Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Thirteen days have passed since Detective Russo questioned Opal.

That is how long it took to pin down a sit-down with Aries Black.

Detective Russo surveys the area through the windshield. There are already suspicious parties loitering amid the streets, pitching him dagger glares from afar.

To look less conspicuous, he peels off his trench coat and throws it at the back seat, retrieving a random dark green sweater. He slips it on, then exits his car and locks it. Twice.

The Badlands are like the jagged, craggy rocks that border the sparkling shores of private beaches. Criminal activity runs rampant here without fear.

A rough settlement, unlike the other neighborhoods he has been to that bespeak affluence: manicured gardens, gateless estates, and pristine streets.

Aries was clearly the black sheep among his friends.

Russo eyes the expensive black Durango parked on the crumbling driveway of an average house. Russo knocks on the house door.

After a long while, Aries reveals himself leaning with his forearm against the doorframe casually. His eyes inspect him the way a lion sets his eyes on its prey, calculating the worth of the kill and the strategy of attack.

“You Russo?”

“Detective Russo,” he corrects, “yes.”

Unbothered, Aries eases back.

Russo takes this as an invitation and steps inside, eyes scouring the tenebrous entryway.

Aries closes the door and glares at his back, looking him up and down, death-dealing desires wrenching at him violently. He brushes past Russo, assuming he will follow, and enters the kitchen.

Aries takes his half-empty beer bottle and dumps himself on the chair at the kitchen table, manspreading as he takes a long swig.

The kitchen has curved lines in the combination with natural materials and washed-out pastel colors with a monochrome twist of stainless steel. An 80s kitchen modernized with echoes of early twenty-first century upgrades.

Judging by the brass lamps, white lace table mats, retro shelving, and prints, the house belongs to a senior.

Russo takes the chair opposite him, staring pointedly. “I like beer.”

“You can buy yourself a six-pack after you leave.”

Russo arches a brow at his animosity. “It certainly is a pleasure to meet someone like you.”

Irritation pricks at Aries, but he hides it well. “Someone like me?”

“The elder of the group, someone outside of Braidwood; a unique vantage point.”

His cursory assessment does not merit a response from Aries.

“When last did you speak with your Braidwood friends?”

“Does it look like I roll with anyone from Braidwood?” Aries asks with chilling cruelty. “Just because I knew them when they were kids doesn’t mean I give a shit about them now.”

Russo nods slowly. “So you don’t care what happened to Erin? What has now happened to Keila?”

Aries looks at him, blank-faced, apathy like a silent bellow.

Russo looks for any cracks, signs of deception, and he finds none.

Unlike the others, Aries is completely unreadable.

“Did you and your former friend group with Erin Lockwood like to play in the woods as kids?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For whatever reason.”

“I want to perform a trauma-focused cognitive behavioral technique with you,” he says more cautiously than he has ever uttered. “But first I’m going to need you to close your eyes.”

“No.”

Russo saw that coming. He tries again. “What is your strongest core memory of Erin?”

Aries’s tongue pokes through his cheek like he’s bored. “Don’t remember.”

Russo stares back at him, patience thinning terribly. “You don’t recall, or you just don’t want to say it?”

“I only remember things worth remembering.”

“If you despise the Braidwood-born so much, why were you friends with Erin? And Mia, Opal, Akin, and Keila?”

Aries drains the last of his bottle in seconds. “When I was a kid, I crushed insects and sniffed glue—I don’t know or care for the reasons behind what I did back then.”

“Do you care for the reasons behind why you told one of the officers that you killed Erin Lockwood?”

Aries says nothing, his only response is a flat stare, his composure unshakable.

“I was shocked reading the initial report of that night. Each officer reiterated the same fact that on the drive back to the precinct, each kid confessed to a murder.

“Mia claimed she killed Erin. Akin claimed he killed Erin, then so did Opal and Keila. And so did you. Were you protecting each other? Or were you protecting someone else?”

Russo rests back in his seat, placing his ankle on the opposite knee.

“Dr. Helena Parker went on record to state that it was perfectly normal that the impact of the trauma which you all suffered caused delusions.

“When the shock subsided and you were all brought into questioning…the narrative changed from ‘I killed Erin’ to ‘I don’t remember.’”

A strong muscle twitches in Aries’s jaw, his eyes hard, tenacious in his silence.

“Which is also normal…memories scrambled, the disassociation between what’s real and what’s not.

“Addressing trauma can be challenging because it requires vulnerability. Which is, I’m sure, the opposite of what you were taught growing up here in Edgemond.”

“You don’t know me,” he says, his voice leathered with danger. “You don’t know the Badlands. Erin and Keila chose to creep out at night. Don’t make their mistakes my problem.”

Russo stands to his feet. Aries rises to the challenge.

Russo cracks a smile. “The fact that you know Keila also snuck out at night means you are tracking the story, which tells me that you do care.”

Aries closes the space between them, coming nose-to-nose, an inch taller than him—just over six feet. Russo lacks fear, but even he has to admit that for a nineteen-year-old, Aries is intimidating.

His dark brows gather. “Do you think I care what you think?” A callous smile splits his face.

“Since you have no grounds to arrest me, or a warrant to search me or my belongings, it’s best you leave, for your own sake.”

Russo’s brows billow with amusement. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t make threats.” Aries’s fists are itching to be thrown. “Leave walking or crawling.”

Russo gives him one last lingering look, his eyes interrogating him further. He whirls around and makes his way out of the kitchen.

Soon, Aries hears the front door whine open and close with a bang. Restrained rage shatters its cage, and he almost quivers from its release.

He moves to throw away the bottle but mid-walk it explodes in his grasp, shards piercing him, and other fragments shrieking when they hit the ground.

He remains silent, watching the blood pool in his fist, almost pleasured by the pitiable stings of pain.

Aries walks over to the sink to pluck out the shards. An unseen guest slinks out from the shadowy recesses of the living room, alerted by the crash of glass. He emerges in the archway of the kitchen.

“Hand me the first aid kit,” Aries orders with his back to him, pointing at it.

Jax marches inside and goes to the cabinet, he retrieves it and hands it over.

“Aries Black, the man of many lives.”

Aries says nothing.

Jax bends over to collect the scattered glass. From his fingers to his face, he is inked in menacing tattoos. A Celtic collar around his neck, his bare back flaunting the giant and elaborate design of a rotting skull.

Jax—Aries’s loyal number two and supervisor of major port shipments, governing several gangs in the region. He dumps the blood-flecked shards in the open trash can.

“You gon’ tell me what that was about? Why was that cop askin’ you questions about that missing girl? You knew her?”

“You know why I made you my ~kobun?~” Aries says, pouring an antiseptic on his punctured hand before binding it. “Because you knew when to never ask questions. This is one of those instances.”

Jax crosses his arms against this tattooed chest. “I think I need to know if you’re out here killing high schoolers.”

Aries stutters in his movements. “And why would I do that?”

Jax snorts in amusement. “Since when have you needed a reason to kill?”

Aries levels him with a violent glare.

Suddenly feeling hot, Jax looks away, then switches subjects. “The cargo is en route.”

Jax moves out first, and Aries follows. He grabs his leather jacket on his way out, putting it on and it’s like a shroud of shadows sheathes him, concealing the gun tucked in his waistband. His face is cast in darkness.

***

The gate of the warehouse lurches back and after a while, the matte-black SUV rolls in.

Aries drives toward the main building of the industrial complex. Other black vehicles ranging from four-by-fours to motorbikes dominate the parking lot.

The BMW X Series claims a front spot despite being the last to arrive. Aries and Jax climb out and they head toward the series of enormous, heavy-duty roller shutter doors that have been raised open.

The security lights shine down on them both like a pathway of spotlights. The skull on Jax’s back is lit by white edgings, making it appear like it’s outlined by wisps of smoke.

Armed thugs guard the perimeter, manning both the interior and the exterior. Aries enters with lion-like power. Everyone he passes, many years older than him, submits nods in deference.

The top and ground floor are brimming with black-clad felons, all awaiting both their leader and the incoming load.

Aries snaps his fingers at a random cluster of them. They all stand at attention.

“Any of you plugged the leak?”

Their mutterings merge into a chorus of mumbles.

“What?” he barks.

“No, boss,” one of them answers. “We’re still looking. We looked into all the underlings, including advisers, accountants, enforcers. We even cross-checked with affiliated organizations, from high to low.

“It means sifting through over twenty-five hundred businesses, five hundred Yakuza groups. Not to mention there are fifth-rank subsidiary organizations. It’s going to take time.”

Aries paces thoughtfully, moving with a tiger’s tread.

“I think this is an external ploy, trying to cripple us from the inside. Narcotics seized our last shipment at the harbor before the cargo even docked. They were ahead of us because someone tipped them off.”

He lifts his gaze to scan his surroundings, eyes darkening from cold rage. “~Which only means betrayal,~” he roars, his voice like a clap of thunder.

Every conversation in radius dies, words perishing in their mouths.

“I don’t believe any of you were stupid enough to do that.” His unquestionable authority commands attention. “You know me well enough to know how I take care of problems.”

Aries almost relishes in the flashes of fear in their eyes.

“I want you to test the low ranks, runners and foot soldiers alike. Set a trap. Feed them false information about a drop and see who bites.”

A wave of nods ripples out, sharp and decisive.

A cacophony of exhausts like an agglomeration of revving engines steals the attention. The trucks arrive. A line of them files into the warehouse and everyone backs away for them. Once they come to a complete standstill, the drivers hop out.

Aries strolls to the back of the one closest to him.

The driver goes back to open the trailer doors, unhooking the latches and swinging them open.

Aries lets out an impressed whistle, ogling the stockpiles of baby products, baby powder, and formula used as a disguise to conceal the uncut carfentanil and heroin.

“This is a good haul,” Jax notes. “It must have a street value of at least two hundred million.”

Aries smirks and steps back to make a call to a supplier.

One phone for business with an encrypted line.

And the personal one for appearances.

His personal one, an unsecured cellular device that can trace his movements, is always left at home. So if he were ever being watched or put under investigation, his travel pattern will only reflect mundane locations.

Though Aries does want it on him at all times, ever since the incident at the den. He nurses a silent hope that he will receive an unexpected and yet yearned-for phone call.