Page 23 of Cozen

Today, anyway.

“Thirteen, twenty-five,” the vendor said.

Cozen handed over the cash for the random paperback novel she had picked up from the vendor stand. The guy had tucked his cart in under an eave as to save anything from getting wet. She needed the book as a prop.

Of sorts …

“Thanks,” the guy said, “and enjoy your book.”

Cozen smiled. “I will.”

But probably not.

She checked out the cover as she headed further down the street. A house loomed on a dark background surrounded by overgrowth and mist. Big, block letters gave the title, and in a bigger size font, gave the author’s name, too.

How self-entitled did an author have to be to demand their name be the biggest thing on a book cover?

Cozen didn’t get it.

She wasn’t all that interested in the thriller, but it would make for a good distraction. Or rather, it would make people think she was just another New Yorker lost in her own space should anyone look her way.

Soon enough, she had grabbed a seat on a bench in upper Manhattan. People blew around her, bustling from one thing to the next, and never paying her much mind. A half a block down, Cozen could see someone shooting video of a guy stopping random people on the street, and asking them questions in front of the camera.

Her gaze drifted between the book in her hands, and the restaurant across the street.

The Kingdom.

Heavy, cursive font spelled the business’s name above the door. The large windows covering the front were darkened enough that she couldn’t see inside, except for the occasional shadow that passed behind one.

Four days after Cozen had settled into her apartment, and she already had her eyes on Jett Griffin. It took a while, and a couple of phone calls. A favor or two called in, just because. As much information as she could gather about the man, she needed it.

But she had it.

Now.

The Kingdom was a favorite haunt of Jett’s. Not a business he owned, but rather, one he liked to frequent at least four times a week for lunch. A friend of a friend of a friend said the man knew the owner, and thus, could discuss business safely.

That business being … many things.

Seemed the New York man was not just a king in the legal business sense, as Jett also had a heavy hand in the black market. He was sort of like Ace in the way some might call him a broker. A man who came in as the middle man to make deals, and sign them in blood.

But where Ace did his best work with people, Jett seemed to work with things.

Anything.

Drugs.

Guns.

Skin.

That told Cozen quite a few things all at once, and she didn’t need them to be confirmed, either. The man likely didn’t have a lot of morals if he didn’t particularly care what he was selling. That also made him dangerous. And if he could sell just about anything to just about anyone, that meant he was a damn good talker.

Likely a charmer.

Sell ice to a Snowman.

Cozen kept that information in the back of her mind as a just-in-case. Just in case she forgot, and found herself in trouble. Just in case she needed it.