Page 30

RHAIM

I called Milo the second I got back into my truck. “Found him?”

“Rhaim! I was just thinking about you—this a good line?”

“The best,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. But if I wasn’t allowed to hurt Marcus or his wonder twins yet I needed to bust someone else’s head.

“Fantastic—so—your guy’s actually downstream from me.”

“Huh.” I wrung the steering wheel after putting my truck into drive.

“I hear you,” Milo said, with a snort. “Don’t worry, we aren’t close—and I’m not interested in keeping him swimming, if he’s on your radar. Plus—none of my men are supposed to deal any heavier stuff, so if that’s why you’re after him?—”

“It is. It’s personal. For a friend. Doped up his kid.”

“Well then—good to know. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I won’t stand in your way, and I’ll make sure my coast is clear, if you just tell me what night. I’d prefer you not disrupt the rest of my position though?—”

“I won’t. It’s gonna be a white glove situation. Send me the addresses for his shifts, I’d rather meet him in the wild, that’s all I need to go on.”

“Perfect,” Milo said, and I heard his texts come in. “And, uh, not that I’m doubting you, but—this is it? For real?”

I smirked as I drove back to the office. “You sad your life’s not worth more than a shitheel’s last known?”

“No—I’m just thinking God might exist. Maybe my Missus’s prayers done me right.”

“Then have her pray for me too, Milo. And don’t worry—I’ll never call you again.”

I made it back to my desk, changed suits in my office, and shuffled papers across my desk according to priority, while avoiding anyone.

There were a few rogue questions in my inbox from investors that popped up like so many Whack-a-Moles, but they were easily answered, or occasionally ignored, if they were too stupid for me to bother to respond to.

And then after that, I ate dinner in, waiting for the rest of the building to clear out—because I’d rather kill time staying on top of stuff, than pacing at my place, waiting for a delivery.

But I was watching it in transit, and by the time I got there, it was waiting for me.

Sable rang me up at once. “You gonna burn that packaging for me?”

“Is it covered in fingerprints?”

“Worse. Girl-juice. I was fingerbanging my girlfriend on the way to the FedEx.”

I snorted, and pulled out my omnipresent knife to open it up. Inside the cardboard box was a smaller black one—matchbook-sized—with a sticky dab on one side, protected by a square of plastic.

“You sure this is gonna work?” I asked her.

“If you get it close enough, absolutely.”

“No problem there.” I had a wad of hundreds in my pocket. I could’ve made any New Yorker in a fifty-foot radius my friend tonight.

“I’ll be standing by!”

“You know when you sound that eager, I begin to wonder whether or not you should pay me. ”

Sable snickered, and then hung up.

I had a suit Isabelle had gotten me once for a Halloween where I’d decided to lean in to the whole mobster thing—it was so shiny it was practically reflective—and I slicked my hair back, and dug out some hideous piece of jewelry her family had given me.

I usually went out on my missions as incognito as possible, but tonight the whole point was to stand out, to look like a mark who had money to lose.

I went back out around ten which was, if I was right, the time when young people began to make stupid decisions on weekdays.

There was hardly any line outside the club, as befit it being a Monday.

I flashed the bouncer a hundred to skip, and after that, I was inside, where a small herd of women who looked a lot like Lia were dancing hard, courtesy of whatever drugs they’d taken—and I wondered if I’d ever be able to see my moth like that.

Not drugged—but—casual. Happy.

Free.

I hovered at the edge of the bar and bought a Negroni, so that my bitterness inside and outside could match.

It didn’t take long for a woman to slink up to me. She was a little older than the dancing clientele and there were enough lines around her eyes for me to guess that she was working. “Bored?” she asked playfully.

“Not of you,” I said, waving the bartender back over. “On me,” I told him, and she leaned over to order her drink, making sure to flash me a view of her ass.

“Thanks,” she said, sipping something clear.

“Why aren’t you on the dance floor?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, putting her hand on my forearm to start to trail it up.

“I’m only a good dancer in bed,” I bluntly teased, giving her a wolfish look. “And preferably while high.”

She scrunched her entire face up, pretending to weigh things in her hands. “New to town?” she guessed, lifting one. “Or cop?” she asked, lifting the other.

I leaned in to laugh. “Try horny—and recently divorced.”

She took a contemplative sip of her drink in my honor. “Someone let you go?”

“Ran away screaming even. She was tired of fucking someone with such a massive dick.”

And that earned me a sputter. “Oh my God! You almost made me waste alcohol!”

I made a disparaging sound, and waved the bartender back over. “Don’t worry—when I’m around, there’s always more.”

Her eyes took on a calculating look. “Well…if you want to dance with me—what do you want to be on, Mr. Big Dick Divorced Man?”

“Whatever that glitter-shit they’re on out there,” I said, angling my head at the crowd. “Touchy-feely. For my dick’s reentry into society—I want to feel you come, inside and out.”

“Promises, promises,” she said, then patted my arm. “Wait here.”

I watched her walk around the dance floor, until she leaned over to talk to someone hidden inside a booth—and when he stood, I knew I had him.

Bix stood up to spot me, wearing a combination of street clothes and a slightly more structured style, like a kid trying to be a grown-up. And when he saw me, greased and shiny, he assumed I was a fool, and waved me over.

“Lucy says you want to party?” he asked as I sat down.

“Only a little. It’s been awhile.”

“You know weed’s legal now, right?”

“Not if you have the kind of job where you might need a piss test in three days.”

That made him laugh. “All right,” he said. “Four hundred for ten.”

I grunted, and leaned forward—and stuck the small black box Sable had given me under his preferred table. “You got any of those little blue pills?”

Bix looked me up and down. “For an extra hundred, I can get you two.”

His prices were usurious—especially for the Viagra, the stuff from India was cheap—but the higher his price, the easier he thought I’d be.

“Thanks, man,” I said, pulling my wallet out under the table, to surreptitiously hand him a wad of cash, which he traded for a small baggie. “And an extra hundred for your trouble.”

Bix gave me a confused look. “People don’t usually tip their dealers, man.”

“You would if you hadn’t gotten laid in three years,” I said, giving Lucy an eager glance.

“Save some cash for me,” she tsked, and gave me a wicked look. “Want to fool around in the back while we wait for your party to kick in?”

“Only if we hit the bar first,” I said, chucking back the rest of my Negroni.

Thirty minutes later, I was pretending to be high—but the performance issues were real.

Turned out my dick was like the rest of me—only interested in Lia Ferreo—which was good, it made everything easy, as Lucy insisted on fumbling in the direction of my dick above my pants.

I let her feel like she gave a college try, but then dodged it the most brutal way I could, telling her a story from my childhood.

“She was just such a good girl, you know?” I started off, with almost real tears brimming in my eyes.

“Sometimes she was a bitch, but, very loyal, very loyal—” I said, telling her about Maggie, who’d been the dog at the stable when I was sixteen.

She’d follow me around waiting for scraps, and she was the best rat catching terrier—she had a killer instinct like you couldn’t believe.

“And everything was just fine up until, stupid fucking Mulligan.”

The man owned three of the fastest horses, and he pulled out too fast one night, drunk, and squashed Maggie flat.

I’d had to shovel her into the trash the next day.

“She…cheated on you? With him?” Lucy asked, gently patting my arm, as I pretended to cry.

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.” Then I beat my hand to my chest. “Shit, man—these pills—they’re making me feel.”

“Anything below the waist?” poor Lucy asked, desperately hoping I’d fuck her so she wouldn’t have to be my therapist.

“No—not yet—maybe I’m not ready, I don’t know—” I said, standing, wiping a hand beneath my nose. “I’m sorry for wasting your time,” I said, holding out another wad of hundreds to her, and her eyes about fell out of her head.

“No, no, you haven’t at all,” she said, taking the money and hiding it quickly away. “I can wait?—”

“No—though. You’re sweet. I appreciate that. Maybe next time.”

She gave me an encouraging maternal nod. “I’m here a lot.”

“And so’s your friend?” I asked her, jerking my head to the booths we’d left behind.

“Yeah. All the time. If you need any more pills, look him up.”

“Thanks,” I said, pulling her into an awkward hug, where she patted my back instead of grinding—and I made my escape.

I was back in bed by one—which was late, and I didn’t know what talk show they’d want Lia to parade herself around on tomorrow—but I knew she’d worry about me till she heard.

Sure enough, she’d fallen asleep on her bed with her lights still on, again—a habit I found charming, since she wanted me to see her—and I could see her phone clutched to her chest in her hand.

Back in my apartment. Stay asleep, little girl. I’ll text you tomorrow.

And of course she had her notifications on. She woke up and gave her phone a bleary look before giving the camera a dreamy smile, blowing me a kiss before turning over to sleep.