“Come here, Ma,” Layne repeated.

“Tanner.”

“Get over here.”

She sighed, set her cup on the arm of the couch, got up and walked to him. When she got close, Layne jumped from the desk and folded his mother in his arms.

He knew she was crying even with her voice muffled by his chest when he heard her say, “You know, you haven’t hugged me since I got home.”

Layne bent and kissed the top of her head and then said there, “I’m a shit son.”

Her head tilted back and her wet eyes hit him, mascara running down, before she whispered, “No, not that, never that, honey. Never.”

“Love you, Ma,” he whispered back, she grinned and lifted her hand, patting him on the side of the neck twice before her fingers curled around.

Then her smile got bigger and she stated, “I’m glad we got this sorted out. Being mean is exhausting. Especially when, at the same time, you’re over the moon that your eldest grandchild has finally sorted out his head and your son is with a woman who cheers on the Colts, helps his boy with his homework and falls asleep on his chest and not one that screeches her nonsense at the top of her lungs at every available opportunity. So, I’ll warn you now, if you ever think of reuniting with Gabrielle, I will not offer to be your receptionist. I’ll have you committed.”

Layne smiled down at her. “Not thinkin’ that’s in the cards, Ma.”

“Thank God,” she breathed, still smiling, she took her hand away and smeared her mascara across her face.

“Maybe you need a mirror,” he suggested and she jumped from his arms.

“I knew it!” she cried, whirled and rushed into the bathroom.

Layne looked at the closed bathroom door while counting them down. That was two problems covered, his Ma and Astley. Then he walked back into his office thinking, his mother wanted to help out, he’d let her. She could do the books. He had checks to cash, invoices to send and bills to be paid. He was going to spend Monday doing it. Now, Vera could spend Friday doing it.

He didn’t make it to his desk when he heard the beep, looked to the monitor and saw Ryker walking up the stairs.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, quickly rounded the desk, pulled his nine millimeter out of a drawer and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans at his hip.

He was back in the outer office by the time Ryker came through the door.

“Yo, bro,” Ryker greeted.

“Ryker,” Layne returned, hoping his mother was adding a whole new layer of makeup.

Ryker looked around the office then back at Layne. “Dig the digs,” he commented.

“Thrilled you approve,” Layne replied.

Ryker’s eyes dropped to Layne’s gun then went back to his and he smiled his big, ugly smile. “Nine millimeter? Take that as a compliment, bro.”

Layne cut to the chase. “You here for a reason?”

Without delay, Ryker walked in, skirted Layne and went into his office. Layne stood where he was, eyes on the bathroom door, counting to ten.

He found this didn’t work and he followed Ryker into his office to see him lounging in one of the two chairs in front of Layne’s desk.

Layne rounded the desk, pulled out his gun and set it on the desktop, close, as he sat down.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Thought we could go out, get a beer, play some pool,” Ryker replied and Layne stared.

Then he asked, “Come again?”

“Pool. Beer. Women. We both got hot babes but that don’t mean we can’t look.”

“Not sure what keeps you in motorcycle boots and leather jackets but it’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I got two growin’ boys so I gotta work for a living,” Layne replied.

Ryker smiled his big, ugly smile again and stated, “Yeah, been askin’ ‘round about you. You’re like King Dick. The top of the Private Dick Heap. What you charge, bro, you could work three hours a day and still feed those two powerhouses.”

“I worked three hours a day, Ryker, wouldn’t have clients to pay those fees,” Layne returned.

Ryker shrugged, “Suit yourself.” Then he leaned forward and asked, “So what we workin’?”

Oh shit.

“We?” Layne asked back.

“Yeah,” Ryker lounged back in his seat, “we.”

“I think I told you already I work alone.”

“Now you work with me.”

“I skipped a part,” Layne informed him. “How’d that happen?”

“Baranski’s out of your old old lady’s house. That happened because of me. You think I do somethin’ for nothin’?”

Fuck.

“And payback is we partner up?” Layne asked.

Ryker shrugged again. “Sure, when I’m bored and I’m bored,” he answered. “So what we workin’?”

Layne heard the bathroom door open and Ryker shot out of his chair, his hand going behind his back, he pulled out his .45.

Fuck!

“Honey?” Vera called.

“In here, Ma,” Layne called back and then said low to Ryker, “Stand down.”

Ryker relaxed and shoved his gun back right before Vera hit the door. She looked up at Ryker and her mouth dropped open.

“My,” she breathed, “you’re a big boy.”

“Ma, this is Ryker. Ryker, Vera Layne,” Layne introduced.

Ryker grinned his ugly grin and stuck out a meaty hand. “Ma’am.”

Vera took it and shook it, placing her other hand on top, saying, “Ryker. Is that your first name or your last?”

“Both,” Ryker replied and her eyebrows shot up.

“Both? You’re a one name man?” she asked and Ryker let go of her hand.

“Yep,” Ryker answered and Vera’s eyes shot to Layne.

“How neat!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never met a one name person before!”

Ryker turned his ugly smile to Layne.

Layne sighed.

Then he suggested, “Ma, how ‘bout you get your coffee, get your ass to the grocery store and buy a beef tenderloin for dinner.”

Vera stared at him and then stated firmly, “Beef tenderloin is for special occasions, Tanner, you know that.”

“Like you makin’ up for bein’ a bitch to Roc for the last week, an occasion like that?” Layne replied. “It’s her favorite, or, when you used to make it, it was.”

Vera was silent before she whispered, “Oh, right.”

Layne smiled at her to take the bite out of his earlier words. “Don’t forget the horseradish sauce and you can come in tomorrow and do my books.”

He watched his mother’s face light up. “Really?”

Jesus, only his mother, the nutcase CPA, would be excited about doing books.

“Yeah,” Layne said.

“Fantastic!” she cried then turned to Ryker and announced, “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she leaned in, grinned and said like she and Ryker shared an in-joke, “Ryker.”

Then she disappeared.

Layne looked to the monitors to watch his mother walk down the stairs as Ryker resumed his seat.

“Your Ma was a bitch to your babe?” Ryker asked and Layne’s eyes cut to him.

“Long story,” Layne mumbled.

“Bro,” Ryker grinned.

You understand my vision of justice, Ryker had said.

Layne stared at him but he didn’t spend much time doing it before he made a decision.

“You know TJ Gaines?” Layne asked.

“Who?” Ryker asked back.

“Youth Minister at the Christian Church,” Layne answered and the grin faded from Ryker’s face and Layne watched it go scary.

“Don’t know what that is,” Ryker said quietly, his voice lethal. “Just know that shit ain’t right.”

“Have you heard something?” Layne asked.

“Everyone in the ‘burg is whisperin’ about it,” Ryker responded. “No one likes it but no one’s got a handle on it.”

“Well, I’m lookin’ into it and now you are too.”

Ryker’s grin came back. “What you got?” he asked.

“Nothin’. Just an apartment at The Brendel. Don’t know if he lives there or if he visits someone there. Unit K. Apartment three. I need to know when I can get in so I need someone watching it. You need to get me intel on who the occupants are, how many there are, when they come, when they go and when I can get in to do a clean sweep. I don’t wanna toss the place. I need time to do it right but I gotta know when that time’ll be.”

“Brendel’s the ‘burg’s Fort Knox. Even pads on The Heritage don’t have that kind of security. And even if I manage to hang out and take notes which, bro, I don’t know if you noticed but I’m not exactly the kinda guy who fades into the woodwork, especially at a place like The Brendel, ain’t no way you’d get in.”

“They sensor the windows not the doors,” Layne replied.

“Hunh?”

“If they fucked the security at Gaines’s place like they fucked the security at Roc’s place, they sensored the windows on his balcony, not the doors.”

“Roc?”

“My woman.”

“Her name is Roc?” Ryker shook his head. “Bro, I got a good look at her and she don’t look like no rock to me. Nothin’ hard on her, all curves and soft.”

“Her name’s Raquel and, just a head’s up, maybe after I have a few beers and a game of pool, I might be okay with you talkin’ about my woman like that but…” Layne hesitated and gave him a look. “Wait, no, I’ll never be okay with you talkin’ about my woman like that,” Layne warned.

Ryker grinned again.

Layne lost patience.

“Are you in?” he demanded.

“Never done a stakeout.”

“Today’s your day,” Layne told him and his cell phone on the desk rang as Ryker replied, “I’m on it.”

Layne looked at the display to see it said, “Tripp calling”.

His brows drew together. Tripp should be at football practice.

He gave Ryker a one-minute finger, flipped the phone open and put it to his ear.