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“I think I need a coffee,” I muse, heading to the kitchen. “You got a machine?”
“I can’t cope,” I hear him mutter, following me. “Here.” He steps over the body and pulls a few cups down. “Anyone else?”
“Please,” Brad calls from the lounge. “No sugar.”
“No sugar,” James grunts.
I grin when Lennox looks at me. “Black.” I wander away, leaving Benson to distract himself from his situation for a few moments playing barista. James and Brad are by the window when I get back. “I feel like Candid Camera is gonna pop out of the fireplace at any moment and tell us this is a cruel joke.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Brad asks.
“I don’t know, Brad, because I never know what the fuck you’re thinking these days.”
“Me neither,” he mutters to himself, winning both James’s and my attention.
“I think I know what you’re thinking,” James says, a definite hint of glee and excitement in his eyes.
“Coffee,” Benson says, entering with four cups split between two hands. He passes them around and I take my seat again, as do James and Brad.
“No reports of gunshots last night,” James says, holding up his phone.
How, I don’t fucking know. I saw the shotgun. But the police didn’t show up and here we are.
I look around Benson’s lovely Miami property. “We need to burn this place down.”
He coughs over his coffee. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” Brad says, going straight to his phone. “Our pal Ringo is an expert arsonist. He’ll be in is element.”
“And the bodies?”
“No issue,” James muses. “We know where the sharks play.”
The poor bloke looks dazed as he takes some coffee. “Mind if I smoke?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Danny, you do whatever the fuck you like.”
“Thanks.” I light up and throw my packet and lighter to Brad, who follows suit. James declines this time. “So in return for sorting out this mess for you, there’s something you can do for me.”
Benson takes a few deep breaths, bracing himself for what I might demand. “Go on.”
I can’t say I like the fuckhead. True, he’s good in a fight. Has raised a good kid. Drew the short straw on wives. I don’t want him anywhere near Rose, but he could solve the problem of Daniel. Yes, the principal acquiesced—sort of—and allowed Daniel back into the school, but to what end? It won’t be made easy for the kid, no matter what threats I toss around, and I really don’t want to expose Daniel like that or put him in a position where he has to threaten people with Pops’s gold letter opener. Will Rose worry less if he does some distance ed? “You can go back to St. Lucia,” I say, feeling Brad’s focus on my profile. “It shouldn’t raise too many questions given your house in Miami just burned down.” I smile. Benson exhales his disbelief. “And take Daniel with you.”
Dubious, he watches me as I slowly sip my coffee. “That’s it?”
“You can use my private jet. It’ll be ready to leave in a day or two. You should get Barney up.” I go to the fireplace and flick my ash in there. “You’re coming to stay with us.”
“What?” Benson blurts, recoiling.
I look at Brad, exasperated. “No, seriously, am I speaking Chi-fucking-nese?” For fuck’s sake. “You. Are. Coming. To. Stay. With. Us.” I take one last puff of my cigarette and throw it in the fireplace. “But, I swear, Benson, if you even look at my wife in a way I don’t like, I’ll?—”
“I get it.” His hand comes up, stopping me from finishing my threat. “With respect, Danny, your wife is a beautiful wom?—”
“Stop.”
“She’s stunning, b?—”
“Shut up, Benson.”
