Page 18 of Tone Deaf
I call Dean and ask to borrow his jet, then call Tobias and tell him what’s going down. I should tell Pen, too, because keeping him in the dark is a shitty thing to do. But when it comes topersonal shit, he overthinks and over analyzes everything. Once I find out what Rick needs from me, then I’ll tell Pen what’s going on. And I’ll tell him about my past, too, when I get back.
While en route to Chicago, I get several text messages from Pen. The guilt is eating at me, especially when I replay the moment I barked at him to back off. I should have told him about my past right then so he’d understand that I have to go to Rick, but something stopped me.
Besides, with Callum’s attack and the assailant still free, Pen has enough to worry about. It wasn’t the right time to explain who I used to be. Or that’s the excuse I cling to.
Once I get off the plane at Midway Airport, I’m met by Jaeger, another one of Dean’s guys, who has a rental car waiting for me. I tap the address Rick texted me into the GPS, then head south on Route 50 toward Chicago Heights.
Jaeger warned me that Rick’s place is in a less-than-reputable area of the city and I need to be on guard. But I’m not worried. I pull up to a three-flat on South Peoria and park right out front of the three flat.
Before unfolding myself out of the rental, I pat my side, making sure my Beretta’s there.
Staring up at the third floor, I lock the car and proceed to climb the two flights of stairs until I’m standing in front of Rick’s door.
Glancing at the keycode mechanism on the door, I punch in the five numbers Rick texted me while I was driving here. With a soft snick, the lock opens and I push the door ajar.
I listen, but there’s no noise. “Rick,” I call out softly and open the door an inch wider. Still no noise.
When my ears catch a click, I withdraw my gun and use my foot to widen the gap of the door until I’m able to see a good portion of the living area and kitchenette—both trashed up with liquor bottles, beer cans and takeout containers.
“Rick, it’s Dom,” I call out louder this time, still keeping most of my body in the hallway.
“Dominic?” A cracked voice sounds off from the other end of the apartment.
I push the door all the way open and see my old partner peeking around a doorway, with a gun in his hand aimed at me.
“It’s me,” I say, keeping my eyes on Rick and his unsteady hand. “Are you going to lower your gun or are we going to have a problem?”
Relief slides across his face as he lowers the gun. “It’s good to see you, man. Come in.” He scratches his fingernails through the top of his buzz cut as he shuffles his way to the gray sofa in the living area.
I slip my gun back in its holster by my ribs, then cautiously enter the apartment and close the door behind me. I take a real good look around the place and it’s a total pigsty. He doesn’t look so great, either. But I keep my opinion to myself. If the man has issues cleaning up his place and himself, it’s not up to me to tell him so.
“I’m here, Rick. Now what’s the SOS?” I ask, my attention back on my ex-partner, and taking in his disheveled state.
He nods, “Yeah. Get to the point, idiot,” he mutters to himself before focusing his bloodshot eyes on me. “Someone is after me,” he says as he grabs an open cigarette pack and snags one. He lights it with a shaky hand before planting himself on the sofa. He takes a large drag of the cigarette and blows smoke out.
“Explain,” I say, not bothering to sit since there’s so much shit piled on top of the only chair in the room and I wasnotjoining him on the dirty sofa.
“Last week, I was walking through the grocery store and I saw a guy following me. I didn’t think anything of it at the time until earlier today when I was coming back from gettingcigarettes and happened to look over to the other side of the street. It was the same guy, Dom—I swear it.”
“And?”
“I kept on walking, but the bastard crept up from behind and hit me in the back of the head and then took off.” Rick stands, smashes the cigarette into some dried up food still in a takeout box on the coffee table, then turns around and points to a lump large enough for me to see from where I’m standing. “By the time I got up from the ground the fucker was gone.”
“Did you call the cops?”
Rick spins back around and glares at me. “Have you seen my neighborhood? The cops rarely cruise around here. And no, they wouldn’t do a fucking thing. I’ll handle it myself.”
I narrow my gaze on him. He’s twitchy, like he’s coming down from a high. “Then why text me and have me come all this way? Jesus, Rick, did you drunk text me?”
“No—No. I…” He reaches for another cigarette. “I don’t think my attack was random.”
My body goes stiff at his words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean someone is out to hurt me—or worse, kill me. I know I’ve been out of the game for a while, but I know when I’m being watched.”
Out of all the things he could say, that’s the one that grabs me. Then I think of Callum… No way these two attacks are related.
Furthermore, the way Rick is acting… Suspect. He’s manic and tweaking from the lack of drugs in his system. I hate to think my old friend is battling a drug and alcohol problem, but the proof is all around the apartment. Crumpled up and blackened aluminum foil and empty beer cans and alcohol are strewn about the place.