“Nice.”
“Indeed.” Another sympathetic smile. I know what’s coming, but before I can stop him, he asks. “What do you think Jaz would have made of it?” He flicks his head in the direction of the newspaper, and I look at the image again.
“I think she would have been pissed off that someone killed him before she could put him before a judge and jury.” Actually, I don’t think. I know. Mom always said justice wasn’t served by death. It was served by being locked up until death. It was served by being in fear of your life on the inside, where there were endless blood-thirsty inmates just waiting to put you below them in the pecking order. Mark their territory. Wield their power. Justice was served with legal justice. Once upon a time, I would have agreed. Now? Now I don’t believe in justice at all.
“What do you have in that bag?” Mr. Hardy asks as he makes his way back with my second color. I start to fold the newspaper, but something else catches my eye. Another report, one about a local businessman. My father. My lip naturally curls. There he is, all suited and booted, standing outside a brand-new building down on South Beach looking proud. A building he built. I read the article with a scowl, the journalist harping on about my dad’s charity donations and service to the community making my eyes roll. He’s just trying to crush his guilt. Redeem himself. Lessen the chances of him going to hell by doing all these good deeds.
“Is that your dad, Beau?”
“Yeah, that’s my father,” I breathe, shutting the paper on his face. “Or Saint Thomas, if you prefer.” I place it back on the pile as Mr. Hardy chuckles and pulls his pocketknife from his coveralls, levering off the lid of my second color.
“Very nice.”
I crane my neck to see. “She’ll love it.” I pull my credit card from my bag. “I have two large trays, two roller covers, and two non-Beau/Jaz brushes.” I smile sweetly as he rings it through the till.
“Seventy-four bucks on the dot, but we’ll call it seventy for the inconvenience.” He reaches for his beard and starts his customary stroking as I pay and claim my buys. “Good to see you, Beau.”
“And you, Mr. Hardy. Don’t work too hard.”
He laughs as I leave, the bell on the door dinging loudly. I load my things into the back seat of my car, yanking the driver’s seat into place with a loud huff.
It bangs. I wince.
It clicks into place. I sigh.
Jumping in, I turn the key in the ignition and start my usual chanting mantra. “Come on, Dolly, you can do it. Come on. Come on. Come on.”
Bang!
She roars to life, and I chug off down the road, calling Nath to let him know I’m on my way.
I pull up behind Nath’s car at the backstreet diner, and the moment Dolly declares her arrival with another bang, he gets out of his BMW and starts shaking his head. “It makes no sense that you have that car,” he says as I wander over, pulling my sleeve farther down my arm until I’m able to grip it with my fingers pressed into my palm. My move doesn’t escape Nath’s notice. “I know it’s sentimental and all, but the damn thing scares the shit out of you every time you start the engine.
“I’m used to it,” I lie. I’ll never get used to the bangs, but I’ll also never get rid of Dolly. “How are you?” I reach up and kiss his cheek, and his arm comes around my back, rubbing me in that friendly way he does.
“Chasing my tail with numerous cases.” He pulls his phone out and checks it before sliding it back into his inside pocket. “It looks busy today,” he says, tilting his head toward the diner. “You want to sit outside?”
I look through the window and see the space crowded with people around most tables. “Yeah,” I reply, taking a seat in the less busy space on the sidewalk.
“Usual?” he asks, heading inside. Because he knows I won’t.
I nod, pulling up the parking app on my phone and paying for thirty minutes on my car.
Nath is back with our drinks by the time I’m done. “So come on,” he prompts, stirring three sugars into his coffee. “I know you weren’t aching to see my face.”
I purse my lips. I would ask myself if I’m that transparent, but with Nath I know I am. “Any news on the appeal?” I ask. My stomach flips in anticipation of his answer. Always does.
“No news, Beau. I could have told you that over the phone.”
My shoulders drop. “I was aching to see your face,” I say, and he laughs a little. “How long could it possibly take to give a straight yes or no? Yes, your appeal has been accepted. No, it hasn’t.”
“You know it’s all political in the force. The red tape is never ending. One person says yes, the next overrules them.” He leans forward, and I see that dreaded sympathy veil his features.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to tell me not to hold out hope.”
He sighs. “It was cut and dry.”
My teeth clench. “It was a fucking cover-up, Nath. That’s what it was. Cars just spontaneously combust on their own, do they?”
“The tank was leaking, Beau. Forensics proved it.”
“On a one-year-old government issued Audi? Come on, Nath.”
“And she was smoking in the vehicle.”
“So it’s Mom’s fault?” I grate, my fingers aching. I look down and find my knuckles white from my grip on the cup, and I loosen it, circulating some blood. I honestly can’t recall seeing her smoking in the car that night. All I remember is the terror emblazoned across her face. She knew something was about to happen.
“I didn’t say that.” Nath sighs again. “Beau, you’ve got to let this lie or you’ll drive yourself crazy.”
“Been there,” I mumble despondently, and he reaches over, taking my hand.
“Don’t go there again.” The empathy on his face serves only to anger me. And that’s not fair on Nath. He was a great friend of Mom’s. The best partner. “Jaz would have wanted you to live. She’d want you back on the force.”
“Nath,” I lean over the table. “Something isn’t right.”
“Fucking hell, since when did you become a conspiracy theorist? Choose your battles, Beau.”
I retreat and finger my cup of coffee, admitting defeat. Just for now. “I heard you finally tracked down The Snake.”
“Yeah, at the bottom of the river. Someone obviously didn’t get the memo that he was wanted alive or alive.”
“Someone obviously wanted him dead more than the police wanted him alive.” I raise an eyebrow, and Nath laughs under his breath. “He didn’t slither away from whoever murdered him, eh?” I go on. “So who do you think killed him before Mom caught him?”
“You know I can’t discuss that.”
“Pretend I’m Mom.” I lean in. “Was it The Bear? Did he turn on him? Or did The Enigm—”
“Your mom is dead, Beau,” Nath breathes, and I wince. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I smile, and it takes every bit of effort. “I guess it never leaves you, huh?”