“You remind me of someone,” I say to the messy-haired man standing in the kitchen. Smoke had introduced him as Kevin before taking off to god only knows where. Maybe he’s creating another wooden bust of me to throw off the roof when I’m long gone.

“Actually, they call me Nine now,” he corrects after Smoke’s long gone. He smiles proudly. “And let me guess, I remind you of someone…from your dreams?” He wags his eyebrows suggestively.

Nine opens then slams every cabinet and drawer in the small kitchen in search of whatever it is he’s looking for to make his ‘world famous pasta sauce’. His words, not mine.

“Not quite,” I say.

Nine is big but not Smoke big. He’s leaner than Smoke, and a few inches shorter. He’s also about a decade or so younger from my guess, which makes him around my age.

There’s a newer-looking tattoo on the side of his neck depicting a bleeding heart with a knife stabbed through it. It’s gruesome but skillfully done, whoever created it is a true artist.

Nine’s smile is lopsided. His eyes bright. His eyelids naturally hooded. He’s chain-smoking cigarettes as he barrels his way through the kitchen as gracefully as one-footed duck.

It hits me who he reminds me of.

“I was thinking that you remind me of a friend of mine actually. His name was…is…Duke. His name is Duke.”

Nine puts out his cigarette under the tap and plucks a joint from behind his ear. “Duke? Is there a duchess?”

I smile because I can’t not smile at Nine. He’s attractive and witty and, unlike some people, warm. “Why Nine?” I ask.

He thinks for a few beats. “Because I once took out an entire gang with only a nine millimeter?”

I give him the universal look for ‘come on’, cocking my head and crossing my arms.

“I’m like a cat, and I’ve got nine lives?” He tries again.

I shake my head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“The truth is…” he leans in and whispers. “I can’t tell you the truth. If I tell ya, then I’ll have to kill ya.”

I wince.

“Fuck. Sorry about that. Wasn’t thinking. I’m kinda new to all this,” he apologizes. “I’m usually the tech guy, at least up until now, that is. I don’t know the whole story here, but from the look on your face, I realize that a happy ending may not be in the future.”

I’m normally the tech guy…

“No, but it’s alright,” I say. “In a way, it’s no one’s fault but my own.” I pause, an idea forming. “I know how you can make it up to me, though.”

“Do I want to know? Because I don’t know if you’ve seen Smoke,” Nine points a knife to the front door. “He might be a big scary as fuck dude, but what he’ll do to me is probably nothing compared to what I’ll have waiting for me back home if I let this all go to motherfucking shit. My brother and the guys he runs with would all take turns killing me. And then?” he shakes his head and shivers. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “And then they’d hand me over to the scariest one of them all…”

“Who?” I ask curiously,

“My sister in law,” Nine says, taking a drag from the joint and handing it out to me. I shake my head, needing to stay sharp if I’m going to get my way.

“It’s nothing big. Nothing that would bring down the wrath of those in charge. I just need a favor,” I raise my shoulders to my neck and look up at Nine with an exaggerated tight smile. I have to go about this carefully, make him think the outcome is his idea.

Nine starts chopping onions. A ton of them. Most of them don’t stay on the cutting board. Half of them fall to the floor and the other half fly from the knife as he chops with the joint dangling from his lips.

“I’m not taking the bomb off your leg,” he says without looking up from his onions. “I feel like that would be the beginning of the end. For both of us.”

“No, I mean, yeah, that would be swell, but that’s not what I want.”

He puts down the knife and leans forward. “Spill it.”

“I want to use your laptop,” I blurt, balling my fists and pressing them to my chin, looking up at him over my knuckles.

Nine rolls his eyes, continuing his chopping.

“Just for a few minutes!” I add.

“What makes you think I have a laptop with me? Or that I’d let you use it?” He swipes the chopped onions into the pan on the stove which sizzles. He brings the cutting board back to the island and begins on the mushrooms.

“Nine, you said you’re a tech guy.” I raise my hands to my chest. “Well, I’m a tech guy, too. And tech geeks like us don’t go anywhere without their laptops. Not if they can help it.”

Nine adds the mushrooms to the pan and gives them a stir. He grins and surrenders with a sigh, raising his hands in the air. “Okay, you got me. It’s in the van, but I can’t let you use it. Smoke would strangle me and that, my dear, is not my idea of a good time unless there’s a hot chick connected to the hands wrapped around my neck.”

“Can I ask you something?” I shove my laptop question to the side on a temporary hold.

“Shoot. But I don’t guarantee I can answer it,” Nine says.

“Why are you so loyal to him? To Smoke?”

“That’s easy. He saved my brother’s life,” Nine sucks off the tomato juice dripping down his hand.

“He did?” I’m taken aback. Way back. It’s the last thing I ever expected him to say.

“He sure as fuck did. He stopped some motherfucker from taking Preppy out in the hospital. I would never have met my brother if it weren’t for Smoke. Didn’t find him until recently. Wouldn’t have my nieces now and would never have met my nephew or my sister-in-law, who I fucking love, despite my earlier comment. Although, she can be scary as shit when it comes to protecting my brother and those kids. Even me. So, you see, I owe Smoke a lot more than babysitting you. That’s why as much as I’d like to help you, my hands are tied.”

“He was paid to rescue your brother?”

Nine shakes his head. “Nope. He was there. Saw Preppy was in trouble. Put the breaks on the whole thing.”

“Really,” I say, drawing out the word. “Smoke has friends? Well, I’ve met Rage and Zelda, but I kind of imagined them to be it.”

“I probably shouldn’t be answering that. Or anything.”

“How does answering that affect me or you watching me in any way? How can I use that against Smoke or better yet how can I possibly use that information to escape?” I raise my leg and set my foot on the counter, pointing to my ankle. “I’ve got a bomb on my leg. Remember?”

Nine sighs. “Fine. Yes, Smoke has friends. Or at least, he has people in his corner. That’s what I get when people talk about him anyway. He’s a legend over in Logan’s Beach. The people I know are loyal to him because over the years he’s been loyal to them. But he’s a loner. That’s pretty much all I know.”

I rest my chin on my fist. “Interesting. He makes it seem like he puts mountains between him and the rest of the world.”

Nine laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the counter. “He does. The thing is, my people, our mutual friends? They’re really fucking good climbers.”

I laugh and taste the sauce on the spoon he’s holding out to me. It’s so spicy I cough and choke. “How much red pepper flake did you put in there?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.

Nine hands me a glass of water and I chug it so fast most of it spills down the corners of my mouth onto my shirt. When I’m done, I hand my glass out to Nine who refills it. My eyes are burning. My throat is seizing up. I chug the next one down just as fast.

“Uh, this much?” Nine holds up the now empty bottle of dried red pepper flake that was full only a few minutes before.

“That might be a tad too much,” I rasp.

Nine takes a big mouthful of the sauce and swallows it down. I wait for him to react, but he shrugs and keeps stirring. “Tastes all right to me,” he says, smacking his lips.

“Back to Smoke,” I say when I’m not about to die via red pepper flake poisoning.

“Smoke’s a lone wolf, but that don’t mean others ain’t got his back. Who knows, he’s probably just still messed up with all that shit from Rage,” Nine says. His eyes go wide, and I see his regret. He’s revealed too much.

“Uh, forget I said anything.” he turns his back to me to stir his nuclear sauce. “Why do you want my laptop anyway?” he asks, changing the subject.

“I just want to look something up. A name. It will only take a minute, and you can watch the entire time,” I assure him, knowing there’s no way he’ll actually let me use it. I wait for the idea to form, watching his face as he’s deep in thought.

Nine puts down the spoon and scratches the back of his neck. I flash him yet another hopeful grin.

“Okay, here’s the deal.” He points to me and then to himself. “You tell me the name, and I’ll look it up for you and tell you what I find.”

Bingo.

“Deal,” I say, holding out my hand.

Nine comes over and shakes my hand. He doesn’t let go. He smiles and talks between his bright teeth. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

I don’t stop smiling either, talking through my own teeth. “Probably.”

* * *

Nine fires up his laptop. It’s top of the line and covered in stickers of rock bands and pot leafs. His desktop image is a pair of naked breasts.

“Classy,” I sing.

“Who doesn’t like tits?” Nine asks, keying in his passcode. “Everyone likes tits. Even women.”

“Is this some sort of lead into a conversation about how all women are hiding an inner lesbian?”

“That would be cool, but no. You know all those popular women’s magazines? You won’t find too many pictures of men. Why? Because women like to look at women. Women are beautiful. Their bodies are beautiful. Even most porn catering to women don’t have gigantic dongs swinging about. They’re useful, but they ain’t shit to look at. Unless, it’s mine, of course.

“Uh, huh.”

He cracks his knuckles. “All right, Frankie girl. What’s the name?”

I tell him the name from the ultrasound I found in Smoke’s cut. Nine begins his search.

A few minutes later, we both realize that Morgan Faith Clark is an enigma. She disappeared off the face of the planet last year. Nine can’t find anything else about her. “That’s odd. No missing person’s report. No nothing. As of last year, she just…vanished.”

“What about her address? Do we know where she lived?” I ask, leaning over Nine’s shoulder.

Nine hits a few keys, and within seconds we’re looking at the google street view of a small blue house with white trim and a flowery front walkway. “Who is this person, anyway? Someone important?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure yet,” I say looking over the information on the screen. “She could be.”

“How very vague of you,” Nine says. “I’m pulling up the public records for the house. There’s a bunch of city citations for overgrown grass and things like that which leads me to believe the house is abandoned.”

“Can you see when it was abandoned?”

“I can get close. Yeah. Here. The last utility bill was paid for last June so anytime in July I would assume. Wait, look at this.” Nine points to the screen. “Morgan Faith Clark was reported missing by an aunt in Sarasota.”

Nine’s fingers fly across the keyboard and I find myself missing the feeling. The sound of the keys sings to me like a favorite song I know all the words to.

“The aunt reported her missing on the 10^th of July after Morgan didn’t show up at her house in Sarasota the prior morning. The police opened an investigation.” He clicks a few more keys. “But it’s never been closed.”

The screens change and flip as Nine flies through sites and codes, unearthing everything the internet wants to keep hidden like an archeologist of the web. Window after window appears then disappears as I follow along.

“Pull up the police report. Use the back way and use 911 at the end of the code if you’re going in via their webhost. That usually works.”

Nine scoffs, ash falling onto the keys. “Like I’ve never broken into a police department before. What do you think this is, amateur hour?” Nine’s cigarette dangles from his lips. “And you really are a tech geek aren’t you?”

I nod. “I am. Or, at least, I was.”

“Okay, here. Police report states that they went to the house, and there was no sign of foul play. Morgan’s purse and belongings were gone as well as her car, leaving them to believe she might have skipped town, but they note that there was no activity on her bank account or credit cards after July 9^th.”

“Does the house have a security camera?” I ask.

“Already on it.” Nine reads down the report to the bottom in a flash. “The police report indicates the house has a Aestro Pro 7688 security system, but when they tried to access the feed, it was blank.”

I shake my head. “No such thing as blank feed unless a camera’s broken.” I say. “Aestro is high end security. Even if it’s not on the mainframe, it can be recovered through their servers.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Nine asks, looking at me with over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised. He stubs out his cigarette into a coffee mug and lights another joint. I pluck it from his hand before he has a chance to lift it to his lips, and I take a long slow drag, dramatically blowing the smoke at the computer screen.

“Maybe one of these days. If things work out for me. We’ll meet again, and I’ll tell you my story,” I say.

Nine smiles and takes back his joint, turning back to the laptop. “It’s a date,” he says. “But, not that kind of date. I don’t think Smoke would appreciate if it was.”

“Why would he care?”

“Uh, I saw the way he stormed out of here. A man doesn’t leave like that unless he’s frustrated as all hell and needs to clear his head. Plus, I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Bullshit,” I say.

“I’m hacking into Aestro now. Entering her address and the dates she went missing and cross reference that with the connected motion detectors in a few seconds we should be able to pull the feed.” Nine says. “And it’s not bullshit. He looks at you like you like he wants to…”

“Like he wants to kill me,” I finish for him.

“Yeah, that too.” Nine says.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s got some deal with a guy named Griff. Smoke’s keeping me while this Griff person tries to get my father to surface using pictures of me. If my father doesn’t show his face in a few days, and he won’t, Smoke’s going to take me to this Griff person so he can get take his pound of flesh my father owes him out on me.”

“Something sounds a bit screwy with your story,” Nine says.

“What do you mean? It’s the truth.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m just saying that if Smoke was hired to kidnap you for this Griff person don’t you think he’d hand you over to him right away? There’s got to be a reason why he hasn’t. Something more personal to the story.”

“Like what?”

“Beats the fuck out of me, Frankie girl.”

Nine hits enter and a screen pops up. A black and white video. He fast forwards through the feed and finds the day in question. He pauses and hits play again. A woman, who I assume is Morgan is there. She’s a little older than me with shorter wavier dark hair. She’s alone and obviously very pregnant. She’s just walking around the house packing for the most part. There’s an open suitcase on the kitchen island. The video doesn’t have sound, but she appears to be whistling.

That is, until she’s no longer alone. “Shit,” Nine whispers.

Morgan jumps back in surprise, but whoever she’s surprised to see it off camera.

Nine tries to pick up another angle, but the feed suddenly goes blank.

“Where did it go?” I ask, needing to know and see more.

“Shit. It’s not there. Someone must have washed it out,” Nine says, slamming a few keys. “I’ll try and recover.”

After prying open a few internet doors that were never meant to be opened, the screen flashes with an image but it’s hard to see what’s on it because it’s flickering on and off like a light bulb that’s about to die.

“There, that’s all that’s left of it,” Nine says. “Whoever cleaned house knew what they were doing, that’s for fucking sure.” He takes another drag of his joint and passes it to me. I do the same.

“Can you freeze it?” I ask, leaning over his shoulder.

Nine presses a few more keys, and the image freezes and expands.

My stomach flips, and I cover my mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” Nine whispers, his eyes as wide as the computer screen.

I’m glad it’s in black and white because I can’t imagine how it would look in color if it’s making me want to vomit now.

“I can’t look at this anymore,” I say, as Nine’s sauce threatens to burn its way back up my throat. “Do you think Smoke could have…”

“I don’t know.” Nine shakes his head. “I know some sick fuckers, but this…” He leans into the screen and squints. “Wait! Look.”

He expands the image again. In the corner of the frame, walking away from the bloody scene is a man. “I’m going to zoom in more.” The face of the man is blurry, but he’s too small to be Smoke.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“So, all we can make out is that the man is wearing an old fashioned white hat with some sort of black ribbon or stripe around it above the brim,” I say.

“And that it’s not Smoke.”

“And that it’s not Smoke,” I repeat.

I was hoping this would give me some insight into what Smoke’s hiding from me, but all it’s done is make me ask more questions than ever.

“Fuck me. Do you see that?” Nine says, pointing to what the man’s carrying in his hands.

“Holy shit,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. Nine’s right. There is more.

So. Much. Fucking. More.