Page 78 of Wrecked

“Sounds like my little brother. Landon used to take fake ants and place them all over my dad when he was sleeping. The old man would wake up screaming.” Adam takes my half-made sewer and adds pineapple and chicken to it.

I cover my mouth with the back of my hand to keep from laughing. “When my dad came home with fried chicken, we’d place plastic chicken from my pretend kitchen playset in the bucket and watch as my dad went to bite into it.” I lower my voice down an octave as I say, “‘Pam, what the heck kind of chicken is this?’”

The two of us continue to work. Without discussing it, we’ve created an assembly line of sorts. I start the skewer with tomatoes, onions, zucchini, and steak and then hand it off to him to put on the rest before he brushes it with the oil mixture.

Our fingertips touch as he tells me about his time in the academy. He was away from home for months as he went through boot camp with the state in order to become one of our protectors.

“We had this one guy, Neil, who loved to play pranks. One night, I got into my bunk to find he put a big-as-anything daddy longlegs in my bed.”

“Gross. Did you fling it at his face?”

“Couldn’t. Sarge came in, so I had to jump into bed with the damn thing.”

I lean back. “What? Why didn’t you say something?”

“’Cause then Neil would have gotten a punishment, and the way camp works, we all would have been doing laps till the sun came up. Had to take one for the whole bunk.”

I go back to skewing and passing. “How long did you have to lie there with the spider in your bed?”

“All night. Sarge never left.” He places a finished skewer in a tin pan at the end of the table.

“That sucks.” I hand him the next skewer.

“One time, this other guy took food from the kitchen without permission. Sarge wanted to know who it was or else everyone was going to have to do drills. I knew it was my bunkmate, Trey, but I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Why not? What happened?” A piece of steak is a little hard to get the tip of the skewer through.

Adam takes the stick and meat from my hands and helps me. “We spent the whole night running. It’s an all-for-one, one-for-all mentality.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“I wasn’t there to have a good time.” He stares off for a moment.

The skewers are finished, so I turn to wash my hands. He follows me and does the same. We dry our hands and head back to the folding table.

I lean my hip against the edge, look up at him, and ask, “Do you ever wish you went to school to study architecture? You loved it. Used to talk about buildings all the time.”

He doesn’t take a second to answer, “No. I get to design homes all the time.”

I stare at him for way too long before it hits me. “You design the Homes for All Souls houses!”

His brows shoot up, and he nods, a proud smile on his face.

“Badass cop and homebuilder. Wow, Adam, that’s…I’m so happy you were able to do something with your dream of being an architect. I always wondered why you changed course.”

He crosses his arms, and his stance widens. Looking down, he says, “After Brad died, I found out Nico Martinez was his supplier. Nico’s cousin was a large supplier, moving the drugs across the state. I do everything I can to keep them out of the county, but it’s hard. Sometimes, I feel like I’m so close to getting to the source, but the problem is, you take one scumbag off the streets, and there’s some other asshole ready to take his place, make the quick buck.”

“How do you stop it?”

He shakes his head. “Some say, secure the borders; others say, better screening in the airports. Maybe legalizing is the answer. Take the power away from the dealers, so we can better monitor the situation. The honest truth is, I have no idea. All I know is that I will do whatever I can to make sure what happened to Brad doesn’t happen to anyone under my watch. And I am always watching.”

I take a step forward, intending to put my hand on his arm but think better of it. Keeping my hands at my sides, I look up at him and say, “Who’s watching after you?”

With a pained expression, he answers, “I do fine on my own.”

I bite on my lower lip to keep myself from saying something I’ll regret. Instead, I ask, “How did Brad hook up with trash like Nico?”

“Nico was in his art class. He was a decent kid until his cousin showed him how much money could be made. Apparently, Brad wanted to tap into his creative side. Before he died, Nico had him design a stamp—kind of like a logo—for the glassine bags they distribute heroin in. The fuck’s crew still sells with Brad’s drawing on it.”