Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

we’ve been through, all that shit with the quake, all the times we’ve helped each other. We’ve known each other for a long time. We have fought, we have argued. Fuck it – we’ve saved the world together. Hearing him talk like this, hearing him threaten me…

But there’s no way I’m turning Leo over. That would be the worst thing I could do. I’d never forgive myself.

“Can’t do that,” I say. I straighten up to my full height – five three, but you work with what you’ve got. “Africa, listen to me. We are talking about the life of a child. If you do this, that’s over. He won’t be dead, but he may as well be.”

I don’t even care if Leo hears this – I have to make Africa understand. “There are things bigger than China Shop, and this is one of them. Please, dude. Think.”

Just for a second, Africa hesitates. The tiniest flicker of doubt crosses his face, his eyes narrowing very slightly. He runs his tongue across his upper lip – I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it. Yes. Come on. Make the right decision, big guy.

Which is when Nic decides to save the day.

Maybe he thinks I’m not going to convince Africa, or just decides enough is enough. He steps forward, raises his chin slightly. “OK, I’ve heard enough. You need to know that I am the legal representative for this woman, Teagan Frost, also known as Emily Jameson. I am also the legal representative for this child, Leo Nguyen. They are my clients.”

I gape at him. “Nic, what are you doing?”

He ignores me, puffing his chest out. “My clients are American citizens, and enjoy the rights and privileges afforded by our constitution, and by the rule of law. You wish to detain Mr Nguyen. He is with Ms Frost and myself of his own free will – we are acting in loco parentis until his biological father is found, a fact the child will be more than happy to confirm. He can be detained by an authorised law enforcement officer with the proper identification, but since you don’t have any, I’d ask you to politely fuck off.”

A shutter comes down on Africa’s face. Closed for business. Expression as hard and unyielding as a steel door.

Doesn’t Nic get it? Africa used to be homeless. He spent years living in the cracks. His enemies were people who spoke exactly like Nic is speaking now. Lawyers and judges and case officers and cops.

“You talk to me,” Africa says slowly. It’s the complete opposite of how he was before. There’s no yelling now. No gesturing. His voice is quiet, as still as a calm sea, with dark shapes swimming just below the surface. “You talk to me about the law.”

“I want this to be clear,” Nic continues. “You’ve presented no ID, and no arrest warrant. If you act against my clients, or if you try to detain them in any way, you should know that I will be contacting the Los Angeles Police Department and informing them of a kidnapping.”

“Nic,” I say. “Shut the fuck up right—”

Africa shoves Nic aside, reaches out, and grabs hold of Leo Nguyen.

It’s one of those situations which you know is going to end badly even before you fully understand what’s happening – but you can’t do a single thing to stop it. You just stand there with a stupid look on your face, unable to move, unable to even speak.

“Leave me alone!” Leo yells.

And on the last word, he discharges a huge burst of electricity into Africa.

TWENTY-SEVENTeagan

There’s a giant bang, and Africa goes flying.

He shoots backwards, his feet leaving the ground, his huge arms flailing. There’s a split-second where I get a look at his face, and what’s there is total, sincere confusion. Like he genuinely cannot believe this is happening to him.

He flies ten feet, slamming into the door of the nearby Humvee, right by the soldier with the wraparound shades. The man dives for cover as Africa slides to the ground, the stunned expression still on his face.

Nic grabs for Leo, way too fucking late. I have to use my PK to grab hold of his watch, stop him from touching the kid and getting his own dose of zap. Nic’s wrist jerks, and he winces in pain, eyes flicking over to me.

“Leave me alone!” Leo yells again, little fists balled.

“Drop your weapon!” The soldier with the shades rips his rifle up. His aim lingers on Leo, before swinging over to me, as if he can’t comprehend what he just saw. He’s young – my age, maybe even less. The rifle barrel trembles as he draws a bead on us. I put my hands automatically, even as I lock the gun down, jamming the safety catch in place.

The crowd at the stadium entrance scatters, tripping over each other to get away. Africa is still sprawled, blinking in stunned disbelief. His clothes are smoking – it’s probably only his size that’s kept him conscious after a hit like that.

“Christmas elves!” I yell. I read once that if you want to defuse a fight, you should start yelling nonsense – something about how it short-circuits the aggression response in peoples’ brains. “Monocles! LeBron James! Panna cotta! Um…”

“What are you doing?” Nic shouts. He’s frozen in place, one foot slightly lifted, as if getting ready to break into a run. His voice is a lot higher than it normally is.

“Shut up, I’m thinking! Netflix! Netflix and Chill!”

“I said, drop it!” the soldier yells. There’s the thunder of boot-clad feet. More guardsmen appear, coming in with rifles up, yelling at the onlookers to get back. They’re approaching us in a loose semicircle, yelling at us to get on the ground.

Well. That didn’t work.

“Listen to me,” Nic shouts, Leo quaking behind his legs. “These are my clients, and—”

“Nic, enough.” For some reason, my voice stops the guardsmen yelling, just for a second. As if they want a little more time