Free Think Before You Speak by D. A. Bale Page B

when he got
older, to give himself a cool nickname.”
    I raised a brow.
    “Well, it was cool back then.”
    This time I didn’t bother trying to hide my
laugh. “When would being called Switch ever be considered
cool?”
    “Because that was his signature. He always
took a switchblade to his enemies.”
    “You mean to warn them off?”
    “No.” Reggie’s tone sobered to a whisper, as
if fearful of being overheard. “To kill them.”
    Oh, what new hell was this?

Chapter Nine

    If there’s one thing my mom and I agree on –
besides the spending power of her credit card – it’s that warm
chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk cheer all woes. Scraped
knees in pre-school? Chocolate chip cookies. Boy troubles in middle
school? Chocolate chip cookies. Rescuing my apartment from a
tornadic terror? Freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies saved the day
once again.
    Besides the Oreo stash, I was pleased to
discover several tubes of cookie dough in the freezer when
reclaiming my space. Figuring out the new all-digital oven was the
only thing standing in the way of chocolate satisfaction and a milk
mustache.
    But I prevailed by dragging a full plate of
not-too-scorched confections downstairs to apartment 102, the home
of my would-be and wounded savior. The sanctuary of the only person
I knew with the potential of gang ties. The pad of
Jimmy-the-Super.
    Hey, I never promised Reggie anything.
    The building’s superintendent and I once had
an avoid-at-all-costs relationship, meaning I paid my rent on time
and hightailed it out of there during the bi-annual bug hose down.
Gave him no reason to bother me in the interim, mainly because he
kinda creeped me out with all the scars and tattoos. But after his
attempt to save my sorry carcass from being thrown off the roof –
and taking a bullet in the process – I realized Jimmy had a heroic
streak. Therefore, he might also have a softer side I’d yet to see
through the hulking three hundred pounds of bulk and muscle.
    Plus, I was pretty sure there were some past
gang associations in his closet that might put me on the right path
in my quest to help Reggie. But when Jimmy opened his apartment
door with his arm in a sling, that creepy skull tattoo on his bicep
winked in the varying light between the thresholds and brought my
earlier assumptions to the forefront.
    I smiled – or at least tried to – and held up
the cookie plate to the brawny man. “Welcome home?” I squeaked.
    Eloquent I wasn’t – at least not around
Jimmy. There was something about the tattoos across his arms and
the jagged scars across his face that had me swigging a shot of
discomfort and a chaser of fear. Or perhaps my unease stemmed from
the fact that the guy always seemed too interested and
knowledgeable concerning my comings and goings.
    Still, he deserved thanks for coming to my
aid that night, even though it didn’t turn out so well for him.
    Jimmy grunted like a good Texan. “Been home
for a month, unlike you and that cat.”
    What’d I tell you? “Call this a thanks
offering then, for saving my life.”
    That got me a hard stare. “I was little more
than a distraction for all of two seconds.”
    He had a point. “Well then here’s to those
few seconds of distraction that kept me from becoming a pavement
pancake.”
    That got me another tattooed skull wink as he
opened the door wider. “You wanna come in?”
    I gulped. Cross the threshold into the
unknown? Enter the lion’s den? Those gang-related questions begged
to be asked if I was going to be useful to Reggie. I stepped
inside.
    The apartment was surprisingly clean for a
man. I mean, for a currently one-armed man. It was a mirror image
of what mine used to be – you know, that whole eighties theme.
Furniture was older, but in good condition with newer slipcovers.
The electronics were state-of-the art. A bank of small, dust-free
monitors took up most of the space on the corner desk.
    So that’s how he knew so much about my
comings and