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TWENTY-FOUR
Fynn
Being from prominentfamilies in the area, our fathers have a lot of pull, and so, when Oakley and I pull up to the scene, the Fire Chief does not hesitate to talk to us. They have just finished going through the still-smoldering debris and are able to tell us their initial findings.
Even though there is still a lot to go through, the Chief is confident about one thing. The bottle used to set the fire is one that can only be found at a locally owned mom-and-pop shop here. The brownish-red tinted glass from the bottle holds chocolate-raspberry syrup for coffee and such. It's the first real lead we have received since this whole thing started.
As Oakley and I climb back into his Camaro after talking with the Fire Chief, our phones buzz. A message telling us that we are to have Little Saint move into the Frat House with us puts a huge smile on my face. I will love nothing more right now than to have our girl at our beck and call.
I glance over at my friend, and he's wearing a similar smile, “Little Saint is going to be pissed.”
Oakley shrugs, “She has no choice if she wants to survive this. It's apparent that this stalker is serious and plans on following through with their threats.”
I think about my friend's words, “It isn't just Saint that needs to be careful, Oak. They will turn to one of us if they feel they can't get to her. They are only targeting Saint because they think she's the easiest. We have to watch our backs, too.”
“Yeah, well, that's not going to work for me, so I suggest we get this piece of shit as soon as possible,” Oakley states as he revs the engine up. Putting the car in drive, my friend peels out and heads for the store that sells the specific bottle used in the arson.
Walking through theaisles, I sporadically knock shit off the shelves. I'm trying not to make too much of a mess, but the fucking owner is refusing to give us what we need. We’ve been here for twenty minutes, showing up just as they were closing the shop. We don't want to be the bad guys here, but we need this information; they are the only ones who can give it to us.
“My friend can do this until every item is on the floor, and you will have no choice but to replace everything,” Oakley says to the owner.
“Please, go through the right channels, and I will gladly give this information to the police...”
Oakley slams his hand on the counter, making the owner jump, “Do you not know who the fuck we are?” His tone has now changed to one of anger; forget playing the nice guy, “We are the current Lords of Sin! Our fathers are Harris and Morin...sound familiar?”
Before we go any further, let me just say that our fathers are not Mafia or some shit like that, but they do have this town by the balls just because of all the money they put into it and what they donate. They don't threaten anybody if it isn't necessary, and they only hurt the bad guys, but they will do what it takes to get shit done, and that's precisely what we are doing right now.
“I-I understand w-who you are,” the owner stutters.
“All we are asking for is a list of transactions of when this product was sold in the past six months and the camera footage. We don't want to hurt you, Mr. Tomlin, but we will if you refuse to work with us.”
“I-I'm sorry, but I can't...”
Next, Oakley slams the owner's head down to the counter, holding it there as he leans in, “I know you are not going to refuse us again, Mr. Tomlin, are you?”
I walk over after sweeping a whole shelf of cereal onto the floor, “The sooner you give us what we want, the sooner we can send some help to clean this shit up, and you can go home to your wife. Otherwise, I will start smashing the jars, and there will be no help with clean up.”
“Okay, okay, please...”
Oakley lets go of the guy's head, “Thank you. I truly appreciate it.”
