Chapter seventeen #2
“No fucking way,” I stammer. “What the hell did he give away?”
“By the time Connor got there—he was late to the office after a successful date the night before—I believe his lost possessions include four designer suits, a Rolex watch, three bottles of special edition whiskey, a pair of Italian leather shoes, a silver decanter,
his whole signed Stephen King book collection, an AC/DC platinum disc, some piece of artwork that took him months to find, and his childhood teddy bear.”
“Shit.”
“And to add insult to injury, a few tight-fisted bastards didn’t even put money in the honesty box.” Harrison snorts, then takes a drink of his beer. I lean back in my chair and do the same, shaking my head at the news.
“What happened then?”
“All-out war. After Connor collected his remaining belongings from the street, including chasing a man who lifted a bottle of whiskey as he walked by, he stormed into Russell’s office wielding a golf club.”
“Fuck, and Connor is the chill brother,” I say, the scenario playing out in my head.
“Do you remember the glass unit in Russell’s office with all those strange statues he collects?”
“The erotic ones?” He nods. “Connor never…”
“Every last one of them is smashed to pieces, and the shelves as well. Thank fuck there weren’t any clients in the office. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen Russell to crying. He dropped to his knees amongst the shards of glass.”
“The man has issues…”
“You can say that again,” my friend agrees as the door opens once more when the elevator sounds. Our remaining three friends walk in as if their entrance was perfectly synchronized.
Russell and Connor are arguing venomously, both still dressed in their suits.
They glare at each other while throwing expletives around like confetti.
“It was my favorite fucking suit,” Connor snarls.
“That’s why I kept it at the office.” Hunter walks behind, more casual in jeans and a t-shirt, chuckling to himself.
“Well, you only got fucked because you wore my lucky jeans on your date,” Russell snaps back.
“No brother, I got fucked because I bent her over and made that pretty pussy sing for me.”
Harrison rolls his eyes in my direction. “It’s your turn to split them up,” he says. “I’ve been refereeing all bloody day.”
“I’ll do it,” Hunter shouts as I go to stand.
“Fuck knows what’s going on, but any chance to smack those two around and I’m there.”
I watch as he pulls a knife from his belt and throws it across the room.
It passes in front of the arguing brothers’ faces and impales in the wall beside them. The shouting stops.
“Ah, silence,” Hunter says calmly. “Good evening, gentlemen, so what do we have on the agenda tonight?”
Russell lifts his hand to his nose; as he pulls it away, he blinks in shock at the red liquid on his fingers. “You cut my bloody nose off, Devane,” he shrieks.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Hunter replies, “it’s just a nick on the skin, always looks much worse than it is. Damn, I hate it when my aim is off. At least I never actually cut your nose off. Silver linings, Chase. There’s always a silver lining.”
Connor says nothing, merely turns around and comes to take a seat at the table. I pick up a beer and pass it to him. He nods in thanks, then snaps the cap and downs it.
“Rough day?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Fucking torture,” he says.
Hunter claps his hands together, drawing all attention to him. “Right boys, now all the internal debates are over, shall we get on with business?”
“I have some information,” I say calmly, not wanting any more distractions from what I need to tell them.
All eyes turn to me, and I begin to work through every new piece of information I have.
My friends sit silently and listen, disbelief every so often flitting across their features, but when I look at Harrison, I see a man who has turned pure white.
“So let me get this right,” Harrison says, his eyes darting around the room. He’s completely shaken by the obscene number of links within the situation we find ourselves in. “Moreno, the man I freed from prison, is the same bastard who killed Emma’s parents. Who were killed because they owed money?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“And he also attacked her in her apartment after speaking to you on the street?”
“Yes.”
“Because she testified against him in court when she was a kid.”
“Yes.”
“Is that the only word you know, McKinney? Yes?” he snarls, obviously flustered. “Are we sure this isn’t all some elaborate set up? Could she be in on this?”
“In what way, Waite?” I bark back. “Do you think she was happy about staging her own suicide?”
“No, of course not, but maybe she was planted as your surrogate to get insider information on us. Maybe, she had outstayed her usefulness and was a liability, so Moreno decided to dispose of her. The world is so fucking twisted, it’s hard to know what is bloody possible and what isn’t. Today,
if you told me you were a fucking unicorn, I’d believe you.”
“Now you sound fucking paranoid and insane,” I tell him. “That’s normally Russell’s department.”
“It does all seem suspiciously interconnected,” Russell pipes up, not arguing with the comment, which is surprising. Normally he would be adamant black was white if it suited him.
“Life is a web of coincidences,” Hunter interjects. “Don’t you agree, Chase?” He turns to Connor, who shrugs. “We really need to give you two different nicknames. Maybe even Chase One and Chase Two, or Happy Chase and Grumpy Chase. What do you think?”
“I think if you don’t stop speaking, you may lose a finger,” Connor suggests. “You pin him down Russ, and I’ll cut it off.” The brothers both laugh, and the quarrel of earlier evaporates.
“That won’t be necessary,” Harrison interrupts.
“Plus, Hunter would skin the two of you before you found a knife. Pick your battles.”
Russell and Connor grumble but don’t argue—they know he’s right.
Of all of us, Hunter has the most experience in combat of any form.
He grew up running London, protecting not only himself but his men.
“Do we know anything else?” Connor asks. “Any more leads that we could look into?”
The men all turn to me for information. Being the man in the police force and with personal interests above any of theirs in seeing this case closed means the responsibility has fallen mainly on me. They follow my lead much of the time.
“We’ve located a possible business linked to Brenton which is being used to launder money,” I tell them. “This is new information as of today, and mostly it’s a hunch. There is a garage by the river. Markmans.”
“I know it,” Hunter says. “The guy that owns it likes to dabble a little in low-value drugs. Wayne something from memory.” I nod. “He was found pushing drugs outside a high school. I sent one of my men to advise him the location wasn’t appropriate and to move on.”
“Did he take the hint?” I ask.
“After some encouragement, yes. He moved to supplying straight from the garage as far as I know. So, do you think he’s involved?”
“His business is. Brenton owns fifty-one percent of the company; it was signed over a month ago. No money seems to have exchanged hands, but since then more funds have been banked week to week.”
“How did you get access to his bank records?” Russell asks, surprise clear in his voice.
“You are not the only person with contacts, Chase,” I say bluntly.
We stare at each other. Things have been strained and are becoming worse.
He narrows his eyes. “I want Connie’s killer brought to justice more than anyone. Not just the man who pulled the trigger, but the person at the top. You of everyone here should know, sometimes we have to play the long game to get true justice.”
“Justice is best served by a blade,” Hunter mutters sinisterly.
He once again starts playing with his knife, twirling it and twisting it in his hands.
His eyes stay focused on the object. “Guns are suitable in some situations, but with a blade you can inflict true, long-lasting pain. It’s possible to ensure your subject has time to think about why they’ve ended up at the end of a knife.”
“I would sell my soul to the devil if I had twenty-four hours to torture the bastard who killed my wife,” I say, and he looks up. Hunter and I have become closer in recent months. He is the friend I never knew I could truly rely on.
“When we catch him, my friend,” he replies with a smile, “you will get your wish. And as for your soul, that deal was done years ago. You, McKinney, dance with hell every day, no matter what badge you wear. Once the line is crossed there is no going back.”