Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
“And while we’re pretty big fucking fish, probably the biggest, you accept you will never get us in those cuffs?”
“Yes.”
“And you accept that our supposed crimes—because they are supposed, Higham, let’s be clear on that—are a direct result of the other scum roaming the streets of Miami trying to rule it, and if they were not around, you accept the crime rates would, as everyone wants, including us, drop significantly?”
“Yes.”
“And the FBI and MPD will ease the squeeze around our necks if we intercept a few supposed murders and hand the culprit over to you to prosecute?”
“I suppose that is indeed what I am saying.”
I slap the table with my palm, smiling. “Why didn’t you just say so?” I fall back in my chair. “I feel like we’ve been around the houses a bit, Higham.”
Exasperated, he stands, picking up his coffee as he does and finishing it. “If there was ever an award for most sarcastic crime lord, Danny, you’d get it.”
“I’d rather win the award for most dangerous, actually.”
“Fight you for it,” James practically growls beside me. “And I’ll win.”
“We’ll see,” I reply, smiling at Higham. “I’ll let you know how this pans out.”
“And my offer?”
“We’ll think about it.”
“Maybe this will sway you.” He pushes a picture across the table, and James and I both lean in to look. “We believe this may be The Chameleon.”
I frown. “The Chameleon? I’ve never heard of The fucking Chameleon.”
“Now you have. Polish. Replaced The Hound, who I now suspect was in the vehicle that blew up after James was released from custody after being wrongly arrested for Frank Spittle’s death. The Chameleon works under The Shark.” Higham pushes another picture toward us. “And this here, we believe, is The Leprechaun.”
“Don’t tell me.” James places a fingertip on the picture and drags it forward. “Irish.”
“Good guess,” I mutter.
“Replaced The Alligator, Roake, who replaced The Snake.”
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 screaming cop.
“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.
“Still don’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’t live until 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 I am interested 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?”