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“Who was in the Escalade that blew up on a side street not long after I let you walk out of custody?”
Oh? So they couldn’t identify him? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Look, Higham,” I say, getting tired of the interrogation. “You and I know the best chance the FBI has of getting rid of the scum crawling around Miami is me and Danny.”
“Yes, and the problem with that, James, is that you and Danny have collectively killed more people thanallthe inmates of Florida State Prison put together.”
“Oh, now, come on, Higham, that’s giving us a little bit too much credit.”
“Fuck me, you’re an arrogant cunt.”
“Watch it, Higham,” I warn lowly, and he breathes in deeply, nodding to himself, as if coming to terms with what we both know he needs to do.
“You’ve gotta leave a few for us to put on trial, James.”
My lip curls. “The lethal injection isn’t slow enough for me, Higham.”
“I will stop breathing down your neck. No raids on the club, the boatyard, nothing.”
“You planning on raiding?”
“Not me, but you can bet your bottom dollar someone is.”
“Are you trying to crawl into my pocket, Higham?” I ask, wanting to hear it.
“I want the war in Miami to stop. We have to get crime rates down, and that’s not going to happen with the Russians, Polish, and Irish in town. Or you two, for that matter. You’re like a magnet for trouble.”
“Let’s simplify this, Higham,” I say tiredly. “With The Bear gone and us in Miami, your crime rates are gonna drop tenfold, trust me.” I pout. “They just might peak beforehand, but it’s got to get worse before it gets better, right?”
“Jesus.”
“We’re not traffickers, Higham. Not drug dealers or rapists or bank robbers. The people dying around you deserve to die.” I shrug. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“This really is personal, isn’t it?”
“It couldn’t get more personal if it tried.” I back away, nodding my respect, because, actually, I do have some for Higham. “We need to find Carlo Black’s body or there will never be peace in Miami.”
His cheeks puff out, and he starts waving his arms above his head, barking orders to his men. I head over to Brad. “Any luck?”
“Still no answer.” He looks as concerned as I am starting to feel. The news we have is not the kind of news we should break if Danny’s unwell wife has taken a turn.
We start heading toward the car, and just as I drop into the passenger seat, about to call Beau and check in, Brad’s mobile rings. He slumps back in his seat and takes a deep breath. I’m not going to lie, I take one too.
“Everything all right?” he says in answer, switching it to the car’s Bluetooth.
“Yeah, fine.” Danny sounds as cautious as he should. “I’ll askyouthat question. Eight missed calls in ten minutes? What’s going on?”
Brad looks across the car to me. I have nothing for him. No advice, no encouragement. It is what it is, and it is going to cause fucking anarchy. Brad takes a hand to his forehead and smooths over his damp brow. “We have an issue,” he says, staring out of the windscreen to the swarm of cops around Carlo Black’s empty grave.
“What?” Danny’s tone says it all. He already knows whatever he’s about to learn will send him into orbit.
Brad needs to just spit it out, not try to sugarcoat it. Nothing could water this down. “Your dad’s missing.” He flinches, and I look at him like the dickhead he is. “His grave. The body.”
“Someone’s exhumed your father’s body,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone that earns me a look of disbelief from Brad.
Silence.
