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The desolate streets in this neighborhood have been left behind. As the city expanded in the opposite direction, this area became forgotten. Now neglected, transients and criminals use its buildings to hide their crimes away from society.
I had to park my car three blocks away just so I wouldn’t look out of place and even that area is sketchy.
Keeping to the shadows, I stalk the back alley with ease as I make my way to the address I pulled from our employee files.
Candice, who goes by Candi in our club, is listed as living half a block up. As if it was timed perfectly, a dark SUV pulls up to her curb just as I approach the derelict building.
I had no idea she lived like this.
To my knowledge, Candi doesn’t have any kids and she’s not married. The money she pulls in at the club should give her a better life than this, even as she settles the debt we paid off for her.
“What’s the job?” Tray steps onto the sidewalk, the guy with him stays by the vehicle.
“For now, hang back. You got the information and the picture I sent of the guy?” I ask, patting my jacket, just over the area where my gun is concealed to make sure it’s secure.
“Dale Myers?”
“Yes. If you see him. Take him. For now, sit tight. I’ll be right out.”
The door to the building opens on a broken hinge, the security lock, long destroyed. I take the steps two at a time to the second floor, careful not to touch anything I don’t need to. Conflicting scents hit me, making my stomach roll as the combination of pot, cheese and mold fills my nostrils.
I stop at the third door and knock.
I knock again.
Movement on the other side of the flimsy door is evident and I lean in, speaking loud enough that I know I’m heard.
“Candi, open the door. It’s Shane from the club.”
I give her five seconds before I resort to a threat through the door.
“I’m not leaving. You have five seconds before I kick in this door and if it comes to that, I better not find someone standing on the other side of it.”
I straighten my stance at the patter of frantic footsteps from the other side of the door. Metal scrapes against itself, the sound of flimsy locks being released.
“S-sorry—um—I thought you were someone else. What are you doing here?”
The expression on her face tells me she doesn’t need my answer to her question. She knows why I’m here, and is only asking in an attempt to hide her guilt.
I push my way in and shut the door behind me. She takes a few steps into the apartment and spins around, pulling clothes off the couch and making herself busy.
“You know why I’m here.”
I close the distance between us, my presence in the room behind her becomes awkward and I stay still until she turns to address me.
That’s when I notice her face.
“What happened?” I point to the black eye she’s tried to cover up with cheap foundation two shades too dark for her complexion.
“I—” She hovers her hand near her cheekbone but doesn’t touch her face. The bruise must be recent, it looks like it still hurts. “I didn’t want to—”
She abandons her explanation.
She knows there is no excuse for what she’s done.
“Dale do this to you?”
Hugging her arms around her midsection, she nods.
