Page 141 of Long Way Down

“I told my friend I wanted out, but he said he was on the hook for twenty K and that I owed him. Said I had to help him pay it back. I made a drop at a party with him, and the clients underpaid. My friend went apeshit, totally lost his mind. I tried to pull him back, and he turned on me. It was a whole big clusterfuck.” He sighed, and rubbed at the tension between his brows. “I don’t really know what happened. At one point, I saw my friend’s face, and I thought he had a knife, and I just…started swinging. It felt good to hit him, after everything he’d dragged me into and I…didn’t stop, I don’t guess.”

“You don’t guess,” Melissa deadpanned.

“It was all a blur,” he said in a pleading tone. “Next thing I knew, I was being hauled off in handcuffs, and they had my DNA, and a bunch of witnesses, and my friend was in a coma.

“But that’s not who I am,” he said, rallying, eyes going big and liquid as he begged them to understand. “I reflected on my actions when I was on the inside, and when I got out, I joined a therapy group. I’m still a member today. That’s where–” He caught himself, bit at his lip.

“Where what?” Contreras asked.

His thumb flicked back and forth over the edge of his cup. “Where I first met Doug.”

~*~

“You have your inside sources, I expect, just like I have mine,” Prince said, quietly cagey.

Mav hummed and nodded. “Yeah, I expect so.”

To an outsider, it must have looked like a congenial meeting. And itwasthat – but Pongo could feel the low hum of tension beneath his seat; taste the metallic quality of all thatcouldbe said hanging in the air.

“Another thing I expect,” Mav continued, “is that your man” – brief nod Kat’s direction – “could have given Pongo the information. He didn’t have to go along with him and help. You promised to deliver the rapist – not to apprehend him.”

Prince inclined his head a fraction in what could be agreement. “Fair enough. He went above and beyond the call, this time. He does that sometimes, my nephew.”

Maverick’s gaze slid toward Kat, briefly, onnephew.

“But I trust him,” Prince continued. “Here’s the part I’m struggling with: were the Lean Dogs chasing this shithead in the first place for their own interests? Or to help an NYPD detective?”

Here was the part that put a cold lump in Pongo’s stomach. He traded a glance with Kat, whose mouth was set in a tight, grim line. He didn’t know Prince well enough to read the casually chilly gaze he had fixed on Maverick, waiting for an explanation.

The problem here wasn’t that the Alpines would pose a threat to the Dogs on their own. But with a reputation of never taking sides, and access through Hauser’s and their various other dealings to every organized crime syndicate in the city, it would be the work of moments for them to pivot away from the Dogs and toward the yakuza, or mob, or bratva…the list went on. Pongo didn’t see Prince as the sort to cozy up to any of those other groups – based on style alone – but God knew how things might shake out in the post-Abacus world the Dogs had created.

He'd heard the stories about Ghost Teague leaving women out in the cold when it came to his chapter. Maverick was a kinder man than that…but wartimes brought about casualties, and every general had his limits.

Maverick plucked a peanut from the bowl on the table and cracked its shell between two fingers with a decisive snap. “The detective in question is an asset, not a liability. She’s an old lady, and she’s eyes on the inside of the PD for us. If you and your men want to work alongside the Dogs, then Detective Dixon is to be treated as one of us. If you can’t get on board with that, then I think this conversation has reached its natural conclusion.”

Externally, Pongo took his first big breath of the meeting.

Internally, he punched the air in victory.

The man sitting beside Prince leaned in to whisper something to him, and they put their heads together. Prince nodded, straightened…and fished two cigars out of his breast pocket. “We can live with that.” He offered one of the cigars to Mav with an elegant gesture. “You might want to celebrate while you can, Mr. President. There’s a war coming, and your crew is gonna be in everyone’s crosshairs.”

Mav grinned as he accepted the offering and pulled out his lighter – Prince had real matches, and gave him a quietly aghast look when he caught sight of the plastic Bic. “And yet here you are, signing up. Don’t worry: we’ll save you a seat in the fallout bunker.”

~*~

“What do you mean it’s where you met Doug?” Melissa asked, goosebumps prickling down both arms. “You have class together.”

Tobias shook his head. “He’s studying art because I encouraged him to – he’s actually really talented, when he bothers to try. But we met in Group.”

“What sort of Group?” Contreras asked.

“It’s voluntary,” Tobias said, rather than answering. “It’s not court-mandated or anything. We don’t use our last names so we can protect one another’s privacy.”

“What sort of Group?” Contreras asked again, voice uncharacteristically hard.

Tobias fidgeted, and clearly didn’t want to answer, but said, “It’s called Eyes Ahead. It’s a group for men who…” More fidgeting. “Who struggle with aggressive impulses.”

“You have aggressive impulses, still?” she asked. “I thought your friend dragged you into some bullshit.”