Page 115 of The Big Fix

Everyone else was either a friend or now worked for Darius. “What about Farley? Castor Farley? That kid from California?”

“No. He works exclusively in Europe now. We had an altercation a few years ago. I told him to stay out of Boston, but to be on the safe side, he left the country.”

Who could blame him?

“So if no one wants the money to kill me, why are there dead men who just tried to kill me?”

“As I said, when Yu got no takers, he took it upon himself to see you dead.”

“Okay, but what’s to stop Tommy Yu from sending every member of his gang after me until I’m dead?”

“Interestingly enough, he was killed by one of his lieutenants two nights ago. As we always suspected, there is, in fact, no honor among thieves.”

“And the new guy in charge doesn’t care about me?”

“No. It seems that was the point of contention. Most of Yu’s men didn’t want to wage war with you over money that could never be recouped. There’s no profit in revenge.”

He was right. There wasn’t.

“Thank you for sending the cavalry,” I said, sighing deeply. “Again.”

“Oh, you didn’t need help, old man. You killed two guys in the woods, alone, all by yourself. You just need help with the cleanup.”

“And stitches.” I winced.

“How many you think?”

“Ten maybe? Fifteen?”

It was twenty, which was surprising, and as I sat there with Ian Doyle, who’d been kind enough to have my dogs dropped off at my house, the curtain was swept sideways and I was faced with Chief Deputy Sam Kage. I knew him by reputation only, but he was friends with Duncan Stiel, who was Aaron Sutter’s husband as well as Darius’s oldest friend, so I felt like we could have met at a dinner party at some point.

Kage said, “I don’t like it when requests don’t come through official channels, Colonel,” but he walked over and offered me his hand. “And the FBI and CIA both, on a Sunday night, is a lot.”

“I’m sure it is. And I never liked that either, but there were mitigating circumstances.”

He nodded, letting go of my hand. “Thank you for your service, Colonel.”

“And yours,” I said, returning the sentiment.

He gave Doyle a tip of his head, and then he was gone.

“I like him,” I told Doyle.

“Yeah. Me too,” he agreed.

Finally home, I collapsed on my bed, with the dogs, and was there when Owen called.

“Hi,” I greeted him, smiling even though he couldn’t see me.

“Why didn’t you pick up the FaceTime call?”

“Because I look like hammered shit,” I confessed, my eyes closing. “And I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Worry me?”

“You should know that both your dogs are really good with the down command. They were awesome.”

He gasped. “What happened?” Worry and fear infused his voice.