Page 47 of Long Way Down

“Jim,” Kat said, pained. “Please.”

Pongo could feel the predatory edge of his grin. “Uncle, huh? Well, that’s news.”

Kat shot him a warning glare that was diluted by his still-caught-out expression.

“Is that long hair fucking up your brain?” Jim demanded. “Making you act like I’m a stranger?”

“No, sir,” Kat muttered.

Pongo laughed, and watched Jim step forward and crush his nephew in a surprisingly strong hug, Kat’s face faintly ill over his shoulder.

~*~

“If you ever breathe a word of this to anybody,” Kat growled, fifteen minutes later, hot breath startling against Pongo’s ear. “I’ll gut you.”

“Whoa, easy. Down, boy.” Pongo sidestepped and finished buckling his belt. He’d just finished his shower and stood now in front of his open locker, changing back into his street clothes; he’d assumed Kat had left, and hadn’t expected to be threatened with his fly not yet done. He did up said fly and reached for his t-shirt before he turned to him. “So. Old Man Jimmy’s your uncle.”

Kat’s nostrils flared; his knuckles cracked as his hands curled to fists.

“On your mom’s side? Or are you a Rydell?”

A muscle in Kat’s cheek jumped as he ground his jaw. “I mean it. Tell anyone–”

“Oh my God. Who would I tell? I don’t know you. I don’t care. I’m just giving you shit now ‘cause Jim’s right and youdothink you’re too cool – for everyone.”

Kat blinked, taken aback.

“You a fed?” Pongo asked. “Deep undercover? Yakuza? Owe somebody a shitload of money? I don’t know your business. Why the fuck do I care if Jim’s your uncle?”

His mouth opened – and closed. Opened…and he sighed. He stepped away, took off his cap, and raked his flattened hair back. It was thick and shiny, super-straight and no doubt the envy of more than a few women. He sat down on the bench, shoulders slumping, turning his hat round and round in his hands.

Pongo felt a little like he’d stuck a pin in someone’s balloon. “Look,” he said, tone lapping back into his usual, friendly territory. “I approached you in the first place ‘cause Denny said maybe you can help me. You didn’t have to, so I appreciate you doing some digging for me. I’ve got no beef with you and neither does my club.”

When Kat slanted an uncertain look up at him, he offered his hand.

“Nathan McCoy,” he said, another offering. He hadn’t even volunteered his real name to Dixie. But therewasa certain honesty among outlaws, sometimes. Certain kinds of outlaws. “Club calls me Pongo.”

A long beat passed…stretched out thin and tense, until Pongo was sure Kat would ignore the proffered shake. But then he clasped his hand, skin cool and dry and a little rough in all the right places, proving he was someone who handled weapons; that was a language they both spoke, and one that firmed Kat’s expression into something not-unfriendly when he said, “Katsuya Rydell. My dad was Jim’s brother. Met my mom in Japan when he was stationed with the Navy in Sasebo.”

“Sweet.” He frowned. “Wait. You said ‘was.’”

Kat retracted his hand and went back to fiddling with the bill of his hat. “He died a few years back.”

“Shit. That sucks.”

“Yeah.” His look said that he wouldn’t say anymore about his personal life, and Pongo didn’t blame him.

Pongo pulled on his shirt and then his hoodie. “So are you with anybody? Or do you work solo?”

That earned a snort. “Solo. Clubs attract too much attention.”

“We get stuff done, though.” Pongo grinned as he shrugged into his cut, and flicked the patches on the front with the tips of his fingers. “This gets respect.”

“It gets people talking every time you walk into a place. Civilians are jumpy and cops are watching you all the time.”

“Meanwhile, you’re the picture of approachability.”

Kat gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m invisible.”