Page 105 of Oddly Fine

“Oops—was it a secret?” Beckett asked, loving the chaos he was able to spread around whenever and however he got the chance. “Please don’t be a dick about it. He’s a sensitive guy, so if he didn’t tell you about his love life maybe he thought—"

“Hey! I’m not an asshole! I don’t care where Martinez sticks it! I just—I didn’t know!” he said, raising both hands defensively.

“Right, exactly!” Beckett smiled brightly and nodded encouragingly.

“You just—you tell him I wish them well,” the driver said a bit gruffly, as he put away his papers and put both hands back on the steering wheel.

“‘Course!” Beckett promised before pressing the great big green button in the middle of the console. He held his breath for a second, worried the big green one didn’t stand for “open sesame” as much as “alert the Mafia they have an intruder.” But then the gate opened, and the truck rolled through smoothly.

“Coast is clear,” he heard Hayes’ voice come from his jacket pocket. Beckett took it as the signal to make his exit. He slid out of the booth and slipped through the gate just before it closed. Then he ducked down as low to the ground as possible, ran like hell for the ditch, and double-timed it towards their rental car.

“I’m out,” he said as he pressed the phone to his ear. He wasn’t sure how to describe his deep satisfaction in hearing Hayes sigh with relief.

“So, Martinez has a boyfriend now?” Hayes asked with an amused snort.

“You like that?” Beckett asked, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Figure I’d fuck around with the Mafia’s internalised homophobia a bit while I had the chance,” he said, still moving swiftly along the ditch.

“Internalised homophobia? Careful, grunt, you might hurt yourself!” Hayes joked.

“Okay, tell me again,” Hayes said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose like he’d started doing when Beckett’s theories were so farfetched he needed to ground himself.

“Big boss Rosario is in a cult, or—some shit, and he’s been kidnapping people to drain their blood and re-enact his vampire fantasy.” Beckett altered his voice to sound like a news anchor covering a headline story. Even he could admit it was a little—farfetched, but then again, what other explanation was there for what he’d seen? Coffins, garlic, fucking wooden spikes. All of it pointed straight to a terrible remake of Twilight where the love story ended drastically different from that of the original.

“That’s—” Hayes shook his head disbelievingly, fighting not to smile. “You have to know how that sounds, yes?”

“Fucking insane?” Beckett proposed. “Yes, I’m aware. But what else could it be? You got a better explanation for why he’s hoarding caskets?!”

“No—but I don’t see how it ties in with Matthew’s claim that his uncle is involved in human trafficking.”

“Well—he said human trafficking—but maybe not—live trafficking? Maybe he’s trying to find the secret to immortal life by importing vampires? Or maybe he’s stashing the bodies of young virgins inside the coffins to then—I don’t know—make cabernet sauvignon out of their blood!”

“Sweetheart—I love you, but even for us—this is slightly too far out of the realm of possibilities. It’s bordering on insanity.”

Beckett could readily admit that Hayes had a valid point. But what else could this situation be about?

They parked their rental car in the same place in the parking garage they’d used before and got out of the car. Beckett’s mind was fully engaged in preparing his next argument with lots of supporting, albeit bizarre, details to convince Hayes that he was on solid ground with this vampire shit. As a result, he was somewhat unprepared for the ambush as soon as they exited the car.

“Hands up!” The command was clear and unwavering.

Hayes raised his hands automatically.

Beckett’s hands remained buried in his pockets.

“I would find your death difficult to justify, but the loss of your shoulder—that would be a simple matter of twisting the truth.” Matthew stepped into the light, aiming a gun at Beckett.

The parking garage was deserted except for his towering presence. Beckett mentally accorded him three points for his dramatic entrance but deducted at least seven for his lack of planning ahead.

“Shoot me,” Beckett yawned, bored and unconcerned. “I’d love to see how pretty Hayes’ bullet would look as it bloomed in the middle of your forehead.”

If there was anything that Beckett was sure of in this life, it was that Hayes Monroe was extremely trigger happy at all times, and that his aim was true. The added bonus here, of course, was that Hayes’ wrath and desire for vengeance if Beckett was harmed would be limitless. Matthew would learn that the hard way if he followed through with his threat. Beckett smiled with supreme satisfaction at the thought.

“Where were you? Why did you leave?” Matthew asked, ignoring his warning. His hands—good God, were they fucking shaking? Jeezzzz—

Beckett couldn’t quite help himself; he laughed. What was this? Amateur hour?

Matthew Rosario was a big name. The biggest boy on the playground. With a rich daddy, a big truck, and lots of fancy clothing. But Beckett took in the wavering gun in his hands, and saw him for what he truly was. He took a couple of steps towards him, ignoring the Glock pointed right at him. He watched, eyes narrowed with interest, as Matthew warned him to stay back—even as he held the gun inexpertly trained on them.

Beckett jumped Matthew before he knew what hit him. He shoved Matthew back against a cement column.