Page 128 of Oddly Fine

“No, you fuckwad—supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is hard to say—so this should be pretty fucking simple for you.”

Matthew sighed in exasperation, which, funnily enough, reminded Hayes of the way Franklin sometimes responded to Beckett.

“I have evidence that he was in contact with them, and I assumed it was for the girls, but—now?” Matthew shrugged nonchalantly.

“Arghhhh,” Beckett moaned, banging his head on the table in frustration.

Matthew stared, unimpressed by his response.

“This?” Matthew pointed at Beckett. “You find this—childish behaviour appealing? Truly?”

Hayes merely shrugged, because, if he was being 100% honest, then the answer was a resounding yes. He’d grown quite fond of Beckett’s brand of lively, entertaining theatrics—they appealed strongly to a part of his soul that he’d thought dead and buried in his short-lived childhood. He didn’t feel like telling Matthew that, however.

“I’d defend my choice—if you weren’t head over heels for his narcissistic prick of a brother who got shortchanged in the height department,” Hayes said, adding his most sardonic smile to enhance his statement.

“Ha!” Beckett cried victoriously, both shocked and stoked by Hayes’ comeback. He straightened up and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “You tell him, Susanne!”

And exactly how and when he’d earned himself that new nickname, Hayes hadn’t the faintest idea, but he adopted it with pride.

“Now, not that I don’t love this dynamic,” Adeline said, interrupting them, “but seems to me like we’re a bit off topic. What’s the plan?”

“Are we off topic? Or have we exhausted the topic?” Matthew asked.

“Better not fucking have,” Beckett declared, displeased. “Until my brother’s safe and I can tell my momma her baby boy isn’t actually dead, the only thing that’s bound to be exhausted is your membership to life.”

“Yes, yes. You’ll kill me, feed my flesh to the dogs, and sell my bones to witches,” Matthew said, sighing loudly like he’d heard it all before. “I get it—but beside threats, is there anything pertinent you could bring to the table?”

Hayes put an arm out to stop his boyfriend from jumping across said table and snapping the fucker’s neck.

“What about the Serbians?” Hayes asked. As they’d been sitting here, talking in circles, an idea had begun to take shape.

“What about them?”

“If your uncle is moving people in and out of Montreal, then he’s doing it with them, correct?” Hayes asked.

“Yes,” Matthew agreed.

“Then why not go to them directly?”

Matthew shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he declared firmly. He’d said the same thing when Beckett had brought it up.

“Why not?” Beckett asked.

“Because the Serbians work for my uncle. They know how I feel about their other businesses. They’ll see me coming a mile away.”

“Okay—but who said anything about you?” Beckett said, cocking his head.

“If you went to them asking questions, they’d know the information was coming from inside the family! No one knows the Serbians work for us for sure. It’s all rumor!”

“Pish-posh, you think I can’t talk my way around it?”

“What do you have in mind?” Hayes asked, wondering where Beckett was going with this.

Beckett smiled his signature shit-eating grin. The one that told Hayes he certainly wouldn’t like what was about to happen.

“You got the names of those other Mafia groups who run the city?” he asked Matthew.

“Eh—well, yes but—”