Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Dragon

I don’t hear from Alayna all day, and Diana doesn’t come home in the evening. Worry grabs the back of my neck.

But why worry? It’s a new job, and she already told me she’d be working late and would hardly be home.

I make myself a sandwich and decide to settle in for the night. Not like I have anything better to do anyway.

Until my phone rings. I don’t know the number, and my heart starts to hammer. Maybe it’s the person who called about Griffin.

“Yeah?” I say into the phone.

“Is this Dragon Locke?” It’s a different voice from before.

“It is.”

“Hey, Dragon, I don’t know if you remember me, but we met… Never mind.”

My heart is still pounding. I will it to slow.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Antonio Carbone.”

“Ah…” I take a deep breath. “We met the night I…got arrested.”

“We did.” He laughs—sort of. “Sorry. Didn’t want to bring that up.”

“Not a problem. What can I help you with?”

“I don’t know if Diana mentioned it to you, but I run the music store on the edge of town. I’m the owner.”

“Oh.”

“You made quite an impression on my cashier, and we do need percussion instructors. I was wondering when you could start.”

“Now?”

He chuckles into the phone. “I have about ten students on a waiting list for percussion instruction. The pay is forty dollars an hour.”

“Yeah? And what’s your cut?”

“My cut is fifty percent. But you get forty an hour. I collect eighty from the student and pay you half.”

“Is this on a contract basis or an employment basis?”

“Contract. It won’t include any benefits, and no taxes will be withheld from your income.”

Damn. I can’t live on forty bucks an hour if it’s only part-time.

“Fifty percent is a pretty steep cut,” I say.

“It’s what I charge, Dragon. You’re using my instruments and my studios. You’re certainly welcome to try to get students on your own if you’d rather.”

He makes a good point. Man, I don’t like this guy. But I need the income. Something is better than nothing. And word travels fast among parents looking for music lessons for their kids. Maybe I can find some extra students that I can teach privately for full price.

“Good enough. I’ll take it. Let me know when I can start.”

“I’ll get in touch with the people on my waiting list, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow. I imagine some of them will want to get started right away.”

“So I’ll have ten students. Is that weekly?”

“Yeah, and they have to sign up for ten lessons at once, so that’ll give you four hundred dollars a week for at least ten weeks.”

Who the hell can live on that? At least Diana’s not making me pay rent, and so far she hasn’t kicked me out.

“Great. I’ll look forward to your call,” I say.

“Glad to have you on board, Dragon.”

The call ends, and I think about those words.

Glad to have you on board.

He just hired a man who, for all he knows, solicited a prostitute two nights ago.

He also didn’t ask about my education. Would he be surprised to know I don’t have a degree in music?

There’s only one reason for any of this.

He wants to get into Diana’s pants.

Fuck.

I wish that didn’t bother me as much as it does.

I’m still holding my phone when it rings again.

Another number I don’t recognize…

My heartbeat starts to accelerate once again.

“Yeah?”

“Call off your dog.”

An icy chill runs up and down my spine when I realize it’s the same voice from last night.

“Excuse me?”

“You want to find your sister? Call off your dog.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The PI. Call her off.”

“Then tell me. Tell me where my sister is.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety or hers while you’ve got people sniffing around. Call. Her. Off.”

The line goes dead.

Damn it.

Seriously?

Alayna told me I could call her anytime, and I’m ready to punch in her number when?—

Call off your dog.

I don’t for a minute think this person knows where Griffin is. I’m still convinced she’s dead.

But what if…

What if he’s telling the truth?

What if she is alive, and she’s in danger, and the fact I’m talking to an investigator is exacerbating that danger?

Is that a chance I can take?

I’m glad Diana’s not home. Not that I could tell her anything about this, but she was kind enough to bring in an investigator to help me.

How am I supposed to tell her that I have to call it off?

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I call the number back.

Not that I expect anyone to answer.

Was it even the same voice? It sounded like it was. But it’s not like I have recordings to compare the two.

There’s no way of knowing anything.

This is so fucked up.

I got a new job—that won’t pay me a living wage—from a guy who just wants to get into my roommate’s pants. The same roommate I fucked into oblivion twenty-four hours ago.

I’m getting weird phone calls about my sister who I assumed has been dead for over twenty years. I got a PI by the grace of Diana, and now I’m told I have to call her off or whoever the fuck this is can’t guarantee Griffin’s safety. Assuming she actually is alive.

Oh, and of course, I’m out on bail for soliciting a prostitute.

Not to mention that my sobriety is hanging on by a fucking thread.

The only thing stopping me from running to the nearest liquor store and downing an entire case of beer is the memory of what my last relapse did to my best friend in the world and his band— my band.

But damn, I could sure use a hit right now. Fuck, it doesn’t even need to be a hit. Just a beer. Something to take the edge off.

Thank God Diana doesn’t keep anything in the house, or I’d be swallowing it down.

One thing’s for sure.

If there’s a chance that Griffin is alive…I can’t screw this up.

Do I call off Alayna?

Maybe try to deal with this myself?

If I do that, I’ll have to talk to the two people I swore I would never look in the face again.

My parents.

I don’t even know where the hell they are. Or if they’re even alive.

I remember their address in a northern suburb of Denver called Thornton.

The house was all red brick, a small ranch. Olive-green carpeting, which actually wasn’t a bad thing because nothing would stain it.

I remember how Griffin would spit up on it all the time when she was a baby, and my mother just brought over a rag, wiped up the puke, and you couldn’t even tell.

I still remember the phone number too. The landline. Hell, they may not even use that anymore.

They probably don’t live in that house.

But there is one way to find out.

It’s seven o’clock. At least I know I have some money coming in soon, so I call a rideshare service and put in my parents’ address.