers happy.

Otherwise they’ll go to the big companies.

They don’t treat the packages with any more kindness, but they can do it for less because of the volume.

They don’t pay their drivers that well either, otherwise I might have picked up a job with them myself.

Honestly, a couple midsize companies local to the area are always telling me that, anytime I want a job, I’ve got one. ”

“Why don’t you?”

“I really like the freedom of my own schedule,” he replied.

“Then, if I need to check on Oliver, or if I need to run errands or pick up something for me along my route, I can. It’s not as if I get a chance to do much of anything anyway, but still.

Here I am, talking about the joy of having your own business, but honest to God?

… It’s shit work, and it’s not really any easier than if I had a nine-to-five.

Matter of fact, it’s a whole lot worse since you’ve got all the accounting to do and the taxes, insurance, and other expenses that come around and hit you.

” With a morose expression, he looked at her.

“Can I go now? I really don’t want to be late for this next job. ”

“You can go,” she said, “and thank you for your time.”

And, with that, he hopped in his van and took off down the road.

Kate stood here for a long moment, long enough that Rodney nudged her.

“You good?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “Something very important was in all that.”

He raised an eyebrow, staring at her, then looked back down the road where Oscar had disappeared. “And what part of all that did you think was so important?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she said, still standing here, “but there was something—a nugget of gold in that conversation. I just need to sort it all out.”

“Let me know when you do,” Rodney said, shaking his head. “I sure didn’t hear it.”

“I did, but I’m just not sure what the important part was.”

Rodney snorted. “While you’re thinking about that, I suggest we follow up on the other things we have to follow up on. Then we can go from there.”

“Absolutely. Let’s also get Reese to double-check his brother, that he’s really in a home and that his condition is exactly what Oscar says it is.”

Rodney whistled. “Oh, now that would make sense.”

“It would,” she agreed, “and let’s see if Oscar has any other family members. We also need to go to the shop that works on his vehicle, and we need to double-check his house.”

“His house?” Rodney asked, frowning at her, as he was texting Reese.

“Yeah, because, if he keeps the van in the garage and doesn’t lock the van or the garage, who’s to say somebody isn’t taking his van out for a spin once he’s in for the night?”

Rodney nodded. “That could be way too possible. Unless he went out to the garage to check, he would never know. And probably the only thing he would maybe need his van for after work would be to visit his brother, wherever that is.”

She nodded.

“Unless his brother is at the one place downtown,” he noted, “and that would be in walking distance.”

“And that’s entirely possible. So, let’s get to the bottom of a few of these threads,” she said, “and then we’ll know a little more about whether Oscar’s telling the truth.”

“But you liked him, didn’t you?”

“I liked him, and I believe he’s telling the truth, but somewhere in that story of his is a nugget we need to mine somehow. I think if we do, it’ll pull apart this entire thing.”

“Sure,” he muttered, staring at her in confusion, “but you have failed to tell me what the nugget is.”

She turned to him and chuckled. “That’s because I haven’t figured it out yet.”

And, with that, she walked back to the car.

*

Simon tossed himself on his bed, trying to catch an early afternoon nap.

Kate might have had enough sleep, but he sure hadn’t.

As he closed his eyes for the umpteenth time, trying to get back to sleep, a voice whispered through this mind.

It was that same thready voice, one that he easily recognized by now.

“Dammit,” he muttered, until he realized what the voice was saying. It was faint, but it was definitely a thank you . He opened his eyes. “So, we found you then, Jay?”

Yes. And now I can rest .

It was a whisper, and indeed the voice was thready, and it was fading, as if coming from far, far away. “Are you leaving now?”

Yes, I don’t need to be here anymore .

“You didn’t need to be here this whole time either,” Simon pointed out. “We would have found you when I took down the warehouse.”

Maybe, but maybe you would have waited twenty years. I don’t have that time to wait.

Not understanding that, Simon decided to ask him about something else. “Do you know who did this to you?”

No, but…

After that, Simon heard Jay speaking, but his words were jumbled. Then suddenly it cleared up again.

Some people from back then that were… just not the people who you want to meet.

“I gathered that already,” Simon noted. “So, if you don’t have anything to offer in terms of information about who killed you, I can’t do anything about getting you some justice for what they did to you.”

They’re almost gone anyway. They’ll have to face judgment themselves . And, with that, Jay’s voice faded off into the distance.

No matter how much Simon tried to call out to him, Jay had gone quiet.

Simon was grateful, but Jay’s warning was a hell of a note to leave with Simon, one that wouldn’t help him get back to sleep.

With a whole lot more effort, he finally collapsed back into sleep, only to find himself in yet another empty warehouse.

Aware that he was dreaming, yet caught up in the lucidity of it, he walked around, trying to find the exit, so he could get back out of it.

It wasn’t the same warehouse he had just been in, but it was another one down there somewhere.

And with almost no ability to define what or where it was, he got more and more frustrated.

Just as he went to dive back out and to tell the dream to take a hike, he heard a man groaning. Swearing to himself, he turned to see two men in a boxing ring. It was an odd layout, but, somewhere in the background, another man was yelling, “Fight, damn it. Fight, you moron.”

Just as Simon understood what was going on, he turned and caught sight of the man’s face in the ring and swore, waking up. He reached for his phone and called Kate. “Where’s Rodney?” he asked, panic in his tone.

“Rodney, why? He’s here at the office, with me.”

“Oh, Christ,” Simon muttered.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Can you talk somewhat privately?”

“Yep, I’m getting up right now,” she said. “What’s the matter?”

He quickly explained about the dream.

“Rodney? Are you sure it was Rodney?”

“Yeah, it was Rodney,” Simon confirmed, “and this guy was just yelling at him to fight, and every time he wouldn’t, he got socked again.”

“Jesus, Simon,” she whispered, then walked over to the nearest interrogation room. “But that would be a complete change in MO because he’s not a businessman.”

“I know,” Simon agreed, frustration in his tone. “The only thing I can think of is that maybe he was seen, so maybe now he’s being targeted as the next victim. I don’t know how or when or what, but you’ll have to keep an eye on him. All I can tell you is what I saw.”