Page 12 of Capitol Matters (Marionette #2)

If Felix talked to the other investigators, the results were not immediately obvious. Holland continued running interference between her team members and me, and I suspected our Monday morning patrol was another iteration of that effort.

Downtown appeared to be her beat of choice, as we rarely ventured beyond it. While Holland drove, I nursed a lukewarm coffee, carried on meaningless conversation, and dodged probing inquiries about how I’d spent my weekend, where I lived, and if I’d talked to Donovan.

After an hour of the same sights blurring by and traveling in silence more often than not, I asked the question that had been gnawing at me since Friday night.

“You know, I’m feeling a little isolated these days. Used to having friends around…” I looked to see if she followed my meaning and found her wearing a puzzled expression. I tried again. “Turns out you can take the guy out of the gang, but you ca n’t take the gang out of the guy.”

Holland returned her attention to the road. Her sunglasses perched on her upturned nose.

I chewed a hangnail. “Your investigative team—lovely folks, by the way—how would you recommend I go about making nice with them?”

The squad car rounded a corner, taking the long way around the chasm that bisected Main Street.

“You don’t,” Holland replied. “You’re a consultant. You work with me, and me only.”

“Possessive, much?” I smirked, but my attempt at humor fell flat.

“You aren’t an investigator, Fitch, and you won’t be. That position requires a certain level of training. And trust.”

The emphasis she put on that last part gave me pause. Had I been anything less than trustworthy? That she knew of?

“I told you, you can trust me,” I said slowly.

Her head bobbed. “Yes, you did.”

“We shook on it.”

“Yes, we did.”

And that wasn’t enough?

Aggravation prickled across my neck, and I rubbed at it. “Okay, so forget them. What do I need to do to make nice with you ?”

“You’ve been plenty nice, Fitch,” she said coolly.

“Good, because it’s been a fucking effort .” I laughed and, again, the attempt at levity failed to move her.

Cold air from the AC mingled with the heat from outside, making the car’s interior muggy and unbalanced. I shifted, wishing I could remove the stifling suit jacket or the tie that felt more like a noose every morning when I put it on. I didn’t mind dressing up, but each day at the Capitol was another opportunity to hang myself, and Mondays were the worst.

I cleared my throat. “I talked to Felix.”

Holland’s head whipped aside. “When?”

I hadn’t meant to bring that up, but it might have been the carrot I needed to lead this horse.

“Friday night,” I replied.

“Why?” She tweaked a brow.

“If you must know, he approached me.” Never mind that he did so groveling out of fear I would smash his plastic ball to bits. My point remained.

“What did he say?”

“That I didn’t seem so bad.” I crossed my arms, proud of the scarce compliment until I realized how pitiful it sounded out loud.

Holland’s lips curved into a smile. “Well, Felix is kind of a pushover. And not the one you need to worry about.”

“I know.” I sighed. “Tobin.”

She nodded. “You made quite an impression on him.”

“And he did such a great job endearing himself to me.” I rolled my eyes. “That shock collar bit was hilarious. I laughed the whole way home about it.”

Holland shot me a look of warning.

“Forget them.” I waved a dismissive hand. “It’s you I wanted to talk about. You’re the gatekeeper, right? That’s how it works.”

“So, you only want to prove yourself to me so you can get in with the other investigators?” Another raised brow arched high over the frames of her shades.

I frowned. “That’s… not what I said.”

The walkie talkie clipped to the dashboard squawked. Holland pumped the brakes and swerved into a streetside parking space. Velcro crunched as she peeled the walkie loose, then spun the volume to high.

“Attention, all units.” An unknown voice crackled across the line. “We have a priority call for a robbery in progress. All available units, please respond to 879 Market Street immediately. Suspects are armed and dangerous. Approach with caution. Acknowledge.”

Before the radio finished its announcement, Holland had typed the address into the car’s GPS and set our course.

“Copy, dispatch,” she said into the walkie, then turned on the siren. “I’m three minutes out.”

The infotainment screen confirmed her statement and began voice guidance as we pulled away from the curb.

“A robbery, huh?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant while my mind raced with possibilities.

Holland glanced from the road to the on-screen map and back and finally muttered under her breath, “At a bank.”

Bank robbery. Sounded exciting. Something a man with a flair for drama would come up with .

A man like Avery Hale.

I swallowed a curse and turned toward the passenger window, not trusting my poker face.

That was a reality I needed to prepare for. A call for backup meant other investigators were already on the scene, and we could be walking into a firefight. It wouldn’t be as simple as redirecting Holland with an excuse about a missed meal. And lack of trust would be the least of my problems if Holland got wind of me assisting the enemy or hesitating to attack them.

I could stall the squad car. Pop a tire. Let someone else respond to the call—someone who wasn’t with me. But I was only a consultant, right? I had no skin in this game. It wasn’t my concern. According to Grimm, neither was the gang.

Then why was I so worried about it?

Three minutes came and went without any intervention on my part. The siren shut off as we parked outside Loan Wolves Bank she’d certainly honed her skills since middle school.

The air in the patrol car grew thick and stuffy. Grumbling, I shrugged out of the suit coat and tie and tossed them into the backseat.

She could die in there, my brain nagged. Historically, investigators didn’t have the best track record against the Bloody Hex. Though, Holland’s odds may have improved facing this watered-down version of the murderous gang.

I drummed my fingers against the window ledge. If I were an animal, it would be cruel to leave me out here. Wondering. Waiting.

The three minutes driving here had passed in a blur, but Holland’s estimated five-minute reconnaissance mission felt like ages dragging by. Finally, I reached for the door handle and was startled by a different sort of shadow blocking my exit.

Ripley stood, swathed in black with hand poised to knock on the glass. He stepped back, barely far enough to evade the door as it swung open toward him. I stood from the vehicle and cast a glance across the lot to check for anyone looking on. Thankfully, bank business was slow this morning.

“Funny seeing you here, Farrow,” Ripley said. “I take it your handler is already inside?”

“Handler?” I scoffed.

He crossed his arms. “Dog walker?”

“Dick.”

I reached for my cigarettes before remembering they were in the pocket of the coat I’d removed. Sliding past Ripley, I opened the patrol car’s back door and found the garment in a wad.

The stoic teen lurked over my shoulder as I dug the pack out and tucked a cig between my lips.

“If she’s inside, why are you out here?” Ripley asked.

“I’m keeping customers out.” I flicked the lighter four times before it caught. “And waiting for backup.”

Ripley regarded me with his typically snooty expression. “Interesting use of your skills.”

The smoke I blew into his face prompted him to wave a hand to clear it.

I motioned toward the bank building. “Avery’s in there, I’m guessing?”

Ripley nodded. “Mister Hale has no shortage of wild hare schemes.”

“Pretty much what he’s known for.”

A breeze rustled the trees, drawing my eyes to the bank’s windows once more. How long had Holland been gone?

“You know,” I began, “she’ll be back any minute and really shouldn’t see me talking to you.”

I shifted away from Ripley and moved onto the sidewalk where I could better watch for the investigator’s returning shadow.

Now behind me, Ripley grumbled. “Of course, of course. I’ll leave you to your very important assignment.”

He made it only a few paces before I stopped him.

“Hey, Rip.” I turned to see his brow furrowed.

“Hmm?”

“Is there another door?”

Inside Loan Wolves Bank we’ll load up and ride out.”

Frightened customers and tellers huddled in corners and against walls. The few employees not taking cover assisted in filling canvas bags with stacks of strapped bills, egged on by gang members waving antiquated guns.

A sobering addition to the dinner theater-quality production carrying on before us was the security guard’s body sprawled a few feet away. Blood leaked from the decapitated stump of his neck, pooling on the carpet. A fallen radio inches from his open hand implied he’d made the call that brought us here.

Holland squirmed beside me, trying to peek around the small table. “Is that who I think it is?” She pointed at Avery.

I stretched to see over the countertop piled with deposit slips and pens on beaded chains. All the snooping I’d already done had gone unnoticed but, this time, the conjurer happened to be looking my way.

“Fitch!” he shouted. “You snake in the grass! You yellow belly! How could you betray us like this?”

Slumping back into Holland’s shadow, I grimaced. “Avery. His name is Avery.”

The investigator huffed a breath. Wisping tendrils of darkness swirled around her, making her platinum locks appear almost luminescent.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she muttered. “Who are the others?”

For that question, I had no answer. She could have tortured me for information on the Bloody Hex fan club and come up dry.

I bounced my shoulders, owning my ignorance.

She nodded. “If they’re working with the Hex, they’re dangerous by default.”

“You might be surprised,” I said under my breath.

Avery had returned to business, unbothered by my presence, but at least he was playing along. I’d feared he’d go congenial on me and hang my Capitol cover out to dry. The fact that he hadn’t implied that he knew there was an audience to perform for, and that Holland’s shadow wasn’t as stealthy as she must have believed.

In profile, I studied Holland’s expression. It was tight and focused, like a predator on the prowl, but she made no move toward her gun.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked.

“There’s too many of them for us to manage alone,” she whispered back. “I have a call in to the tactical team.”

I remembered those brutes. The same commandos who covered me with laser sights at Jacoby Thatcher’s house. The ones who snapped a shock collar around my neck and damn near ran out the batteries giving electro- therapy to my twisted, criminal brain.

They would barge in with semi-automatic rifles and flashbang grenades. A whole production I’d like to avoid, and a strong enough showing by the Capitol that they might succeed in taking Avery in. Or out.

I poked an elbow into Holland’s side. “I seem to recall you facing down the entire gang during the Thorngate prison break. Put a hurt on Grimm and Vinton.” I grinned. “And that was just you. Now, it’s you plus me.”

“That was different,” Holland hissed. “This is a hostage situation.”

The reminder prompted another scan of the bank’s customers. It wasn’t a large crowd—plague times had pushed occupancy restrictions everywhere—but they looked pathetic. Surely some of them had the magical juice to fight back against Avery and the gang, but ours was a society trained into pacifism. Displays of power could frighten or harm our human visitors, and that policy hadn’t changed since the city gates closed.

Holland pulled off her sunglasses and dropped them in her breast pocket. “If we misstep, they’ll start killing civilians,” she said. “I can’t risk that.”

I cocked my head at her. “I don’t think you know what you’ve got here. I’m a valuable resource. A hot commodity. Put me in, coach. I wanna play.”

“Nobody’s playing anything!” she snapped, louder than her previously hushed tone. “This isn’t a game. It’s life or death.”

Ripley’s quip about Holland’s use of my skills, or lack thereof, echoed through my mind like a bell’s toll. In the last two weeks, I’d been chauffeured around, loaned out, and bullied by people who, by Holland’s own admission, weren’t sure what to do with me.

Maximus had understood. He’d taken full advantage of being handed a loaded gun, ready to point and shoot. But that concept seemed to elude his daughter.

“Do you even know what I can do?” I jabbed a finger toward the outlaws slinging bags comically stamped with dollar signs. “I can take all of them on by myself. You’d be stupid not to let me help.”

Holland threw up her hands. “Maybe I’m not sure who you’ll help!”

My nose wrinkled before I replied, “Then let me show you.”