“Did I fake my death?” Danny asks, putting his hand out to Leon, who swiftly fills it with Danny’s cigarettes and Zippo. The kid looks bemused. Awestruck. Excited.
Higham’s curled lip twists. “So where have you been for the past three years?”
“Lying low. I’m sure you heard that my boatyard bore the brunt of two gangs’ rivalry. If I was presumed caught in the crossfire and killed, that’s your problem, not mine.”
“And Agent Spittle’s.”
“Then you should be speaking to him.”
“He’s missing.”
“Oh?” Danny lights up and joins me on the wall.
“I think you’re sniffing around the wrong dog,” I say, holding Higham in place with a stare he should feel threatened by. “Spittle was bent as fuck.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Your worst nightmare,” I say darkly, sounding as dangerous as I mean to.
He becomes flustered. “Brad Black identified the body.”
Clutching at fucking straws. He knows it. “Brad was looking at a bloated, decaying corpse that had been mauled by sharks.” Danny practically sighs. “You got a warrant?”
“No.”
“Then fuck off.”
Higham’s chest puffs out slightly, his ego dented, but he just about manages to hold up his hard façade. “I can get a warrant.”
“On what grounds?” I ask as Danny comfortably puffs his way through his smoke, and Leon’s head swings back and forth between us, rapt.
“Things have been calm around here,” he says, waving a hand at Danny. “He’s back from the dead, you show up, and suddenly bombs are exploding all over town.”
“I wasn’t dead,” Danny says. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Quiet in Miami? For fuck’s sake. I rise, moving in intimidatingly close. Higham stands his ground. Dickhead. “Some advice,” I say quietly, my mouth close to his ear. “Stay out of our way, and we will stay out of yours.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No.” I sniff, looking out the corner of my eye to him. “Just advice.”
His eyes fall to my shoulder, his nostrils flaring, his lip twitching, desperate to curl again. “Have a good day, gentlemen.” A long, hard, intimidating stare before he trudges back to his car and wheelspins off, having the last say with a screech of his tires.
“Nice bloke,” I muse, joining Danny again, putting my hand out for his Marlboros. “Give me those.”
He hands them over. “Two beers, Leon.”
“Coming up.” He dashes off, leaving Danny and me perched on the wall.
“What are you thinking?” Danny asks, after we’ve sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.
“I’m wondering where Spittle’s son is. I’m wondering when the next bomb might land.” I take one last drag and flick the butt away as Leon returns with two beers. We knock bottles and swig. “What went down with Beau’s dad?” I ask, not wanting to broach that subject with Beau herself.
“His girlfriend, you met her?”
“No.”
“She used to be the boys’ plaything.” He shrugs. “Mine from time to time too.”
“Does Rose know that?”
“Yes, Rose knows that.” His nose wrinkles. “Hence, fireworks in the TV room. I had to take care of it, or we would have had two dead Russians and a dead whore.”
Hearing a car behind us, we both look over our shoulders. A beat-up old Chevy coughs and splutters its way across the gravel, and I smile, picturing Beau’s dilapidated old Mustang. “What’s he doing here?” I call to Leon, who’s moving gas canisters off the back of his Jeep.
“Otto said I’ve got to give him a job.” He heads over as the young lad from Derek’s office block pulls his big body out of his car. “I’m thinking tow truck,” he adds, and Danny chuckles. “Oh, and your phone’s been ringing, boss.”
We both stand. Look at each other.
“J-Boss,” Leon yells.
“That’ll be you.” Danny slaps my shoulder as I jog off, undeniably twitchy. I make it to my locker, retrieve my phone, and breathe out my relief when I see it’s not Beau or Fury. I call Otto back.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he barks.
I ignore his irate tone, looking up when Danny walks into the changing room. I click to loudspeaker. “What’s up?”
“I’ve traced back the emails Derek Green sent us to an IP address.”
“Where?”
“Internet café off Biscayne Boulevard.”
Danny frowns, moving in. “Are you watching the account?”
“Yeah, I’m watching.”
“The second an email lands, I want to know.”
The sound of pumping music suddenly filters down the line, and I frown. “Where the fuck are you?” I ask Otto.
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
Danny’s eyebrows rise, and we wait, curious. “Right now, I’m staring at legs that go on for years wrapped beautifully around a shiny silver pole.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, as Danny laughs his way to his own locker and strips out of his wetsuit. “Enjoy.” I hang up and join him getting dressed. “You heard from Rose?”
His smile is knowing as he fastens his jeans. “Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying.” I’m really worrying. Trying my best not to, but with bombs and bullets firing at us from every which fucking way, it’s a challenge. “I’m not worrying,” I affirm when his eyebrow cocks. I yank my jeans up, slipping my gun back into place.
“We can’t keep them locked up.”
I laugh, my head thrown back. “Coming from the man who kidnapped his wife? Your relationship with Rose has Stockholm Syndrome written all over it.”
“Oh, we’re talking fucked-up relationships, are we?” he asks, and I brace myself for the hit. “From the man who tied his girlfriend to a chair in an opera house so he could slip off and murder a judge.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” I grab my T-shirt and thread my arms through the sleeves.
“Women talk, mate. And apparently ours never shut the fuck up when they’re together. Which is how I also know that you’re partial to a self sex tape or two.”
I still, my head caught in the neck of my T-shirt. What the fuck? I can hear his silent laugh. Slowly pulling my T-shirt down, I eye his smirking face. Women talk, okay. But do they show? Those tapes are private. They’re for me and me only, because I’m the only person who should see Beau’s naked body, especially during the throes of passion. “If you tell me you’ve seen those tapes, I can’t promise I won’t shoot you here and now.”
“I’ve been shot at for less.”
I reach back and pull out my gun, disengaging the safety and aiming it at Danny. “Don’t piss me off.”
Hands up, he laughs, moving back. “I’ve not seen the fucking tapes, mate. Chill the fuck out.”
I snarl, stowing away my weapon. “I know you know shit like that ain’t funny,” I mutter, stomping out of the changing room. “And the reason I know is because you killed one of your own men for daring to touch Rose.” I look back, hitting him with a grin to match the ones he keeps tossing around. “They really do talk.”