Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(27)
Author: Jen Frederick

I slump into one of the leather chairs as Malcolm picks up three packages and throws them on my lap.

“First thing,” he says.

Ordinarily I would jump up and leave, but this time I linger, running my finger along the edges of one of the envelopes. I need answers, and Malcolm might be a person who can provide them.

“How do you know Ian Kerr?” I finally ask.

The question takes him by surprise, and he looks over his shoulder as if expecting someone to swoop down and crush him. “Why?”

“He’s holding my mom hostage.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice is full of disbelief, as if I’m a silly child making up some silly story.

“I ran into him during a delivery the other day and—”

Malcolm interrupts me, “Wait.” He closes the door and then sits in the leather chair next to mine. “All right, go on.”

“He showed up when Mom and I were leaving for the zoo yesterday. Apparently someone even told him our apartment number.”

Malcolm isn’t ashamed of this at all but simply motions for me continue.

“This morning he sent a car over to bring us to NYPH. When Mom’s chemo was done, the car was there again. Only this time it doesn’t take us home. Instead, we go to that new Century development over on 8th and—”

“—Midtown Mini Mansions, yeah, I know,” he interrupts.

I roll my eyes. Malcolm knows everything. Always. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Whatever.” He motions for me to continue.

“Mom isn’t feeling well, and it’s not like I can pick her up and carry her off, so I put her to bed and then—”

“What’s it look like?”

“What’s what look like?”

“The view? The apartment?”

“Malcolm!” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Are you even listening to me? He has my mother. Now tell me what he wants from me.”

He sticks his knuckle in his ear. “I’m right next to you. Do you have to shout?”

“Yes!” I give a little scream and kick him in the leg. “Because you aren’t listening to me.”

Malcolm shoves me back, and I feel like we are adolescents again living in a tiny two bedroom apartment in Queens, not too far from his current place, arguing about who gets to play the next game of Sonic. It was usually Malcolm because he’s always been bigger and stronger and meaner than me.

“Hasn’t he told you?”

“No, if he had, would I be here, talking to you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. He contacted me asking me if I knew of someone who could handle a delicate situation. I sent him a couple of people and they didn’t fit whatever idea he had about he wanted. You were kind of a last ditch effort.”

“How much are you getting paid?”

He looks down at his shoes but not before I see the flash of greed in his eyes.

“How much?” I ask again.

“One hundred,” he mumbles.

“He’s paying you a hundred thousand dollars to find someone to fulfill his little job? There must be more.” Folding my arms, I glare at him. “Malcolm James Hedder, you tell me the truth.”

He slouches down in his chair until his head is resting on the back. Blowing a big stream of air out, he gives up the rest of it. “And I have to make sure you never tell.”

“We both know I won’t.” It still doesn’t all make sense. Why Malcolm? His specialty is small packages, as far as I know. Not people. “Your mom’s in that much trouble?”

Malcolm exhales heavily and shakes his head. “When is she not? Don’t you think we’d be better off without our moms sometimes?”

“Bite your tongue,” I cry. “I love my mom.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“It’s not.” She’s not a burden to me at all. “Besides, she’s going to get better.”

“I don’t know if it’s good for you to keep lying to yourself about that or not.”

Furious at the direction of the conversation, I spring from my chair, but Malcolm’s there before I’m able to wrench the door open. His hand presses the door back closed, and he murmurs into the top of my hair, “I’m sorry, Tiny. I need the money. I knew you’d be the right person for the job because you needed it too.”

“He’s got us by the short and curlies, then?” I rest my forehead against the door feeling drained and not a little frustrated. “You need the money to pay for some bad gambling debt that your mom racked up, and I need it to move to an apartment with an elevator.”

“Yeah, tell me the rest of it.” Malcolm leans against the door, and it’s clear that I’m not getting out until I give more detail. So I tell him everything. The zoo. Lunch at the Boathouse. The private room at NYPH. Everything except where Ian finger-fucked me twice. I leave that part out.

“I don’t know much about him,” Malcolm admits. “I’ve never done any work for him in the past. His kind only comes to me for one or two things and whatever his vices, currently I don’t have the goods to meet his demands.”

“Until now.”

“Right.” His face shows something darker than greed this time. I don’t really want to know either. Ian’s game with me is confusing because he can’t just want me. He must need something from me, but I’ve offered to do his job. Maybe he doesn’t trust me. Tonight I’ll try to convince him that no matter what it is that he wants done, I’ll never tell.

As we walk out, the three in the living room are engaged in some heavy petting. Malcolm’s eyes grow hooded. Time to go.

He helps me buckle my helmet and then chucks me under the chin. “Be as safe as you can.”

I head across the river toward Midtown, each revolution of the pedals getting heavier and heavier as I get closer to the Central Towers. Guilt bears down and so does insidious want. Would it be so terrible to stay in that posh apartment, I wonder. Until my mom gets better? It’s not like I’m so full of morality. After all, I’m nothing more than a drug mule for my second job. Can’t I suppress my pride to allow my mom to sleep on a bed with a view of Central Park and ride an elevator every day?

But at what cost? What does Ian want from me? The vague details provided by Malcolm don’t give me much peace of mind. And the man himself? He’s been infuriatingly closemouthed.