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CHAPTER ONE

PERRY

There comes a time in every man’s life when he needs to grow up and get on with things. Granted, I’ve always been a late bloomer, and it might have taken my apartment being broken into a third time, a disappointed big sister, dead parents, and an apparent murder car for it to happen, but it’s time.

I’m here.

Ready to take charge of my life and give my sister approximately one hundred fewer things to stress about.

I tug on the elastic bracelet with plastic charms that I made with my mom when I was a kid and have never taken off since. It’s a steady reminder that things aren’t so bad, and I need it right now because it turns out sudden motivation isn’t a magical portal to finding a job. I’ve applied for everything that doesn’t need experience, from late-night cleaners to gas station attendants to this one suspicious listing for a “personal nursemaid, no experience, must have nice feet,” and honestly, I’m not even sure I’m qualified for that .

Putting myself out there again and again and only hearing silence back is threatening to put a chink in my positivity and send me on a weeklong reality TV binge instead.

There’s nothing Judge Judy can’t fix.

I need to resist though. For my sister .

Margot has always been the responsible sibling, and after our parents died, she’s jacked that need up to a thousand. I wouldn’t say she’s overbearing, but I would say that she could worry a little less about me and my life and the cute mice I share my apartment with.

I’ve been desperate for money before, but this is the desperatest I’ve reached yet, and I’m at the point where I need anything that will pay me money.

When I approach Lethal Poison, the bar I love to hang out in because of the interesting people there, I smirk at the help wanted sign in the door.

Help wanted.

Wink wink.

Sure, most people don’t know what that means, but I’m an intuitive, trustworthy kind of guy. I pick up on things. I talk to people.

And Lethal Poison isn’t just a bar.

It’s a meeting place for the most ruthless ruffians Seattle has to offer.

From thieves to vagabonds to contract killers and everything in between. I’m not … actually sure what comes between those things, come to think of it, but I don’t need to know all the details. I just know that if there’s something illegal you want done, there’s someone to do it, and those someones hang out at Lethal Poison.

Margot wanted me to find a job, so here I fucking go.

I push through the front door, bell tinkling, and walk into the cute little bar. For a place where dangerous people hang out, it has the decor of an old speakeasy with upbeat country music always playing, the happy chink of pool balls knocking together in the back room, and smells overwhelmingly like Christmas cookies.

I fucking love it here.

The owner, Luther, is behind the bar, and I can only assume his parents were obsessed with Superman. Batman. One of the hero men. He gives me an upnod as I approach and pours me out my usual glass of Coke before popping a lime wedge into it. It doesn’t do anything for the taste, obviously, but while I might not be a big drinker, I like to pretend to be fancy. Plus, no one asks questions about why you’re in a bar if it looks like you’re here to get drunk.

Luther hands over my drink, but before he can let go, I close my hand over his and lean in.

“I saw your sign,” I tell him, raising my eyebrows in a way that lets him know I know. “Good help is hard to find.”

“Sure is.” Luther tugs his hand back. “Know of anyone with a bar license?”

I squint, trying to figure out what bar license might translate to in bad-guy speak. A gun license, maybe? Do contract killers need one of those? Seems a bit discriminatory; what if a gun isn’t their weapon of choice?

“It’s easy enough to get.” I think .

“Well, come see me when you have one.” He walks down the bar, but I quickly follow him.

“The problem is that kind of thing costs money, and I’m a bit low on funds right now.”

“Not my problem.”

“If you could give me something—anything—and maybe ignore the little details of licensing until after my first job, then I can go and get anything you need.”

“I’m not in a hurry to get shut down, Perry.”

“With everything else you’re running from here”—I send a pointed look around the bar—“I find that hard to believe.”

Luther gets this hard look on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“All I’m saying is that you’d really be helping me out by letting me help you out.”

“Yeah, but it’s not about me ignoring the licensing; it’s about the fire marshal. Do you even know how to make a dirty martini?”

Again, it takes me a second to try and figure out what that could be in bad-guy speech. A dirty … robbery? What would make it dirty though? Going Rambo and covering myself in mud first? “I’m a fast learner.”

“I don’t have time to teach right now.”

“Then throw me into the deep end. ”

“I’m not risking my loyal customers going somewhere else.”

I huff and plant my elbows on the bar, which gets me an unimpressed look from Luther. “I really need this. I’ll do whatever”—I stress the word—“I have to in order to make them happy.”

“I’m not a pimp.”

“Really?” I throw a look toward a guy I’d—apparently wrongly—assumed was trading sex for money last week.

Luther scowls. “ Really . Now, unless you know how to make a killer Bloody Mary, I’m busy.”

At least the Bloody Mary reference is an easy one to translate. Kill someone. He wants to know if I can kill someone. And I’m not proud of myself for my desperation or the next words that leave my mouth.

“Oh yeah. Bloody Marys. Do those all the time.”

Luther stares at me. “What are the ingredients?”

Seems bold talking about it here, but if that’s what he wants. “Well, a gun, obviously. Bullets. Umm … should probably take a protein bar or something in case it takes a while?—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“A Bloody Mary!” I throw in a wink he can’t miss to make sure that he knows that I know we’re on the same page.

“I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

A spike of excitement hits me. “I have the job?”

“No.”

That chink in my positivity takes another hit. “Please. I fucking need this.”

“Take your Coke and stop bothering me.”

I snatch up my drink and take a sip, all that cold sugar helping flood the shitty feelings from me. It doesn’t last long though. I’d left this as a backup, thinking for sure that it would be an easy win. Do I want to rob or kill people for money? Not specifically, but I wouldn’t be the first person to do it, and I don’t have the luxury of morals while needing to make rent. Besides, I’m sure there are worse ways to earn a living, even if I can’t quite think of any right now.

My friends are sitting around a bar table across the room, so I take my drink and make my dejected way over there. I wonder if I just show up and start cleaning the bar, whether Luther will kick me out or feel enough pity to pay me for the work.

I’m not above pity jobs.

I’ll take literally anything.

Arlie catches sight of me first. She’s my shadow queen, the future love of my life, and the woman I would do anything for. Mostly because I’m too terrified to say no, but, you know, incentive.

“I heard it was Carson Alexander,” Everett says, but Arlie whacks him and flicks her eyes my way.

“Hey, besties,” I say, pretending like I heard nothing of their top-secret bad-guy convo. I pull up a stool between Tommy and Everett, directly across from Arlie.

She stares me down. “I thought we told you not to talk to us.”

“That’s a rude greeting, considering I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I’ve been away.”

I do a quick check around our table to make sure no one is listening in, not that it matters in a place like this. “For work?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flick from Tommy to Everett, and she sighs. “You two fools have been talking to him again, haven’t you?”

Tommy, always quick to laugh or make a bet, shrugs. “We like him.”

Arlie glowers at Tommy, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Found a job yet?” Ever asks, ignoring them both.

I set my Coke down and rest my chin in both hands. “Nope. Not even Luther would help me out.”

“I thought you already had a job?” Arlie asks.

“Nothing stable. I have the occasional contract for kids’ parties and sometimes run deliveries for the Chinese restaurant in my building. A month ago, I drove up north and helped out on a farm for a few weeks. Before that, I tried Ubering until my car scared off any potential customers.”

“Why does your car scare people off?” Tommy asks .

“The bumper’s dicey, and I think the bloodstains on my back seat must form some kind of satanic symbol.”

“Sure,” Ever says. “The satanic symbol. Not the, you know, potential murder that happened there.”

“You don’t know it was a murder.”

Tommy’s usual unhinged laugh peeps out. “What other theories do you have? Let’s hear them.”

“Injury, obviously. Maybe the previous owner was a Good Samaritan who saw someone injured and took it upon themselves to drive them to the hospital. Maybe the last car interior detailer cut their hand during cleaning? Maybe someone gave birth there?”

“Gave birth to who? The devil?”

“I’m only saying there are a lot of options.”

Arlie takes a sip of whatever she’s drinking, dark, almost black eyes watching me. “And where did you get this car again?”

“Some guy downtown. He was about to set it on fire, so I got it for a steal.”

She nods, probably agreeing it was a good deal. “I think you’re right,” she finally says. “It was definitely the birth thing.”

“Thank you.”

Ever sighs. “She’s fucking with you. It was a murder, Perry. You’re driving around in a murderer’s car.”

“Did you check the back seat for ghosts?” Tommy asks. “Maybe that’s who was scaring off your customers.”

“Either way,” I say before they go off on a tangent, “no one will get in the car with someone who has a sub-two-star rating, so I’m back at square one. With nothing.” I play with a water ring on the tabletop, turning it into a smiley face. “My sister is going to kill me.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised her I’d find something. It’s why I asked Luther about, well … you know .”

“We know?”

“The …” Not wanting to say it out loud, I make a gun with my fingers. “The same line of work you guys are in. ”

I feel the way the three of them share a tense look.

“Don’t panic. I know what you do, I don’t care, and I thought I could get in on it and make a bunch of money.”

Arlie runs a concerned look over me. “What happened to that rich people services thing you were doing?”

Yet another job I failed miserably at, though I still maintain that Margot stealing my job and getting together with Elle was the reason for that one failing. “Got booted.”

“Have you ever had a job that you actually did hold on to?”

“Umm … maybe in high school?”

“With your track record, why did you think Luther would give you a chance?”

“Because I need someone to,” I snap. “I’d sort of like to stop being such a failure all the time.”

Tommy cuffs my shoulder. “I just don’t think that’s on the cards for you, mate.”

“Thanks,” I mutter pathetically into my Coke.

Maybe if I head home now, I can coax Sir Squeakerton out for a play. I’m sure I have some peanut butter left to interest him in giving me attention.

“How do you know what we do?” Ever asks suddenly.

I glance at him and his dark eyeliner, the bald head, long earring, and leather jacket. “First, you all dress really cool. Second, I overheard Arlie talking about how she almost missed her mark because someone tipped him off that she was coming. And third”—I send a pointed look Tommy’s way—“you. Last time, you got drunk and left behind a piece of paper with a name, a title, and an address on it. When you came back for it and I asked what it was, you said the guy I have to rob, but shhhhh, don’t tell anyone .”

Arlie face-palms as Tommy’s eyes flick side to side.

“Ah … can we pretend like you didn’t say that?”

“I’m good with it.” Then, I’m struck by a genius idea. “If you take me with you.”

“Huh?”

“Take me with you to rob someone, and we can split the money. ”

Tommy just stares at me. “Yeah, no.”

“What? Why not? It’s a great plan.” Surely if he’s robbing rich people for pricy things, it wouldn’t make much of a difference for me to tag along with him. It’d be like an episode of Selling Seattle where I get to snoop through a house I could never afford, except instead of the owner selling for millions, I’m taking half of their shit.

“We need to be able to get in and out quickly and without leaving a trace of evidence. Now, I don’t know you well, but something tells me you’d be a walking forensics kit.”

“I’m great at following directions. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I can be like your companion animal.”

“My what?”

“You know how in all those cartoons or spy movies they have the dog who goes on jobs with them to make the travel less lonely?”

“No. And I don’t think I want to.”

“Please, Tommy. I need this. Please, please, please, please ?—”

“Someone shut him up,” Arlie groans.

“Seconded.” Luther joins our table and slides a drink toward Arlie with a piece of paper tucked under it.

I snicker at how obvious they are before tapping my nose.

“You have no fucking clue how to be subtle,” Ever mutters.

Luther shakes his head. “It’s a fast one,” he tells Arlie. Then he sends a look my way. “And you can take Perry with you.”