Page 39 of The Smart Killer

“You seem to have a knack for this.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Is he treating you well?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, listen, it hasn’t gone unnoticed. We like to take care of our own here. Those who perform are given access to extra perks and additional cash. You need cash, Ethan?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Zeke chuckled, slinging his arm around him. “Good response.”

They went around the back of the bowling alley and cut through the trees to Gavin’s home. “Richy taken you here before?”

“A couple of times.”

“Well, you get to the top floor today, my friend. C’mon, follow me,” he said.

“I, uh, I’ve got to be home soon.”

“Oh, this won’t take long.”

Gavin’s home behind the bowling alley was alive with music, laughter, and muffled conversations. The space, once meant for storage, was now a sanctuary for those seeking escape — from troubled homes and everyday life pressures. Zeke stood amid it all, observing the scene with pride. He had created the haven forthese teens, where they felt a sense of belonging, even if it was built on deception and illicit activities.

As he moved through the crowd, Zeke’s eyes met those of a young girl, barely eighteen, her eyes glazed over from a mix of substances. He recognized the desperation in her eyes, like he had once felt. Lost. Confused. Uncertain about the future. Here, they could forget all that and zone out. In that moment, Zeke knew he was playing a dangerous game that could either elevate him to unimaginable heights or drag him down into the abyss of a jail sentence.

“Darla. Hey, I want you to meet someone,” he said, gesturing for her to join him. “This is Ethan. A good friend of mine. He needs a little company.”

“Oh, hey, I’m good. I…”

“Don’t be stupid. C’mon,” he said, leading him upstairs. The three of them glanced into a room for teens. A few were passed out on oversized bean bags. Zeke passed the room, entered a second, and told everyone to get out. They exited, and he pointed to the sofa. “Make yourself comfy. You want a drink?”

“Sure,” Ethan said.

He handed him a bottle. “I bet your old man doesn’t let you have that.”

Ethan shook his head and looked as if he was about to say something but became distracted as Darla sat beside him and placed a hand on his leg. Zeke smiled. Gavin was a damn genius. Most teens were naïve, kids just wanting to fit in and run with the crowd, and he had given that to them along with the one thing they craved the most — belonging.

Ethan took a swig and then spat it out. “That’s not beer.”

“No. It’s something better.”

“Hey, man, I don’t do drugs.”

“And yet you sell them.”

“No, I find people for Richy to sell them to.”

“Which incriminates you as much as him. Look. We like to ensure that our top sellers are familiar with the product. You might find yourself in situations where a buyer might become spooked. You know what would spook them?”

“What?”

“Finding out that your father is a cop.”

Zeke’s words hung in the air as he sipped on an actual beer, studying Ethan’s response.

“So? He doesn’t know if that’s what you’re asking.”