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The silent standoff between the two continued, and when Dick finally took a step back, he said, “You said you had information on the phone earlier. Is that true?”
“Well, I didn’t just call you ’cause I missed your face.”
“Spit it out, Boudreaux, then we can both be gone.”
And it was the promise of that that finally made Henri talk. He wanted out of there as soon as possible, so he could go ahead and check in on Bailey. “I caught up with Scooter’s boy Ricky. Turns out the kid was onto something. Took me a few minutes and a handful of cash, but Ricky promised me a meetup with his supplier.”
“Did he give you the name?”
“Yeah, rAz. Was real jumpy ’bout it when I asked. Seemed worried the guy would know if he even mentioned it without having permission first.”
Dick put his hands on his hips and let out a sigh. “I mean, makes sense. RAz isn’t exactly known for politely asking people to keep quiet. I have three dead girls who can attest to that.”
“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”
“Yeah, one who’d rather chop out a tongue or lop off a head than have someone snitch on him. He’s one person I can safely say the world would be better off without.”
Henri knew the kind. Had been related to one, and grown up in fear of the other. But he doubted Dick would appreciate the comparison, or voluntarily offer to ease the world and end rAz’s existence.
“Okay. So, we’re waiting to hear back from Ricky?”
“Right.”
“Did he give you a time frame?”
Henri shrugged. “A week.”
“A fucking week?” Dick said. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s the best I could get, and it’s more than we had, so…”
Dick ran a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck. “Yeah, shit. Okay. So the second he calls, I want to know. We’ll co-ordinate and head over there. This guy doesn’t fuck around. If he even gets a whiff that you’re working with us, he won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head. You are not to go alone.”
“But—”
“Boudreaux,” Dick said in a steely tone. “This is non-negotiable. If I find out that you went to see this motherfucker without me, so help me God, I will kill you myself. Got it?”
Henri had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from telling Dick that he was more than capable of looking after himself. But in the spirit of trying to keep the peace for Bailey’s sake, Henri gave a clipped nod and reached into his pockets for the baggies. As he handed them over to Sean, he said, “I got it.”
“Very good. Then we’re done here.”
“Guess we are.”
Dick pocketed the drugs and then turned to walk away, but halfway to his car he stopped and looked back. “You know he’s too good for you, right?”
Henri absently twisted one of the rings around his fingers. “I do.”
Dick nodded. “Be sure to remember that anytime you think of doing something that would hurt him.”
Henri schooled his features but otherwise remained silent. Dick headed to his car, climbed inside, and drove away.
It wasn’t until he was gone that Henri noticed a sting in his palm, and looked down to see that he’d balled his fists until the ring on his left hand had cut through the skin. The idea of hurting Bailey causing both an emotional and physical response, because whether Henri wanted to or not, the likelihood that he wouldn’t mess this all up was slim to fucking none—wasn’t it?
Henri shook his head and shoved that thought aside. It was too late to turn back now. He was in too deep, felt too much for Bailey. But when he pulled his phone out of his pocket, Henri saw that his desire to reach out and comfort Bailey would have to wait—at least for now.
Bailey: Something came up at work. I need to cancel. Talk to you later.
Chapter Nine
CONFESSION
I knew he would catch me.
That’s why I came.
IF SOMEONE HAD asked Bailey how he’d wound up standing outside a locked lobby door staring at an intercom in the Fulton Market District, he would’ve had no idea how to answer them.
But that was where he found himself at nine forty-five in the morning, wearing the same blue jeans and black long-sleeved shirt he’d worn into work the night before, looking at the four names by the buttons for… There it is—H. Boudreaux.
It’d been several hours since Bailey had sent Henri the text saying he would have to cancel their sleepover date, and while he hadn’t gone into details, Henri’s quick understanding and lack of questions had been much appreciated at the time. Now, however, it seemed Bailey’s brain had a different idea.
The last eight hours had seemed like an eternity. Bailey felt as though he’d been walking around in a daze, barely able to see an arm’s length in front of himself, as he tried to navigate each new line of questioning lobbed his way. But luckily for him—or unluckily, depending on which way you looked at it—there’d been someone with him the entire time, writing down his responses and recording his every move.
