LIAM
The stink of burning gasoline lingers around the parking garage and it smells like heaven. I sit back and suck it down, a big smile on my face.
That scent reminds me of a very good girl.
Getting out of bed this morning was uncharacteristically hard. Usually, I’m awake at the crack of dawn and on the sidewalk before the sun’s had a chance to kiss the glittering skyscrapers. What’s there to do sitting around in my apartment?
Life is down here in the streets.
Like right now.
An hour ago, it was a madhouse around here. Onlookers, cops, firefighters, the works. Seems like our little game the night before caused more than a few problems. Not my most controlled demolition, I’ll be honest. But so what if a few innocent bystanders caught a stray?
The price of doing business here in the greatest city in the world.
But now the action’s dying down, all except for one person. He’s pacing back and forth talking animatedly into his phone. He looks haggard, disheveled, like he didn’t sleep well. Poor little guy must’ve been dragged out of bed before he could get his usual eight-plus and now he’s stuck dealing with bureaucratic red tape. Insurance, investigation, all that shit. The machinery that was built to make our lives both easier and harder.
The Big Grind.
He shoves his phone into his pocket, face crinkled with disgust, and stares forlornly at the garage entrance for a full minute. I wonder if he cared this much about breaking poor Regan’s heart? Did he so much as blink when his cheating dick was balls-deep in that Baranov girl? Did he worry how it might hurt the girl he was supposed to be faithful to?
I’m a lot of things. Killer, thief, terrible singer, fantastic poker player, but above all else, I’m loyal. Maybe to a fault, if I’m honest with myself, but a man’s got to have a reason to walk around, dick swaying proudly. Or else he’s not a man at all.
And I strongly suspect Kieren Foley’s about the least manly fucker I’ve ever seen in my life.
He stalks off down the street, hands shoved into his pockets. I follow at a discreet distance, though I think I could stomp on his heels and he’d barely notice right now. Regan would love to see this. That girl’s wound up tighter than an iron rod but god damn would it help her loosen up a bit knowing her stunt last night had the exact effect she was hoping for.
And then some, judging by the sweaty, toe-curling sex we had.
I’m humming to myself, in a better mood than I have a right to be in. Despite the incredible night with a fascinating woman, Ididn’t get what I set out to find. I have a job to perform, and that doesn’t involve setting fires and fucking gorgeous, uptight women.
Though honestly? Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work. I’ll make a note of that moving forward and circle back.
Kieren trudges for a while. I bet he’s really missing that car about now. He turns into a more crowded area of the city packed with restaurants and coffee places and ducks inside a decent looking cafe. One of those little joints where rich work-from-home fuckers like to set up for the day. I hesitate outside, thinking I’ll stand out, and decide not to follow. But I get lucky and catch a glimpse of a pretty blond girl waiting in line. She turns, hair swaying, says something and looksconcerned, the little minx, but I don’t stick around to watch the rest of their interaction.
The bastard really did go running off to his new lady the second something went wrong.
Is she trying to make things right? Telling him not to get spooked? To stick to the plan? Kieren’s a useful idiot at best and a cock sucking traitor bastard at worst, but roaches like him tend to be very good at smelling when there’s danger.
And a big ass burning car spellsa lotof trouble.
I’m thinking about ducking into a nearby alley. It’s convenient and dark. Dumpsters, stagnant water in puddles, the stench of rotting coffee beans. Kieren will probably come out of the cafe and walk past on his way to wherever the hell he’s headed next. I could snatch him, drag him back into the quiet, shove a rag in his mouth, put a gun to his head, pull the trigger and kill him right here. Leave him for his brothers, the rats. And I’m very fucking tempted to do it, if I’m honest.
A man’s got to have a reason to live. What’s the point of walking around if you’re drifting with the wind?
I don’t do it though. I keep on strolling and humming because I know that thought’s not rational. It doesn’t help my actual job, which isn’t to assassinate the Kieren rat, and I know I only want to do it for Regan. That’s a new feeling, if I’m honest, wanting to kill for a girl I only met the night before. Yes, the sex was fantastic, and the arson was almost as good, but that’s usually not enough to commit a murder.
Something to keep in mind, moving forward.
That girl’s got a power on me.
I circle around the block and find my unburned car. The city’s getting crowded now, all the animals coming out of their slumber. I cruise, not in any particular hurry, back to my home territory, to the streets I’ve adopted as my own, as close to comfortable as anywhere gets. Deep in Whelan Country, my bosses and friends. I find a good spot and head over to a greasy diner on a nearby corner, the place stinking like frying potatoes and coffee. It’s heaven, far as I’m concerned, better than that yuppie cafe shit. I slip into a booth.
And Finn looks up from where he was reading the paper.
“Jesus, where’d you come from?”
“Morning, boss.” I signal the waitress, a pretty older lady with a good figure and the smarts to keep her nose to herself. She brings coffee without me having to ask.
