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James looks up at Higham. “Where did you get this information?”
“Well, while you two were slacking on vacation, I used the time productively.”
“But you didn’t find The Bear and you don’t know who dug up my dead father?” I say.
Higham doesn’t look impressed. “I’ll keep the Feds and MPD out of Hiatus until you’ve had a chat between yourselves about where our relationship goes next.” He smiles smugly and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Everything about Hiatus is legit... until you get to the glass office, and they won’t find that. They won’t find anything, except a few naked women. I pout to myself. Bless Higham’s cotton socks. Thirty feet beneath him is an underground gun store bigger than this café. Granted, not fully stocked right now, but still.
“Very kind of you,” I say, my eyes following him as he struts away, his walk screamingcop.
“Oh.” He stops just shy of the door, his index finger pointing skyward, as if he’s just had a lightbulb moment. That award he’s talking about? If there was one for cops...“I nearly forgot,” he muses, turning back to face us. Liar. He didn’t nearly forget at all. This will simply be another little nudge. Higham needs to know I don’t like nudges. “Heard of a man named Kenny Spittle?”
“Nope.”
“Thought not.” A sarcastic smile, and he’s gone.
“Stilldon’t like him,” I mutter, turning to James. “What are you thinking?” Ironically, Higham gave us these two pictures as a sweetener. He’s happy for us to kill these men, because he knows their deaths will lead to a bigger catch. Problem is, he wants The Bear, and so do we.
“I’m thinking he’s trying to make the same arrangement with me as Beau’s mother did.” James stares at the pictures on the table, his eyes narrowed to slits, his lip getting a punishing chew. “I killed them before she got them in front of a judge.”
If James and I were women, I’d be giving his hand a reassuring rub about now. “Difference is,” I say, thoughtful. “Higham knows who we are. Jaz Hayley—”
“Knew who I was,” James reminds me, also reminding me that Beau’s mother also knew who The Bear was. Jesus, this story, the connections, the mysteries.
“I can’t die until we figure this out,” I say, swiping up my cigarettes and lighting one, offering them to James. He takes one. I knew he would. I draw and exhale thoughtfully. What I really meant is, I can’tliveuntil we figure this out.
None of us can.
Which means we need to do what it takes to figure this shit out. “Are we putting Kenny back in the bank?”
“I’ll have Goldie arrange his sunbeds,” James says, relaxing back too, looking out at the cove. “I’m not interested in helping Higham hit government targets.” He takes us back to business and away from Beau. Fair enough.
“Me neither, but Iaminterested in making our lives as easy as possible.” I stub my barely-smoked cigarette out. “Ready to head to Hiatus?” I ask, looking at his phone on the table when it rings. “Beth? Who’s Beth?”
James makes a pretty speedy job of rejecting the call. “No one.” Standing, he strides back to the changing room, and I follow, my eyes lasers on his brutalized back. He yanks his locker open and pulls his clothes out, stripping out of his wetsuit. James is never particularly light and breezy, it’s not in his DNA, but he’s especially deadly looking right now, as he wrenches and pulls at his clothes. Even when he’s quite funny, there’s still an edge of deadliness laced through his words.
No one.
Interesting.
By the time we get to Hiatus, the place is booming, the bar packed, and the stage is adorned with five sets of boobs, all different shapes and sizes.
“Don’t ever let it be said that Hiatus doesn’t cater for all tastes,” Brad says, motioning to the office, obviously knowing what I’m thinking. “Somewhere quieter?”
Yes, my head’s fucking ringing. I wander across the club, acutely aware of the hushed whispers, people staring but trying not to stare. The Brit is back. A-fucking-gain. And this time, he really isn’t going anywhere. I walk through the staged office, open the bookcase, and look back to make sure everyone’s in the holding room before punching in the code on the wall mounted panel that releases the iron door on the other side of the room. It creeps open, I pass through, climb the stairs, and find Otto, Ringo, and Goldie huddled around a laptop. “Something going on?” I ask.
“Just checking The Chameleon and The Leprechaun against facial recognition,” Otto says, not looking up. He’s wearing a baseball cap.Otto hit his head.How?
“Who?” Brad asks, closing the door behind him.
“How do you know about The Chameleon and The Leprechaun?”
“Who’s The Chameleon and The Leprechaun?” Brad pours himself a drink.
“James sent me the images.” Otto remains devoted to the screen of his laptop.
“What images?” Brad asks.
“Very prompt of him,” I mutter, giving James the eye as I help myself to a Scotch too. “Vodka?”
