12:06 p.m.

 

Day Two

 

Jo had known Archer Calhoun since he was fifteen. She'd been to his family home, had met his mother and step-father. She'd also met his grandmother, his two aunts, his one uncle, and six of his cousins.

She knew that as a young child he'd struggled with a minor case of dyslexia. She knew about the night terrors he'd dealt with up until the age of eleven. She even new about how his step-dad used to slap him around, before Archer got bigger than the guy. She knew his favorite color, the way he liked his steak cooked, and all about his secret obsession with pop music.

So how IN THE FUCK did she not know about his real father!?

As far as Jo had known, Archer didn't even know who is real father was – that's what he'd always told her. All their lives. His mother and father had split up before he'd been born, and he'd always been told his dad didn't care about him, didn't want him, didn't love him.

“How could you not tell me something this huge?” Jo asked again, staring at him from across the car. He shrugged and glanced to his left before making a turn.

“It's … complicated. I'll explain everything when we get there,” he replied.

It was pretty much the only answer he'd give her. They'd stopped at a gas station to grab some water, and when she'd come back outside, he'd insisted on driving. Once in the car, he'd immediately gotten on the freeway and headed south. After about half an hour, though, he'd hooked west, passing Santa Monica and heading onto Highway 1 – the scenic coastal highway. For a while there was nothing but ocean on their left, and national park on their right. It took over twenty minutes before she'd realized where they were heading.

Malibu. Archer's real dad lives in Malibu!?

“You're kinda freaking me out. Where are we going?” she asked as they cruised through the posh community.

“I told you, I'll -”

“Archer.”

He finally glanced at her.

“Jodi.”

“I have been thrown out two windows today,” she said in a slow voice. “Been shot at. Been chased. Been threatened. And it's barely noon. Please, please, just tell me what's going on.”

“Okay. Okay, we're basically here,” he sighed, and she sat up straight, glancing around. They were on Malibu Canyon Road and he turned onto a smaller, more residential road. They wound their way past intimidating gates, which were all locked in front of large properties. In the distance, she could see palatial homes.

“Your real dad lives here?” she said, her voice full of awe as they rolled to a stop at a dead end. The only way to continue forward would be through a scary iron gate that had spikes at the top of it.

“Yeah.”

He climbed out of the car and she hurried to get out of her side. She hesitated at her door, though, unsure of whether to grab her backpack or not. At home, she never left anything in her vehicle that might tempt someone to break in. But she highly doubted there were car thieves creeping around in the bushes, so she shut her door and moved to stand with him at the front of the vehicle.

“This ...” she tried to collect her thoughts. “Archer, this is not a normal home. What does your dad do for a living?”

“That's the thing. Jo, I ...” his voice trailed off, and somewhere in the distance she heard a buzzing noise. She peered through the gate, watching as something behind the hedges moved.

“Yeah?” she asked. He gently grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to face him.

“Before everything goes to shit,” he started talking fast. “I want you to know something.”

“Why? What's happening?” she asked, getting nervous again. He glanced at the gate.

“Everything I did, was because of you. Everything. Even if it seems fucked up – and it will – it was because of you. Because I wanted to be close to you but I knew I wasn't good enough for you, and I wanted to be better, but I just couldn't, and I had to keep you safe. From me, from them, from everybody. Jo, I've always -”

She was a little blown away by his rambling speech, and she held her breath, waiting for those words she'd been dying to hear. Words she felt like she kind of wanted to say, herself. His fingers were digging into her skin and he was staring at her so hard, she couldn't look anywhere else but into his gaze. His eyes were back to a mossy green and she felt herself getting lost in them. She swayed towards him, soaking in every sentence.

Before he could finish what he was saying, though, there was another buzzing sound. Much louder. She winced and turned her head, watching as the gate slowly creaked open. A vehicle drove towards them – it looked like a war-ready golf cart, decked out with big wheels and a roll bar and camouflage paint. It came to a stop maybe five feet away and the driver jumped out, a bounce in his step as he headed towards them. He wore a black suit with a crisp white shirt, the top couple buttons undone. An artfully messy red pocket square stood out against the dark material of his jacket, and when he finally reached them, he smiled a toothy grin that looked oddly familiar to Jo.

“Archer,” the man said, not bothering to remove his shiny sunglasses.

“Mal,” Archer nodded his head.

“Going to introduce me?” the guy called Mal asked, turning his smile to Jo.

“No.”

“Awww, you're no fun!”

“It's been a shitty weekend.”

“Really? That's too bad, Archie.”

“It is. I need to speak to him.”

“He saw you on the cameras, he sent me down to get you.”

“We can drive up on our own.”

“Seriously, little bro, you have to lighten up,” Mal laughed.

“Little brother?” Jo asked.

Mal smirked and removed his glasses, and she gasped. He was tall, but smaller in size than Archer, not quite as broad. Leaner. He had much darker hair and much fairer skin. They really didn't look alike at all – except for their identical hazel eyes.

Wow, it's just like looking into Archer's eyes.

“By five years,” Mal informed her. “And you must be the famous Jo. I've heard so much about you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she replied, glancing at Archer. He was busy glaring at his brother.

“Let's go,” he said, grabbing her arm and leading her to the tricked out golf cart.

Mal rambled on and on. He was pretentious and snide. Spoiled-rich-kid poured off him in waves. He seemed to love to hear himself talk, and was trying his hardest to embarrass Archer.

“On and on,” he was chuckling as they cruised up a long driveway. “Jo this, and Jo that. Jo, Jo, Jo!”

“Shut up,” Archer grumbled. Jo managed a small smile, staring at the backs of their heads.

“That's kind of sweet,” she said, poking him in the shoulder.

“Oh yeah, the girls love it,” Mal sighed. She stopped smiling.

“Girls?”

“Shut up, Mal,” Archer growled.

“I have a question,” Jo ventured, and she noticed as he stiffened up. “What do you do, Mal?”

“What do you mean, Jo?” he asked, chuckling.

“Like for a living. I assume you don't just live with your dad,” she laughed. She had no reason to dislike him, really, but it was clear he liked taking the piss out of Archer, and that got her hackles up. Only she was allowed to do that – no one else.

“A funny one! I love it. No, I don't 'just live' with Daddy. I can't believe Archie here hasn't told you, considering he's so -”

“We're here!” Archer shouted, jumping out of the cart before it came to a stop. Before Jo could even open her mouth, he was pulling her out behind him.

“He's in the games room,” Mal said, then peeled off without so much as a goodbye.

“That was bizarre,” she snorted, trying to keep her feet under her as Archer dragged her up some marble steps. “He's your brother?”

“Half brother,” Archer corrected her. “Same dad, different moms.”

“So he's not Mal Calhoun?”

“No, he's Malcolm Rodriguez. Calhoun is my step-dad's name. Mal was raised by my real father.”

“Malcolm, Mal,” she repeated his name softly, but she wasn't really paying attention. Archer was rushing her through an amazing home. A stained glass dome over the main entrance, a split staircase curving up the sides of the walls, gold inlaid everywhere. Such opulence.

And women. So many women, just wandering around. Bikinis everywhere. Jo knew she was good looking and had a good body – to work at her job, a person had to look a certain way – but the women surrounding her actually made her feel a little self conscious.

On top of that, they all seemed to know Archer. They called out greetings, leaned in to kiss his cheek. A few even tried to hug him. He shrugged away from them all, explaining that he was in a hurry, that he was only there to speak to Santana.

“Who's Santana?” Jo asked, struggling to keep up as they practically ran up a flight of stairs.

“My dad. Santana Rodriguez.”

He stopped her outside a huge pair of double doors. Laughter and giggling could be heard from the other side of them, and the sound of pool balls clacking and clinking together.

“Your dad's name is Santana?” she laughed.

“It's a nickname. Jo, I just … remember what I said outside, okay?” he asked, and he was staring at her again. She stopped laughing and nodded her head.

“Okay, Archer. I promise.”

“Remember, and trust me,” he added. She frowned.

“Okay, but you're making me nervous.”

“You're about to get a lot more nervous.”

He didn't give her a chance to respond, he just turned and opened both doors.

The way he'd been talking, she hadn't been sure what to expect, but the scene in the room looked pretty normal. Three more bikini clad women stood around a pool table which sat in front of a curved wall. Big windows behind it let in lots of sunlight, negating the need for any lamps or overhead lighting. Against one wall were shelves full of basketballs and tennis balls and volley balls and soccer balls – basically just a lot of balls. The opposite wall was bare, and painted on the hard wood floor in front of it was a shuffleboard.

An impressive space, for sure, but not enough to distract her from the only other man in the room. He was wearing a cream colored linen suit, no tie, and when he came out from around the table, she was surprised to see he also wore no shoes. His thick, long brown hair was brushing his collar, and a trim beard obscured the bottom half of his face.

Still, there was no mistaking who he was; Malcolm Rodriguez may have looked nothing like his younger brother, but Santana Rodriguez looked exactly like his younger son. It was uncanny. He was an older version of Archer. The tan skin, the generous smile, the broad shoulders. When he got close enough, she could see he also had the same gorgeous hazel eyes.

“My boy!” his dad laughed loudly. He even had the same laugh as Archer. “I was wondering where you've been all weekend.”

“It's been a rough one,” Archer sighed, then she felt his hand pressing against her lower back. “Dad, this is Jodi Morgan. Jo, this is my … dad.”

Jo automatically stuck out her hand, but Mr. Rodriguez ignored it and pulled her into a great big bear hug, picking her up off her feet. She grunted as the air was forced from her lungs, and she managed to turn her head to shoot a worried glance at Archer. He couldn't see her, though, because he grumbling and staring at his feet.

“Finally!” his dad laughed again as he set her back down. “I've been bugging this kid to introduce us for a while now.”

“Uh ...” Jo responded articulately.

“I know, I know, sounds a little weird. Archer here has mentioned you a time or two. Has shared some of your wilder adventures. Gotta say, I was annoyed at first, thinking some little flirt was stealing my son away right after I found him, but eventually I could tell it was the real deal,” he told her. She raised her eyebrows.

“Real deal?”

“Oh, he may not have said it yet, but Archer here is head over -”

“Dad,” Archer practically shouted. Everyone in the room turned to stare at him. “Sorry, it's just ... shit has been really crazy this weekend, and I have a lot to fill you in on. In private.”

“Geez, why didn't you say so? C'mon, my office. Jodi, feel free to stay here, or you can -”

“She goes where I go, I'm not leaving her alone in this house.”

Jo wasn't sure why, but she got the impression Santana Rodriguez wasn't someone who was often interrupted, and now Archer had done it twice. The two stood still, staring at each other. Archer had maybe an inch or two on his dad, but Mr. Rodriguez had a steely confidence that only comes with age and extreme wealth. He narrowed his eyes at his son.

“It's okay,” Jo said quickly. “I can wait here, Mr. Rodriguez.”

There was silence for a second longer, then his dad grinned again. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her to his side, and he started walking out of the room.

“Please. My father was Mr. Rodriguez. Everyone calls me Santana, the boys call me Dad, and my name is Carlos. Take your pick,” he offered as he guided them out of the room and down a hall.

“Ah, I get it,” she laughed nervously. “Santana. Carlos. Carlos Santana.”

“I love a good guitar player,” Santana sighed.

They walked into his office, which was filled with lots of leather and wooden furniture. Heavy drapes were covering the windows, making everything dark and masculine. Large, expensive looking leather chairs were pulled up to a huge rosewood desk and Santana deposited her in one of those chairs. Archer sat next to her and immediately leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“We have a real problem,” he sighed.

“Seems like it,” his dad agreed, sitting behind the desk and opening a drawer. He rooted around in it for a second before pulling out a large cigar.

“Like I said, it's been a shit weekend. I left here Friday and did that job for you over in Marina Del Rey,” Archer started.

“Yeah, seemed like it went well.”

“Perfect, no problems. Then I went home and changed and …”

Jo was confused. He'd been in Malibu and Marina Del Rey on Friday? He'd told her he'd worked all day Friday, which should have meant he'd been at his construction site in Reseda – that's where she'd assumed he'd been when she'd tried to get a hold of him all night Friday. Had he been on a different site in Malibu? She wasn't sure why, but she was pretty positive the answer was no.

“Are you a contractor?” she suddenly blurted out, interrupting Archer. Both men turned to look at her, and she could tell Archer was upset with her question, but she didn't look away from his father.

“What?” Santana asked, blowing a stream of smoke over his shoulder.

“He said he did a job for you – he works construction. Are you like a contractor, does he work at job sites for you?” she asked. Nothing had been said, so she couldn't be sure why she felt sick, but her stomach was definitely cramping up. Nerves were setting her entire body on edge, and not in a good way.

I bet Archer's never even been on a construction site ...

“Construction?” his dad asked, chuckling as he glanced at his son. “Is that what you said?”

Archer groaned and turned towards her.

“Please, please, please don't freak out,” he urged. “Let me just get this over with, and then you can freak out all you want. But right now, please just -”

“What do you?” she spoke through him, still staring at his dad. The older man sighed and leaned forward, setting his cigar in an ornate crystal ashtray.

“I know this isn't what you wanted, Son,” he said. “But best just to get it over with.”

Archer ignored his dad and reached across the space between the chairs, gripping onto her hand.

“Please, Jojo,” he whispered.

“I'm an entrepreneur, I guess you could say. I have a lot of real estate, some shares in some production companies, a trucking business,” Santana explained. Jo blinked and glanced at Archer.

“That seems pretty normal.”

“I'm also one of the most successful cocaine dealers in the greater Los Angeles basin.”

Jo sucked in air so hard, she started choking. Archer jumped to his feet and began pounding on her back, but she shooed him away. When she finally caught her breath, she stared at Mr. Rodriguez.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed. “I've had a weird weekend, I'm half deaf from listening to gun shots. What did you say?”

“I import cocaine,” he said, resting his arms on his desk and lacing his fingers together. “Vast quantities of it, from Colombia and Mexico. And then I turn around and distribute it to gangs and lower level drug rings. Some premium clients, we deal with ourselves. I set up the deals, and Archer and Malcolm facilitate the trade offs.”

Jo stared at him for a moment, then turned to stare at Archer. He was holding her hand so tightly, she was starting to lose the feeling in her fingers.

Ten years around each other, and I don't even know this person.

“You're a drug dealer,” she stated in a loud clear voice. He winced.

“Jesus, don't say it like that, it's not like I'm lurking around high schools, selling to kids,” he argued.

“Oh, I'm sorry. You're a rich drug dealer,” she corrected herself.

“Jojo, stop.”

“Don't call me that,” she hissed, yanking her hand away.

“I'm sorry you had to find out this way, I hadn't realize Archer was keeping it a secret from you. I told him from the get go leading two lives was virtually impossible. He was right about one thing, though; it sounds like we don't have time for you to 'freak out' right now. You will have plenty of time later to rake him over the coals. Right now, sounds like you've both got a problem you need help with,” Santana said.

“The problem is a dead drug dealer in my trunk!” Jo yelled. Santana's eyebrows shot up, his eyes bouncing between her and his son.

“Someone we know?” he asked in a casual voice.

“Bernard Krakow,” Archer sighed.

“Hmmm. One of Danny's guys,” Santana grumbled. Jo held up her hands.

“You know him!?” she shouted.

“I never met him,” Archer spoke fast. “A guy named Daniel Nguyen runs a drug ring out in West Covina, mainly dealing meth and coke. But recently he's been edging into our territory. Krakow started running drugs for him around Hollywood, that's when we first heard his name. He only popped up in Van Nuys a month or two ago.”

“You knew him,” she breathed, at a total loss. The moment was surreal. She briefly wondered if she'd never actually come down from the ecstasy she'd had yesterday.

“So now he's in your girlfriend's trunk. How did he get there?” Archer's dad asked.

“I'm not his girlfriend,” she snapped.

“Jo, shut up,” Archer groaned. “And we … we don't know. Jo and I were at a club downtown Friday night, the dude drugged her drink and tried to take her outside. Next morning, he's sleeping off a couple bullets in her trunk. We've been on a wild goose chase ever since. Found out he's been stalking her, lurking around her work, was the one pulling the strings to get her to the club he met her at.”

“Did you know any of this was going on? That he was following her?” Santana asked.

“No. You told me to leave him alone, so I left him alone. Seems like he didn't want to return the favor.”

“She mentioned gun shots. How big of a mess am I going to have to deal with?” Santana sighed.

“That's the thing,” Archer's voice got animated as he scooted to the edge of his seat. “Wherever we go, these assholes keep popping up! Big heavy dudes. We're at her work – they come in asking about her. We go to our apartment building – they're there tossing the place, even shot at us when we tried to get away. So we go to Krakow's apartment. I figured I could search the place and figure out what's going on – they turn the place into Swiss cheese the next morning. We had to jump out a four story fucking window into a pool.”

“You dropped me out a window,” Jo corrected him, clenching her teeth together so hard she halfway expected one to crack.

“Jojo here pointed out that they keep magically showing up everywhere we went, which I was like yeah, that's pretty fucking weird. So I take us back to our building and while I'm checking to make sure they're not hanging out downstairs, I made a call,” he said.

This was news to Jo. She'd sat in the car while Archer had made sure the entrance to their building had been clear. She'd assumed he'd just checked the stairwell and the elevator, she hadn't realized he'd been making phone calls.

“Obviously not to me,” Santana noted. “I'm a little upset to hear you've been getting shot at for two days straight and you didn't think to tell me. You know better, Archer. I could've helped.”

“I didn't know we'd end up getting shot at. And ...” his voice trailed off as he looked back at Jo. “I thought I could postpone this moment for a little longer.”

“Can't postpone the inevitable,” his dad pointed out.

“Besides, I didn't think I'd need your help because I thought I already had help. Someone I'd been messaging all weekend. So when we got back to our building, I called my little helper and told him where I was and what we were doing. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes later, guess who shows up?”

“Nguyen's thugs?” Santana guessed.

“Yeah. Wound up pinned down in her bedroom. I had to set the fucking apartment on fire.”

“I thought I saw something on the news about a building fire in Van Nuys.”

“That would be us.”

“That would be when he threw me out a window for the second time in two hours,” Jo added, glaring at Archer.

“Well then,” Santana sighed, leaning back in his chair. “We knew we had a double-cross. Sounds like you found him. Do I want to know?”

“I don't think you'll even believe me,” Archer replied.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jo tried to catch up. “You're a big time drug dealer, and Archer is a little mini-drug dealer.”

“Mini-drug dealer!” Santana laughed. “Archer took to it like a duck to water, he's my second in command. He'll inherit everything one day, if I can ever get him to leave Van Nuys.”

“He's a second in command drug dealer,” Jo continued talking. “Whatever. And you guys have someone working for you who's been double crossing you for this other big time drug dealer, Danny whoever. Danny, who probably sent Krakow after me, all because Archer is a drug dealer, too. And yet, some how, bringing me here seemed like a good idea!?”

She had turned in her seat while she'd been speaking, and when she finished, she was staring straight at Archer. He stared right back, but he was rubbing at the back of his neck. She knew him well enough to know what that gesture meant.

I don't know him at all.

“It was a good idea, because it means we can plug up the leak we seem to have, and then we can deal with your little problem, as well. Who's the leak?” Santana asked.

“Mal,” Archer said simply.

“What does Malcolm know?” Santana looked confused.

“No, Mal is the leak,” Archer sighed. “I told you he'd been weird lately. Not showing up to jobs, shady late night meetings. He's the only person I've been talking to all weekend. Every time I texted him what was happening or what we were doing, fifteen minutes later we would be surrounded. It has to be him. Literally no one else knew where we were.”

There was a long silence. As upset as she was, even Jo knew better than to interrupt it. Father stared at son, clearly not wanting to believe what he'd just heard. Jo didn't know Mal at all, but the accusation didn't surprise her. Santana may have been some kind of drug lord, but he also seemed genuinely nice. Malcolm Rodriguez, on the other hand, had “bad guy” written all over him.

“How can you be so sure?” Archer's father finally asked. “Your little girlfriend here could have been texting any -”

“Check my phone, I've used it once to make exactly one phone call all weekend, and it was to a stripper named Beeshonn. I doubt she's in on your little drug war,” Jo snapped at him.

“And I haven't spoken to one single other soul besides Mal,” Archer said again.

Santana let out a long sigh and stared up at his ceiling. It probably wasn't easy, hearing that his first born was not only a traitor, but had also pretty much tried to get his brother killed. Living a life of crime clearly wasn't as glamorous as movies made it out to be.

This is why I don't get involved with drug dealers or pushers or addicts or bad people in general, ARCHER. YOU FUCKING DRUG DEALING BAD PERSON!

“I didn't want to believe it. I've had my suspicions, even before you brought up yours. Ever since I brought you into the fold, he's had issues. He's always been jealous. Apparently it finally got the better of him,” Santana sighed. “So he's working for Nguyen. They've been specifically poaching our long term clients, now we know how and why. And now Mal's using Krakow and Nguyen to come after you. Probably because he thinks if he gets rid of you, he'll inherit everything.”

“And Krakow and Nguyen were into some fucked up shit. I found all this stuff on Krakow's computer. Jo wasn't the first girl he'd followed around. He's been doing this kind of thing for a while, kidnapping chicks and keeping them. Torturing them, killing them.”

“What!?” Jo all but screamed. This was all news to her, she hadn't even known Archer had gotten on the laptop.

“It's a pretty regular thing. Kidnap a rivals girlfriend or wife or sister, and you can get him to do just about anything you want,” Santana nodded his head while he spoke.

“You sound like you speak from personal experience,” Jo snapped and both men glared at her.

“Be quiet,” Archer hissed. “So yeah, Mal was gonna have Krakow take Jo, probably to get me to leave Malibu and the drug scene.”

“And if he couldn't accomplish that, then he'd have a sweet job with Nguyen and home over in West Covina,” Santana added.

“Not for long,” Archer snorted. “I found all these emails between Krakow and someone going by R. R for Rodriguez. Malcolm Rodriguez. They had a scam going, they were cutting Nguyen's coke with a shit ton of baking soda and selling it at full price.”

“Sounds like he was trying to screw everyone over.”

“Especially me. I mean, I knew he didn't like me, but I didn't realize he wanted me gone.”

“And what about me? I'd never even met him,” Jo pointed out. Archer frowned.

“Because he knew how much you mean to me. It's like my dad said – if Krakow had gotten you, I would've done anything they asked me to do.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, bending in half. “I'm being chased by some drug gang because I made the epic mistake of having a crush on my brother's best friend from high school.”

“It's a little more than a crush at this point, Jojo.”

She sat upright and started punching him. While he struggled to grab hold of her wrists, his dad groaned and stood up.

“You deal with this,” he said, gesturing to Jo. “I'll go have a discussion with Malcolm. We need to nip this in the bud right fucking now.”

Jo and Archer both held still and watched as the intimidating man walked out of the room. Santana didn't say another word, just slammed the door shut behind him. Jo almost felt bad for Malcolm.

Santana seems like a man I never, ever, ever want to have a “discussion” with.