*Cole

My instincts tell me that Brandon will be at home, sleeping, at this late hour in the morning. I make sure Jordan is standing behind me, just in case, and I ring the bell. Three times. Nice and long.

Wake-up, you sad sack of dung.

After a moment of silence, rustling and steps sound from inside the house. I ring again, tapping on bell. Cursing. A door banging, or Brandon kicking something.

A neighbor across the street glares at us as he picks up his newspaper. I nod and lift my chin in greeting.

Brandon throws open the door and squints into the light at me. "The hell you want? Why didn't you call me?"

I don't answer, but push through the door, forcing him back and into the living room. It stinks of old, oniony sweat, mildew and several day-old pizza.

Jordan follows, practically tripping on my heels. Brandon steps back in fear at the sight of her.

"Hey, we talked about what happened the other day, I said I was sorry."

"That's right. We talked." I stand still a moment, letting his fear takes its course on his system. He's shifty and tense, like a rabbit, suddenly face to face with a cat. He lunges for his phone on the coffee table, in between empty beer cans.

I grab him in a headlock, and swat the phone to the floor. "You never bothered to fucking apologize to the woman you punched. Did you think it was good enough to apologize to a man instead?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Jordan," he cries. "All right, I said it."

What does he think this is, a scuffle in the school yard? "And what you promised me."

"What did I promise you?"

Jordan scoffs. "See, Cole? He has no idea why we're here. He can't help us."

I adjust my arm around his neck, making sure it's nice and firm on his air passage. He's turning beet red, but he tries to play cool, as if this is a game.

"No, man, it's all good. What did you need? I've got everything, you know?" He waves at the back room as if we are here for some pot.

"Information on Trey."

He stops squirming. He knows I'm serious. "I said I could maybe find out some things, but you haven't given me any time. Hell, you didn't tell me what to find. Is there a reward or something?"

I tighten my hold and his hands claw at my arm.

"Cole, maybe you should let him go," Jordan says.

"Or else what? I might hurt him?" I pause to check his color. "I might accidentally kill him?"

"Cole, that's enough!" she says.

At the same time, Brandon gets frantic. He puts his weight into it, trying to pull me over or get in a good punch. I let him go, sending him back on his ass. I'm in his face again, instantly. "That's right, ass-wipe. I didn't promise any rewards, because there won't be one. I know that you know something."

"No." He wipes spittle from his mouth. "When he took off, he was on his own."

"I know that's not true. It's not easy to hide from the FBI when you are on a national wanted list for kidnapping, but it's a whole lot easier when someone makes you a very convincing fake I.D."

He stares up at me, breathing hard, hand frozen mid-wipe.

Jordan steps closer. "What do you mean fake I.D.? Where would he get that?"

"Ask Brandon if someone in town a few years ago could have provided it."

She stoops, half crouching next to him. "Brandon? Did you get him an I.D.? What was the name?"

He barely looks at her. A sneer crawls onto his face. "Now that's a pretty serious crime you're accusing me of. What is it? Aiding and abetting a kidnapper? I wouldn't do such a thing. It's almost as bad of a crime as stealing over three grand worth of tools from the hardware shop on Long Street, after tricking the cashier to have a cigarette break with a hot chick you were friends with."

I knew it would come to this, but it's still hard to hear out loud and know that Jordan hears it, too.

"I would argue it's worse than grand theft," is all I say.

"But add grand theft to a handful of petty crimes like slashing the coach's tires or pouring beer down the gas tank of town sheriff's minivan when he went to the park with his family. That wasn't nice at all. I know the man, he's still a friend of my dad's. Any judge would be happy to lock you up for years."

"Really? Years? If we are going to list off every petty crime the other committed, I could go head to head with you." I grab his hair and force his face down. He takes my wrists, struggling to stand. "Or I could inform you now that I don't give a shit. I don't care what happens to me. You will tell us the name Trey used for the fake I.D. that Allen made you, and then you'll tell us everything else you know, like what State he's living in now."

"I don't fucking know!"

"Cole—" Jordan frowns at me in warning.

I shake my head at her. "I told you no promises but one."

She puts her hand to her mouth. She understands.

Her expression says she understands now—there might not be a happy ever after for us. But I promised to get her daughter back to her, and I'll go to jail if I have to. I'd walk to fucking hell if I had to, to keep this one, sacred promise. It's all that matters.

"Hear that, Brandon?" I ask him. "I don't care if you tell every cop you know about the crimes I committed ten years ago. I'll make sure the entire town finds out that you helped Trey escape. If we both do time, fine. I'm pretty sure I have more old friends locked up on the inside than you."

"Wait. We can talk about this." Brandon twists to look up at me, expression desperate. "I can get you a name—"

I lift my fist, but instead of punching him, I raise my forefinger up to show the number one. "One name, the name he used." I hold up a second finger. "Where he was headed." I hold up a third finger. "Anything else useful you can tell us, like the last time he contacted you for money."

A tremor shakes him, almost imperceptible and I know I've got him on the last clue. I make my fist again. "Those three items now, or start making you hurt."

"I don't know it, Cole. I swear, I'm innocent in this."

I suspect my threat wasn't graphic enough. I also suspect that he doesn't have as much 'family' support in the force as he wants people to believe. Several officers might be related to him, but that doesn't mean they like him. Or that they'll cover for him.

"No?" I ask. "Jordan, I need you to leave. You shouldn't see this."

"Cole, this isn't right. It's not how it's done."

"That's true!" Brandon gazes her like his guardian angel now. "You can't beat it out of me, that's illegal. Besides, I don't know anything."

"I'll give it a try, just in case."

"No! That's extracting information from under duress. That doesn't stand in a court of law. No judge will let you get away with it!"

I shake my head, amazed. "I don't think you understand. I'm going to find a pair of wire cutters in your garage and make you scream until you tell me what I want to know. Then, I'll stuff you in a closet until the police find her daughter. After that, what may be, will be..."

"No. No, you can't do that! Jordan, tell him—"

"Step outside, Jordan," I say, interrupting him. She gives me one last hard look, presses her lips closed and stomps to the door to leave.

"No wait! I'll give you the name! Allen Smith," he says, crying. He believes me now.

"Allen Smith is the one who made the I.D.," I say. "Not Trey's new name."

"That's right. I went to Allen with some cash from Trey. Allen made him a Colorado State I.D., but I wasn't supposed to know the name. Trey only paid me two hundred dollars, instead of the eight he promised, so I checked it. I know he went to Kansas. That's where he was a year ago, anyway. Kansas. I don't know the city. I was supposed to wire him some cash, and he'd send me a package."

"The name on the I.D?" Jordan breathes.

He cringes, working his mouth as if trying to weasel his way out of this. I raise my fist.

"Larry Pharmer, spelled 'ph'," he says, practically spitting.

Jordan's face is a gorgeous wreck. Her cheeks are flushed red and her eyes bright with unshed tears. Incredulous joy lights her up from within. Her eyes lock onto me, as if lost. As if I'm keeping her from drowning.

"Go," I tell her, pointing at the door. "Get down to the station, and tell them you received an anonymous tip. Make them act on this now."

"I don't have my car."

"Take the camper." I toss her the keys. "But don't park it at the station. Take it to the pizza place and leave it there."

"What about you and..."

Brandon squirms, obviously terrified for himself.

"Don't worry about me or him. I won't do anything permanent." She hesitates, biting her lip. "It will be all right. They'll find her."

"Okay." She's gone a second later. It's me and Brandon. All alone. I sweep the coffee table clear of beer cans, an ash tray, a bong and other trash. A fine white powder makes a cloudy smudge.

I tisk. "What a fucking pigsty you've got here, Brandon."

"Listen, I only did what I had to do. You were just as bad as me. If I go down, you'll go down with me."

"Looks like it." I sit on the sofa and throw my feet on the coffee table. He's crouched on the floor, clearly deciding whether or not to escape. I cross my arms and lean back. He relaxes slightly, too.

"So, we're going to wait here for the police to show up?"

"They aren't coming. Weren't you paying attention? She's going to say it was an anonymous tip. If it leads them to her daughter, you and I are going to make a deal."

"If it doesn't? Because he might have moved, or changed his name." He starts to stand and I make a threatening partial lunge. He cringes and crouches again. "It wouldn't be my fault, you know!"

"If they don't find Trey and Emma, it's very simple. You will go to jail for assisting a kidnapper, and you will suffer there, my friend. I will make sure of it. Sooner or later, I have friends who will find you, whether I'm on the inside too, or not, doesn't matter to me. I, or my friends, will find you, and, Brandon, you'll come to truly regret not turning him in when you had the chance."

I lean back again to wait. I've cast my die. I did what needed to be done, and it was easy—so fucking easy to do what was right. Now, I wait to see how I will live my life.

*** Thank you for reading, hit the star if you enjoyed! We're almost at the end.... ***