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RHAIM

S able asking for an in-person meeting was the first sign that shit was real. The fact that she didn’t want lunch on me, just wanted to meet with me in her car, was the second.

“Mr. Selvaggio, where are you going?” Mrs. Armstrong asked, as I walked through her office.

“I have a small emergency I need to take care of. I might be a bit late for the board meeting.”

Her face said Nero wouldn’t-like-that—and hopefully my face said, he-can-go-fuck-himself.

I walked out of Corvo with determination, my shoulders squared in a way that didn’t invite casual conversation, and the second I was outside I dove right, and right again at the corner while texting—and found Sable waving at me from across the street, inside a Matte Black Rivian R1S.

She looked like she belonged inside the thing, too, she was wearing much different clothing from her usual casual fair—a tight black T-shirt, her hair was in a low knot, and her lips were painted a color of red that could be called Heart’s Blood.

“I’ve never seen you in make-up before,” I said, getting into her passenger side.

“Again, you’re not my only client,” she said, smirking, and rolling her eyes.

“But probably your best paying—and—this is what you spend my money on?” I said, looking around her vehicle.

“It’s sexy and economical,” she said, patting the dash, before handing me a USB. “So—here’s the thing—I got into Zane’s phone. I figured out who his dealer was, it wasn’t very hard. But then, you know me, I dug deeper, and—I didn’t want to email you a felony.”

One of my eyebrows crept up.

“Those kids are pervs of the highest order, Rhaim—and I know you, and you know me,” she said, and I grunted. “But they…film themselves. Doing things to women.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I said in a dark voice.

“Standard frat-ass shit, I know. But the thing is, they then send each other those videos. Like…bro-porn.”

That made me do a double-take. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. Intentionally. You can see them mugging for the camera sometimes—and they know the other one’s gonna watch it—I mean, how else would Zane wind up with two hundred gigs of his brother boning down on his phone? And another hundred and fifty of his own videos, which I’m assuming he sends over?”

“You mentioned a felony though?”

“Like ninety percent of the women are willing—to be fucked, even if they don’t know they’re being filmed.

But in ten percent? They’re out of it. Passed out, I don’t know, drunk, or high, but severely unable to consent.

And in a hundred percent of the films, he made sure you could see the women’s faces.

Like, when they’re out of things, he does a slow scan of their faces then gives the camera a thumbs up. ”

I began to adjust my plans from framing Zane for Bix’s murder to a simple double homicide.

“And, in today’s episode of reasons why I’m not straight—they text each other about it,” she went on. “I’m pretty sure they’re keeping score. That’s the exact same face I made, by the way, Rhaim. I want to erase it all, and then spritz my eyes with bleach.”

I closed my hand around the USB drive, making a fist. “I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

“Me too. It’s hot—in an incriminating sense, not a sexy one. So how long should I keep it? I’ve got it on a locked external drive now, but?—”

“Seventy-two hours.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Assuming you’ve got a list of Bix’s regulars you can use to lure him out on Friday night.”

“On it. I’ll pick the most irregular regular one.”

“Sound good. I’ll give you a location when I have it.”

She nodded, looked at the USB in my hand, and made the sign of the cross at me, as I got out of her Rivian.