Page 59 of Lone Wolf

“What’ll it be then?” Devine positioned himself in front of the vodka portion of the shelves, the backlighting moving pristinely through glass and spirit.

“If it’ll make you happy, I’ll have gin.”

“Gin?” Palm pressed to his breastbone, Devine feigned a swoon. “Which one?”

“Bobby’s,” Evan said. “With elderflower tonic and a thin slice of orange set on ice. Pour the gin across the orange.”

It wasn’t merely a gin and tonic. It was the most transcendent variation of one. To the dismay of Brits everywhere, the Dutch were the true originators of gin, and Bobby’s from Schiedam was the best of them. Full offerings from the Indonesian spice trade—cardamom, cloves, and coriander—balanced with eight separately distilled botanicals. No sugars or extractions to gunk anything up. The elderflower tonic brought sweetness, and the citrus opened the concoction up like a flower. He’d drunk it only once before, in Amsterdam, at a café where he’d sat and lunched while waiting for the uproar to die down across the Herengracht canal where he’d put a bullet through the forehead of an obese Swiss banker and two more through the barrel of his chest for good measure.

Of course Devine had the accoutrements behind the bar. He served up a highball glass sizzling with carbonation. Evan sipped. The combinations of flavors popped off one after another like fireworks before settling into a full —and he cringed to use a vinous term even in his mind—bouquet.

He exhaled, sensed the cool taste on his breath.

“Good?” Devine asked, with genuine interest.

“Very.”

Devine raised his rocks glass and they clinked.

“It’s hard,” Devine said, “to find things that are still thrilling.”

Evan nodded. For a brief moment he didn’t dare fully admit that he felt understood in some small, new way.

Men and their strange alcoholic rituals of bonding.

“Have you reconsidered my offer to work together from time to time on problems that require … fixing?” Devine asked.

“No.”

“I hope you haven’t reconsidered killing me?”

“No.”

“A relief,” Devine said, with an impish twinkle in his eye. “Why are you here?”

“I need something from you.”

“Ah.” Luke sipped, tilted his head back, let the scotch wash around his mouth. “Maybe it’s not so overrated,” he said to the ceiling. Back to Evan: “Why should I help you?”

“Because I interest you. And what I’m looking into is worth looking into.”

“What are you looking into?”

“Homicidal happenings afoot over at Solventry. Their lead AI guy was killed. Do you know Allman? The founder?”

“Allman.” Devine wrinkled his nose. “Yes.”

“He’s a faceless billionaire. Seems a rarity.”

“Not so rare as you think. There are dozens of them. Pick up a copy of Forbes if copies of Forbes still exist.”

“I’ll take it from you. You don’t like him?”

Luke shrugged. “There are a handful of great billionaires. Brilliant, driven—the ones who actually create something new. Who add a new piece to reality. But usually, with all that wealth? They become solely focused upon maintaining power.”

“Aren’t you solely focused on power?”

“Of course. But at least I’m focused on checking that power in others.”