Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Call for backup.”
“I was busy dodging bullets, Danny.”
Or more likely trying to alleviate his stress in another way. Looking for a fight. A way to release the pressure, and I, of all people, know how much calm can be found in a kill. I snarl at Brad as he drags my cigarettes toward him. “Help yourself.”
“Fuck off.” He slips one between his lips and lights up, pulling hard and long and flopping back in his chair. “What are you doing back?” he asks Goldie. “Full up on ice cream or did you miss Ringo?”
I roll my eyes. The antagonistic prick. “Let’s have a little recap, shall we?” Make sure everyone is up to speed.
“I love your recaps.” James gets comfortable in the chair, which doesn’t look very comfortable at all, his big body bent and awkward on the small wooden seat. I can attest. I grimace and shift, wondering where to start. “Your phone,” James prompts.
“Bugged,” I say, pulling a rare expression of surprise from Goldie. “Any news on that?”
Otto shakes his head. “I’ve got a feeling it’s something to do with the cops hanging around outside Hiatus.”
“What cops?” Goldie asks.
“The ones that scared off the Escalade that pulled a drive-by on Brad.” I chuckle, hearing the words aloud. We’ve dealt with so much more, sure, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. My brain doesn’t seem to want to work and help me out with how to solve this puzzle. “That was after Higham showed up and presented us with a few photographs of dead Russians and Mexicans with the Black family emblem carved into their chests.”
Goldie’s frown is monstrous. “And I’m assuming you didn’t carve the emblems?” She nods at me and then Brad.
“Correct,” Brad confirms, looking blankly into thin air.
“Correct,” I murmur, studying him. He’s here but not here. This is fucking important. “Brad,” I snap, irritated.
He blinks and looks at me. “What?”
I can’t deal with him right now. For fuck’s sake. “We also have a cop who’s been shooting his mouth off and, consequently, had Daniel thrown out of school.”
Goldie slides down her chair. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” And then we have Nolan talking to the Bean cop. Can’t mention that in Brad’s company. Not that he’d hear me.
“So in summary,” Brad speaks up, eyeing me with a curled lip. He takes a drag of his smoke and exhales, making Goldie cough and call him a few choice words. “Two Mexicans and two Russians turned up dead with our family emblem etched into their chests. One would assume either Danny or I did that, but Higham, smart and observant fucker that he is, has identified that whoever scratched the Black emblem into the chests was left-handed, and neither Danny nor I are left-handed. So whoever did it has failed in their attempts to get the FBI on our backs. They haven’t, however, failed to get the Mexicans and Russians on our backs. They’ll be gunning for us. On top of that, Danny’s phone’s been bugged, and I was shot at outside Hiatus.” Brad slips his Marlboro between his lips and holds it there while he pulls at his tie, eyeing me again, like . . . see? I’m here. I’m present. “The police conveniently showed up as whoever was in the Escalade aimed a machine gun at me, scaring them off,” he continues. “On top of that, Beau’s suspicious. She knows one Russian fucker walked away from the shootout when Dumb Fuck here”—he points his Marlboro at me—“went after Sandy alone.”
“And there was me thinking you’re unfocused,” I say, slightly stunned.
“I’m perfectly focused.” He pulls his tie from the collar of his shirt and exhales smoke, still holding it between his lips. “The cop obviously has an ax to grind and has dragged the kid into it—big mistake—and I would hazard a guess that he also has something to do with the cops loitering around outside Hiatus.”
So the fuck he had last night worked after all? Good. I feel reassured by that. He needs to be on the ball. “You missed one point.”
“What’s that?”
Two, actually but, again, can’t mention Nolan. “I’ve hardly left the house for weeks, and if I have, I’ve only been here or to Hiatus.”
“So whoever bugged your phone is in the fold,” Brad says, popping open the top two buttons of his shirt as everyone hums their thoughts on that, everyone looking around the table to each other before looking out to the yard, thoughtful. Brad’s wondering who. Everyone else at the table thinks Nolan has some explaining to do. “And there’s nothing on the bug?”
“Nothing.” Otto closes the lid of his laptop, frustrated. “It’s got to be government issued.”
“How sure are you?” Because if that’s the case, it means we have the cops on our arses, although why the fuck we have the cops on our arses is a fucking mystery since we’ve all been rather good recently. A bunker full of firearms and a club full of illegal cash aside, of course. The point is, we’re inactive. And someone’s clearly trying to change that. Fuck me, Nolan? Are they blackmailing him? Do they have something on him?