“What a place,” Jasmine muttered. She typed a message into her phone.

  She waited only a minute before the reply came. Although she had sent her location, DeMarco suggested another place and time. She checked the time on her cell phone. Shit. Six minutes to find this place. DeMarco is responsive, Jasmine thought.

  She typed the location into her phone’s map and discovered the place was just around the corner. She took off, passing through an abandoned children’s park with rope swings severed and lopsided, burn marks on the metallic front of the warped slide, and overgrown weeds bursting through the rubber tiles. When she turned onto a quiet street, Jasmine slowed. One side was lined with padlocked garages, and the other side was a windowless brick face of the side of a large apartment building.

  Jasmine passed several garages and stopped to wait at the appointed spot. She was one minute early. She folded the jacket around her as a chill wind swept in.

  As she was looking in the opposite direction, a hissed whisper called to her. Jasmine turned to find a head poking out beneath the bottom of one of the garages. The door was opened enough to see her by.

  “Pssst. This way.” The bald man ducked back inside the garage.

  Jasmine advanced slowly, ready to draw her claws if she needed to. She crouched, peeking into the black shadows of the garage. She jumped back as the door swung open. Two sets of hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her inside.

  She hit the ground on both knees and was plunged into darkness, aware of several bodies moving around her. An explosion of light surprised her when a single naked bulb lit the room.

  Jasmine coughed, dust kicking up in plumes around her. The garage was nearly empty, except for a few fold-up chairs dotted around the place. Each one held a different bald meathead staring at her. A quick inspection revealed no guns or weapons, but Jasmine’s guard was up.

  “Don’t fret, girl,” a raspy voice announced. Jasmine turned to one of the meatheads—the most relaxed of the group. “You’re in safe hands. So long as you got the cash, you gots nothing to worry about.”

  The man grinned, revealing a mouth sparkling with gold teeth. He wore a white tank top that stretched over his swollen stomach and chest. Patches of wispy hair dotted his body.

  “I take it that you’re DeMarco?” Jasmine asked.

  “In the flesh.” He chuckled. He had a youth to his eyes that his body didn’t possess. “And how did a sweet little thing like you happen to come by my services?”

  “I’m looking for someone,” Jasmine declared.

  “Aren’t we all?” DeMarco exploded into laughter, looking at his goons, each one of them matching his energy when he turned his gaze on them.

  Jasmine rose to a kneeling position, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” DeMarco assured Jasmine. “You don’t have to worry about that kind of thing with me. You look like a sweet girl. I gots a daughter only a bit younger than you. I ain’t in the business of body snatching.”

  “What are you in the business of?” Jasmine inquired.

  DeMarco looked down on Jasmine like a fat king of old, filled with superiority, as though Jasmine were the entertainment. “I’m in the business of providing. You want something, I gets it. Get it?”

  “Drugs?” Jasmine asked.

  “That what you want?” DeMarco shot back, studying Jasmine closely.

  Jasmine composed herself. “I’m looking for someone. A boy.”

  “I tolds you. We ain’t in the business of body snatching.” DeMarco sat back, lacing fingers over the hump of his stomach. “Try again.”

  Jasmine smirked. “I don’t want to kidnap a kid. I’m after information from him. He has intel that I require.”

  “Ooo, sounds interesting.” DeMarco exchanged looks with his men. “Sounds juicy. Is this, perhaps, intel that could do DeMarco any good?”

  “I doubt it,” Jasmine answered.

  DeMarco smirked. “Then why would a pretty ticket like yourself be searching for it? It has to have value, somehow. Ain’t that the truth?”

  Jasmine shrugged. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  DeMarco considered Jasmine for a long time. The overhead bulb buzzed with electricity, and DeMarco’s goons sat still, watching their leader.

  “You got the cash?” DeMarco asked at last.

  Jasmine patted her chest, feeling the remaining wad of cash.

  “Name?” DeMarco followed up.

  “Tommy Boyd,” Jasmine divulged, already getting sick of the taste of the boy’s name on her tongue.

  “Boyd…” DeMarco frowned, chewing over the name. “Boyd…Boyd…” He glanced over to one of his goons. “Hey, Stix. You were talking about a Boyd recently, ain’tcha? Wasn’t no boy though, was it? Definitely a Boyd.”

  Color rushed to Stix’s cheeks. He grinned. “Yeah. I know a Boyd.”

  DeMarco searched his memories, trying to recall the conversation. When it hit him, his face lit up, eyes widening before a laugh launched from his throat. He fell into hysterics, slapping his knee. “Boyd! Sandra Boyd? That the girl?”

  Stix grinned, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Yep. That’s her.”

  DeMarco turned his attention back to Jasmine. “Yeah, we’ve got Boyd. Well, a Boyd, at least. Can’t say it’s all that common around these parts. You gots real lucky, though. Stix here only knows the name cos he plowed a woman by that name… When was it? Last week?”

  “Yeah, last week,” Stix confirmed. “Six out of ten.”

  Jasmine was surrounded by laughter, though she didn’t join in.

  “Can you take me to them?” Jasmine requested. “Or at least give me an address.”

  DeMarco fingered tears from his eyes as he fought to collect himself. “Sure. Sure.”

  Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief and rose to her feet.

  DeMarco snapped his fingers at Stix. “Go take her. Give her what she wants.”

  Stix rose from his chair. A goon near the garage door opened the panel.

  As Jasmine made to leave, meaty fingers clamped around her wrist. DeMarco looked up at her, all his laughter gone, with an intensity in his gaze that startled Jasmine. “The cash.”

  Jasmine nodded. She used her free hand to fish into her pocket and draw out the stack of bills. Without asking an amount, she tossed the pile into DeMarco’s lap. “That should cover it. Thanks.”

  DeMarco’s eyebrow shot up, disbelief in his eyes.

  Jasmine followed Stix from the garage and into the street.

  They walked several blocks together in silence. Jasmine didn’t try to speak with Stix, nor was she interested in what he had to say. She had a job to do, and he was a means to an end. They passed through streets that looked like they had been neglected by the city, and some that clearly got a lot of money and attention. At one point, they encountered a shaking drug addict who recognized Stix and fell on his knees to beg DeMarco for one more chance, but after about thirty minutes they arrived at a street with cement gray apartment buildings on either side. The trees lining the path were dead and blackened, and trash flew like tumbleweeds along the road.

  Stix took Jasmine to the top of a set of stairs leading down to the basement level beneath the apartment buildings. Black rails guarded windows so thick with dust and grime that it was impossible to see inside.

  “Here,” Stix told her, the only word he had spoken on their journey.

  “Down there?” Jasmine asked, but Stix was already walking away, leaving Jasmine by herself.

  She glanced down the stairs, not encouraged by the sight. Ivy crossed the brickwork around the doorframe, and the door itself hung crooked on its hinges. The glass on the door was cracked and boarded over with two-by-fours, and Jasmine wondered when this place had last been inspected.

  “Here goes…” she muttered, knowing she had nothing to lose from knocking. Unless this was all a huge setup by the kids and DeMarco, the answers she was looking for would likely come from this hovel beneath the ground.

  The street was quiet around her. Every step sounded magnified. She knocked on the wood barricading the door and waited.

  There was no answer.

  Jasmine peered through the cracks in the door, seeing only darkness inside. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the frame, and Jasmine wondered when this building was last repaired.

  She knocked again. “Hello?”

  Someone coughed inside.

  Jasmine pressed her ear to the door. There was someone there.

  Jasmine knocked once more. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  A moment later, she heard shuffling footsteps accompanied by another cough. It sounded wet and choked, like someone who had smoked for years. Her suspicion was confirmed when the chain was pulled and the door opened to reveal a gaunt, sour-faced woman. Her teeth and fingers were yellow, and the smell of cigarettes poured off her. Her eyes were dark buttons pressed into the dough of her puffy face that made her look as though she had been recently crying.

  “What?” Her tone was sharp and dismissive.

  “Hi,” Jasmine replied, trying her best to keep friendly. “I’m looking for the Boyd family? More specifically, Tommy?”

  The woman took a long drag of a cigarette Jasmine hadn’t noticed she was clutching in her hand. Her other hand secured the lace nightie around her body. She studied Jasmine for a moment before exhaling a cloud of smoke in her face. “That’s us. Tommy is my boy.”

  “Tommy’s your son?” Jasmine asked.

  “Not exactly.” The woman eyed her suspiciously. “What do you want?”

  Jasmine looked over Ms. Boyd’s shoulder. “May I come in? I promise it shouldn’t take long.”

  The woman looked like she would refuse, but after a moment’s thought, she rolled her eyes and stepped aside. “Fine. Just know that I’m not set up for visitors.”

  No kidding, Jasmine thought as she followed the woman into the building. The place was scattered with trash and debris. Newspapers covered almost every inch of the floor, trash bags lined the halls, and with each step further inside, the putrid scent increased. The wallpaper was yellowed and peeling from the top. The woman navigated her way expertly around the obstacles, though Jasmine’s feet caught a few times.

  “Excuse the mess,” the woman called back. “Cleaner comes this week.”

  I highly doubt that, Jasmine thought.

  The woman led Jasmine through to a modest kitchen, this room in no better state than the hall. Towers of pots and pans were stacked next to the sink, and green things grew from cups and bowls. The woman brushed a collection of items from a wooden seat and offered the space to Jasmine.

  Jasmine sat where Ms. Boyd had indicated, and the woman sat across from her. She stared intently with dark eyes that were hard to read. “Well? Go on, then. What do you want with my Tommy?”

  Jasmine laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the table. “I’m just hoping to ask him a few questions. There was an…incident last night, and your son was involved.”

  “Oh, I know,” the woman replied. “Tommy’s still resting it off over at the hospital. You think I wouldn’t know where Tommy is?”

  “I didn’t want to assume,” Jasmine replied.

  The woman reached the end of her cigarette. She stubbed out the rest on a stack of letters, each with a big red stamp screaming “Overdue” on the front. “He’s not my son.”

  “I’m sorry?” Jasmine asked.

  “I’m not.” The woman belched laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She waved her hands and coughed into the crook of her arm. “Look, I’m not sure what information you want to pull from me. Tommy isn’t my boy. He’s my sister’s. I can’t be held responsible for him being a little shit. That was Debbie’s problem.”

  Jasmine frowned. “And is Debbie…?”

  “Dead?” the woman supplied. “Ten years in the grave now. Piece of shit. Useless bitch in life, and now I get to inherit her kids. Great, huh? Not like I wasn’t struggling before, and now I’ve got two more parasites leeching off me.” She glanced at a crookedly hung framed photo of a younger version of herself in a pink feather boa. “I was gonna be someone. I could have been someone.”

  Jasmine tried to pull the conversation back to the point at hand. “Look, I don’t know the ins and outs of you and your situation, but Tommy attacked my friend last night. I need to know why. I get the feeling this isn’t the sort of thing he does.”

  The woman waved a hand. “Who the fuck knows? Who cares? It’s done now. Probably some drug-infused rampage from all the street powders going around these days.” She shook her head. “In my day, it was simple. Weed and coke. Done. None of this experimental shit.”

  “Ms. Boyd, your nephew tried to murder someone.”

  The woman scoffed. “Tried… That’s about the sum of it. Couldn’t even do that right.” She chuckled. “You know, Tommy was the good one. The one I could depend on to at least have some kind of heart. When Debbie died, her inheritance sorted out the upkeep of these two—to a certain extent. Tommy helped where he could. Kept outta trouble. Now…well, he’s just like the rest of the men in this scum pocket we call home.”

  Jasmine decided to try another angle. “You mentioned another child? A girl?”

  “Rhonda?” The woman lit another cigarette. “Little bitch if I ever knew one. Don’t bother keeping tabs on that one. It would kill me dead if I tried. Does what she wants, when she wants. Did even when her mother was alive. You want to stare into the face of chaos, talk to Rhonda. Slips in like a cat, slips out like a shadow.”

  “So you don’t know where she is?” Jasmine asked.

  “Never do.” The woman shook her head sadly. “No point. She doesn’t care about anyone’s business, so I don’t care about hers. Only one able to keep tabs on her and stop her running off was Tommy, and now he’s going to be locked up for murder.” For the first time, her voice cracked and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

  Jasmine felt a sudden pity for the woman. Life hadn’t been kind, and now she was dealing with a child potentially going to prison and another who could end up dead at any moment. She wanted to soothe her, to tell her everything would be all right, but all she could manage was, “Attempted murder.”

  The woman emitted a long, strange howl of pain. Jasmine glanced down at the table, then back to her. Realizing there was nothing here she could draw from the woman, she rose to her feet. “I’m really sorry about all of this, Ms. Boyd. I hope things ease up for you. I really do.”

  The woman’s cries turned into a guttural scoff. “Yeah, okay.” She waved a shaking hand, then returned the cigarette to her lips, not looking at Jasmine. Jasmine placed a card with her phone number in front of the woman. “If you hear of anything that might be relevant to finding out more about all of this mess, please get in touch.”

  Jasmine left the house, pausing at the front door. She took a long breath of clean air, wondering how the city could let people live like this. She climbed the stairs, planning to go to the hospital to see if she could find out more from Tommy.

  Movement drew her attention to her left. A girl was slipping through a small window, twisting her body through the gap in the grimy panes.

  Without thinking, Jasmine rushed to her, leaping the stairs in one bound. She grabbed the back of the girl’s shirt and pulled her from the window toward the recess outside the apartment building.

  They stared at each other for a beat. Jasmine’s breath caught when she recognized the young girl she had seen outside the Nest the previous night, the one she had let get away.

  “You…” Jasmine muttered.

  The girl shoved Jasmine in the chest and sprinted up the stairs. Jasmine followed, quickly gaining on her. Within seconds she had her and pulled her toward a narrow alley at the side of the building.

  “Hey! What the…” the girl protested.

  Jasmine pressed her to the brickwork, holding her in place in the shadows. The girl wriggled and writhed in her grasp, fury on her face. Jasmine used her spare hand to extend a single claw, which she pressed against the girl’s throat.

  “Ow! You’re hurting me!” the girl bellowed.

  If this was the feral child Ms. Boyd had spoken of, Jasmine needed to use intense tactics to get information. She spoke through gritted teeth. “That’s nothing compared to what it’s going to feel like if I don’t get some answers. Now calm down, and lower your voice.”

  “I’ll scream,” the girl warned.

  With a confident smile, Jasmine replied, “Oh, I bet you will. Problem is, do you think anyone in this neighborhood will care?”

  Jasmine’s reaction sucked the air from the girl’s sails. The girl stared intently at her, stumped and knowing the answer.

  “Very good.” Jasmine eased off her throat a touch. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, let us begin.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jasmine stepped back, keeping close enough to the girl to catch her if she tried anything. “You’re Rhonda, aren’t you?”

  “Who’s asking?” Rhonda straightened her tight-fitting t-shirt. The front was covered in a sheen of dirt from the filthy window she’d tried to climb through.

  “I’m Jasmine,” Jasmine replied, doing her best to soften in front of the girl. After all, she wasn’t sure that Rhonda had been doing anything wrong. She only knew that she had been outside the Nest on the night of her brother’s attack. “I’m the…bouncer at the Nest.”

  “That’s what you call yourself?” Rhonda jeered. “You often batter your clientele until you’re covered in blood?”

  Jasmine leveled her stare at Rhonda and waited. Rhonda’s eyes darted to the mouth of the alley, perhaps weighing whether she’d be quick enough to escape Jasmine’s grasp.

  She decided against it. “Yeah. I’m Rhonda.”

  “And Tommy is your brother, right?” Jasmine pushed on. She knew the answer, but her former career had taught her to always be thorough. “Tommy Boyd?”

  “Great detective work, Sherlock,” Rhonda spat.

  Jasmine held her hands in front of her. “Look. You need to understand that I’m not here to hurt anybody. I’m here to try to stop more people from getting hurt. To do that, I need to understand what you know. I need to know why Tommy came to the Nest and shot my friend.”