AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The summer is worse.
But even now, on a bitterly cold January day, the smell is enough to make me glad I didn’t eat recently.
With my hands on my hips and my eyes cast along the water, I watch from my peripherals as those who live down here skitter out of sight. Living here is, of course, illegal, and seeing as we’re the cops, they figure if they don’t bolt, we’ll evict them.
Another reason Garzo is likely to get his ass handed to him if his pals figure out he was the one who sent us this way.
“Over there.” Murmuring, Fletch nods toward a small commune filled with cardboard structures and lost treasures.
Tires that’ve washed up in the water provide reinforcement for the cardboard walls, and an old, half-rotted, wooden pallet sits atop to act as a roof. A ratty sheet of… I don’t even know, maybe a literal old bedsheet, covers the pallet for insulation, and to hold it down, chipped and broken bricks sit on each corner to combat the wind.
The inside of the little house is dark and dingy; in the midst of summer, I’d expect it to be full of rats and stench. But today, while last night’s snow sticks to the roof and islands of ice float in the bay, the entire structure is at risk of collapse.
Making our way closer, I duck lower when we’re ten feet away, and catching sight of movement inside, I don’t stop until the height of the makeshift roof forces me to crouch or lose my head.
Pausing for a moment, my stomach jumps at the sight of the raggedy man in a half-dozen layers of filthy clothes. He wears fingerless gloves and a hat almost the same as the eyesore Minka was wearing this morning. His shoes don’t match, and they appear so small, I’d bet his feet ache and his toenails grow in the wrong direction.
But the guy matches the description Garzo gave us; he’s short, so where I have to crouch to see under the roof, he canalmoststand straight. And he’s got a rounded waist and salt and pepper hair.
“Alastair Perrone?”
The moment I say his name, his eyes spark with recognition. And maybe a little fear.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” I add.
“You here to move me along?” His voice is deep, a rich baritone that doesn’t match his face. “Do I have to leave?”
Shaking my head, I move a little to the left so Fletch can squat too. “We’re here to ask you some questions.”
“And then move me along?”
Fletch clears his throat and draws Perrone’s gaze to the right. “If you give us what we need, we’ll forget we ever saw you. But here’s the thing; weneedyou to give us something. We need you to help us out.”
“Wh-what do you need?”
“You spoke to a guy about a week ago,” I start. “Word getting around is that he was asking you about romantic places to take a girl.”
“Oh…” Perrone’s nose wrinkles with distaste. “Him?”
“You remember?”
He nods and takes a step forward. Only two steps, and his knees almost touch mine. “Can we…” He shuffles forward another inch. “Can we sit outside?”
“Yup.” Fletch is the first to push up straight. A groan escapes his lips as his knees protest the position. But though I would normally give him shit about his old-man knees, I keep my face straight and follow him out until the sun claps my face and not my back.
Alastair steps out of his little hovel, instinctively bringing a hand up to cover his eyes, then he looks us up and down like we’ve gone and ruined his day by interrupting his routine. “This ain’t the kind of place a guy brings a girl for romance, ya know? That makes him easy to remember.”
“Can we record this?” I drop a hand into my pocket and take out a device. “We’ve got fifty dollars and a hot lunch for you if you give us what we need.”
“What if I give you what I got, but you tell lies and give me nothing for it?” Alastair steps around us and wanders toward the water, but he watches us from the corners of his eyes. He digs his hands into his pockets and furrows his brows as he studies us. “Cops lie sometimes. They say they’ll pay, but then they don’t. And they know I can’t do nothing about it, so…”
“This one’s gonna come down to character, then.” I follow the guy, and Fletch matches my steps on my right. “Whoever you talked to in the past ain’t us.”
“Twenty-five now,” he negotiates. “And twenty-five at the end.” He stops at the water’s edge and picks up a pebble to skip into the bay. But before he throws it, he peeks back at us with a lifted brow. “You don’t reach my age and not learn to get a little cash up front.”
“Fair.” I look across to Fletch. “Pay the man.”
Stunned, he barks out a soft laugh. “You pay him, rich boy! I’m not your sugar daddy. You’re mine.”
