TOO ICY

💎 NINETEEN / JUSTICE SERVED

ICY

"Before I tell you anything about me, you tell me everything you think you know about me."
That was the offer that Isis laid out for Jetson. They sat across from each other on the balcony of a hotel she booked last minute, sipping on her favorite - brown liquor.

Isis may have been in love, but she was no fool. She still wasn't sure if she could trust Jetson, he was a wild card in her deck. She played him close, knowing at any minute, he could be just as detrimental as he was beneficial.

The crisp ocean breeze brushed past them, but the liquor in her system kept her warm.
Jetson stretched out his long legs and stared at her, collecting his thoughts. He clearly didn't trust her either.

"You think I'm a bad person. Don't you?" asked Isis.

"Of course not," he answered sincerely. "I know that's hard to believe on account of how I've been treating you. Before I say anything, I should apologize."

"It's okay-"

"It's not. No matter how upset I was, I shouldn't have let my anger overpower my judgment. I just... I wanted to hurt you the same."

"Thank you, but I should've told you the truth. No matter the consequences," she said. "I'm far from innocent. The fact I am still a free woman is both a blessing and a mystery. And I know you love your job. I could never ask you to risk it to be with me."

She took a much needed swig of her drink. Jetson let her words simmer.

"Lucky is trying to pin Solomon's murder on you. Right now, it doesn't hold any weight, but if she keeps pushing, it may. Mrs. Jones's case has been thrown out, which means someone has to pay. Your girl is already in there for a murder charge, so her credibility is shot," he shared. "Salita is working in my unit, and she is very interested in our history. At first, I didn't understand it. Then it all made sense when we got a call to a girl's home. Mr. Marco's."

Isis seemed unfazed by everything he dished out until he said that name. She suddenly felt sick.

"Salita made that exact face when we met him," Jetson noted.

"That old bastard is still alive?" Isis laughed, painfully. "Typical. Evil always lives on much longer than it should."

She started fiddling with her fingers. Jetson sat forward and covered her hands with his.

"You can tell me what happened there. I have an idea, but -"

"It wouldn't matter," she insisted. "That little girl is long gone."

"She's not gone. She's inside of you, telling you not to be afraid," said Jetson.

Isis stood from her chair. "I'm not afraid, Jet. I'm not afraid of anything. Not Lucky, not Salita, or nasty ass Marco. Why were you there anyway?"

He followed her inside. "There's a little girl missing. Her name is Pilar. The other girls said she ran away, but they're not really talking."

"Good for her," Isis said, pouring them both another drink. "She got away. Wherever she is, I promise you it's much safer than with him."

"Do you know where she may have gone? What did you do back then? If you don't mind me asking."

Isis could still feel her blistered feet hitting the pavement, digging into the gravel, bleeding, but she didn't dare stop. Not even when her chest burned.

"I don't really remember. I pushed all of that stuff out. I needed to forget it," she shrugged.

"My advice, ask around. See if anyone knows about safe houses for druggies and kids. You can work for housing and board. That's if she ain't found a trick by now. And while you're doing that, you also need to get the rest of them out of there."