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“Of course it was you, Bean, and do you know how I know?”
His eyes get progressively wider. “How?”
I feel Danny and James watching me carefully, quietly curious. “Because King’s got my son, and the only person in Miami outside my family who knows Nolan is my son, is you.”
“Fuck,” Danny breathes, slamming the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Of course.”
“Oh God.” Bean dribbles and shakes, realization hitting him hard. “You must understand, he threatened me. My family.”
“Oh . . .” I jut out my bottom lip. “You were cornered.”
“Yes, yes, I was cornered.”
“And blackmailing my son,” I ask, “Did King make you do that too?”
“What?” An extra layer of panic arrives on his face.
“Am I not speaking loudly enough?” I ask James as I go to Bean, fisting his shirt and yanking him up to my snarling face. “When your plan to pin the murders of the Russians and Mexicans on us went to shit, did King make you blackmail my son?” I bellow.
His head shakes, more snot flies, more dribble mixing with the trickles of blood down his chin. “No.”
“No, he didn’t. That was all you. Because you’re a greedy fuck, aren’t you? You want to get yourself noticed by the FBI, don’t you?”
“Oh, you’d hate being an agent,” Danny says, grimacing. “We kill them even more gruesomely.”
“So you gave King what he needed to frame us—fuck what his motive was—and thought you’d swoop on in and claim the murders of the two Russians and two Mexicans solved. Except it didn’t work out, did it? Because our friend Agent Higham raised the fact that the emblems were carved by someone left-handed.” I tug the line again with my right hand, hearing Danny and James’s huffs of comprehension. “And Higham just confirmed it was you investigating those crimes. You trying to nail us for the murders King committed. So, with that plan fucked—because you couldn’t very well arrest King, could you?—you resorted to blackmailing my son for information on Danny. Because one unlawful man is better than none, right?”
“I feel targeted,” Danny grunts.
“I feel insulted,” James adds.
“Problem is, Bean, you dumb piece of shit, you neglected to see past your own agenda to make it into the FBI, and now you’ve contributed toward a huge fucking shitstorm in Miami. You’ve stalled us, sent us on a wild fucking goose chase.” I thrust my face in his. “And King has my son and is using him to blackmail us!”
“I didn’t . . . I never?—”
“Do you know what King used to do to his niece?” I ask, suddenly calm.
“His niece?”
“Yes, his niece. He abused her for years. Sold her to some rich, depraved rapist. She happens to be my woman now.”
“Oh, God, please.” He leans back, and I yank on the line. “Arhhhh!”
“This. This is what he used to do.” Another sharp tug. “Not nice, is it?” Tug, tug. Yelp, yelp. I walk toward the fireplace. Look back when the line pulls. “Oh dear,” I whisper. “It appears we’ve reached the end of the line.”
“No, please!”
I yank it with force and rip the hook out of his tongue, provoking a blood-curdling scream as James keeps him in his chair.
“Ewww.” Danny grimaces at Bean’s flapping tongue. “That’s fucking gross.”
The office door swings open. “Ah.” James releases Bean. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”
Higham watches Bean hit the floor. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” And walks straight back out, Tank following him.
“That was a flying visit,” Danny muses, just as Higham pushes his way back in and takes in Bean on the floor again, like he’s hoping he walked into the wrong room and will find a completely different scene.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks, looking at each of us in turn, like a principal giving a group of boys an opportunity to explain before their punishments are laid down.
