“There’s nothing I can say to dissuade you?”
“No. You could always try to convince Perrault to restore the building and work it into his development plan, but I’m not sure the gothic style meshes with his modernistic sensibilities.” He laughs. “The aesthetics would be a nightmare.”
“I’m truly sorry you feel that way, Mr. Teague.”
“Just business, my friend. Just business.” He rises from his chair, but I lift a hand to stop him.
“Actually, there’s one more matter I’d like to discuss, if you’ve a moment?”
His smile finally falters, and the first hint of fear shines in his eyes.
That’s more like it, Mr. Teague.
“It’s late,” he says, “and I have a dinner to get to before—”
“No worries. This will just take a second.” I buzz the intercom for Augustine, who strolls into my office with a thick manilla envelope in hand.
“You’re familiar with my associate, Augustine Lamont?” I ask.
Teague clamps his mouth shut and sits back down, his face considerably paler. “We’ve never actually met, but—”
“But his reputation as a fine photographer precedes him,” I say. “Yes, yes. You’re not the first to sit in that chair and speak those very words.” Then, to Augustine, “I believe Mr. Teague would like to see your portfolio. Would you mind giving him a peek?”
“My pleasure.” Augustine tosses the envelope on the desk. A stack of glossy eight-by-tens slides out across the surface, tawdry and garish against the rich mahogany.
Teague swallows audibly, tiny beads of sweat popping along his hairline, fat tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Perhaps I… I was too hasty in my rejection of your proposal.”
I nod. “Perhaps.”
“I’ll take another look and get back to you tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a fine idea.” I smile, ever the polite negotiator. “Oh, and Mr. Teague? We’ll be lowering our original bid by thirty percent for the trouble. I’m sure you won’t have a problem making the numbers work.”
“Of course not, sir.” With trembling fingers, he shuffles all the photos back together and shoves them into the envelope. “Really excellent work, Mr. Lamont. Your talent with lighting is just… Do you mind if I keep these?”
Augustine grins. “Those are your copies to do with as you please. Although I’d probably think twice before sticking them on the fridge. Not sure your wife and children will have the same appreciation for my talent with lighting.”
“These are… copies?” he whispers.
“Sure,” Augustine says. “Always best to make multiples. Digital backups too. You know how easy it is for files to get lost these days. So many thumb drives, so many online services. Clouds upon clouds. Who even remembers where these things end up? Right, Draegan?”
“Who indeed?” I grin at a visibly shaken Teague across the desk. “I guess that’s just the cost of progress, isn’t it?”
The man collects his evidence and vanishes out the door without another word.
Turning to Augustine, I say, “Do we even know who was in those photos with Mr. Teague?”
“Sure as hell wasn’tMrs.Teague. And speaking of compromising positions… Got a call from Jude.”
“Did our man talk?”
“According to Jude, he… Wait, let me get the accent right.” He clears his throat and makes his eyes go wide and crazy in a scarily accurate approximation of our beloved enforcer. “You wouldn’t believe it, Augs. Who doesn’t like roasted nuts? I’ll tell you who. This fucking twat. Five seconds under the blowtorch and he was singing like a pretty little songbird. Only not that pretty, on account of me gouging out his fucking eyes with a melon baller.”
“Your impersonation is getting quite good.”
He beams. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Great. That’s just what the world needs.Twofucking Judes.” I shut down my computer and hit the lights, then we head to the window and climb out onto the ledge, dropping our human glamours. “I asked Jude to leave him alive. Any chance he obeyed?”
