“Nobody likes the investigator,” Carl murmured. “I’m there to see if there was fraud, and a lot of times there is. And sometimes there’s a damned good reason for it, because the insurance company is fucking draconian. I’ve seen people steal their own paintings to pay off mobsters demanding protection or stave off eviction. In America I’ve seen them steal their own stuff or set their restaurants on fire to pay off medical bills. Sure, some people are accomplished fraudsters, and those people I want to nail. But a lot of the time they’re just desperate and sad, and it’s a hierarchy-of-needs thing. They need food and shelter more than they need my good opinion or a piece of art they can’t eat. But nobody wants to talk to me even if they’re innocent. And the insurance company resents the hell out of paying me even if I find the fraud.”
He sighed and held the cold water bottle against his eye, where the bruise from Hunter’s slap was coming up nicely. “So having my colleagues fuck with me a little—that’s almost a hand job and a beer right there.”
Michael cackled, surprising himself and Carl. To cover for the inelegant sound, he asked, “So, this job you did, it went well?”
“Yeah.” Carl studied his face. “Do you want to know what it was?”
“So bad,” Michael said, nodding. “I get the feeling Chuck’s been warning everybody off me, you know? Like keeping me in plausible deniability? But I haven’t seen anybody do anything that looked… you know. Off the rails.” He frowned. “Except that landing. God, they’re lucky you had the smarts to lift the plane up and try that approach again.”
“Smarts had nothing to do with it,” Carl muttered. “Chuck was screaming at me from the passenger compartment to pull up on the stick and bank and try the approach again.”
“I shouldn’t laugh!” Michael protested, but he could hold his hand up over his mouth all he wanted and it didn’t make it any less funny.
“Feel free,” Carl said, waving his hand. “Now that it looks like I’ll live, it does make a good story.”
“That’s sporting of you,” Michael told him, and he meant it. “Now tell me! I really am dying to know.”
So Carl told him about the mild bit of cloak-and-dagger they’d had to do to inform a less than reputable businessman that his brother’s son was dying and he might be able to save him.
“Doesn’t his blood type and shit have to match?” Michael asked, concerned. “I mean, if it was just a blood relative, I think Julia would have yanked the marrow out of her arm with a kitchen knife and not blinked. Don’t you?”
“Without question,” Carl said, grimacing. “But let’s say Stirling—you remember him from dinner?”
“Yessir.”
“He’s good with computers and information gathering. We looked up those particulars before we even tried to make contact with Mr. di Rossi. He’s most definitely a match.”
“And he might not even have known,” Michael said. “That’s amazing.” He smiled, feeling Carl’s decency in his bones. “You guys making it sound all spy versus spy and shit. You were doing a good thing, weren’t you?”
“I hope so,” Carl said soberly. “I don’t want to know what will happen to this family if Josh doesn’t get better.”
Michael patted Carl’s knee. “You’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” he said. Then he looked at his hand. On Carl’s knee. And felt the heat seeping through the wool slacks into his palm. He sat, frozen, unable to even snatch his hand back, and then Carl’s hand covered his and squeezed.
The touch unfroze him. His eyes flew to Carl’s, and Carl squeezed his hand again and then released it.
“I should go,” he said softly.
“Where to? I know Chuck went to Lucius’s apartment, and Hunter’s got his own in the city. Where you going?”
“Glencoe,” Carl said, obviously meaning the Salinger mansion. “We’re having a tribe breakfast in the morning so we can talk about what’s next. I didn’t hear the particulars, but I gather Josh’s uncle has a problem we might be able to fix. Oh!” Suddenly he sat up a little straighter. “And he’s going to need help with his kids when he gets here. Apparently they’re teenagers—thirteen and fifteen—and they’re supposed to be on vacation in Corfu. Julia offered to entertain them. I’m pretty sure everybody’s on deck for that, including you.”
Michael looked at him questioningly. “I’m the mechanic,” he said, feeling befuddled.
“Yes, but you have kids you talk to and who appear to like you. And I know Chuck and Lucius gave you a grand tour of Chicago when you got here, so you know what to show them.” His animation dimmed. “That is… I mean, you’re not obligated. I’m sure Julia and Felix will pay you more―”
“No, no. It’s just….” Michael smiled a little, remembering Lucius’s words about being involved, about becoming a part of a group of people who seemed to welcome him. “I’m just real honored to be asked.”
Carl’s expression went a little soft. “You’re really nice to consider it,” he said. “Come to breakfast tomorrow.” He yawned again and his eyelids fluttered. “Sorry. I should go.”
“Here,” Michael said, standing up and offering him a hand. Carl took it, and when he was standing, they were chest to chest. Michael fought his instinct to step back. He liked the closeness. He wanted more of it.
“You can stay at my apartment tonight,” Michael said softly. “And tomorrow we can go to the Salinger mansion for breakfast.”
“Your apartment?”
“The guest room,” Michael told him, knowing that no, it was too soon for that other thing but suddenly wanting it really bad. “You need sleep, and I need to….” This would sound stupid if he said it out loud.
“Need to what?” Oh, his eyes were so pretty. Green irises, yes, but the crinkles in the corners were also pretty. This was a man who knew how to smile kindly.
“Need to impress you,” Michael said with dignity. “I’m not sure how to do that, but I want you to think well of me.”
He actually heard Carl swallow.
“That’s wonderful,” Carl said gruffly. “But you need to know right now, I’m not the A-guy. Hunter and Chuck, they’re the A-guys. I’m the almost-ran. The B-team. I run security checks.” He rolled his eyes. “Oooh… scary.”
Michael moved a little closer, close enough to smell sweat and tired man and an aftershave that didn’t make him sneeze. Carefully, because he wasn’t used to making moves like this, he put his hands on Carl’s hips.
“Chuck’s like riding a tornado. He’ll fuck up your life one way or the other, but you’re grateful for the ride.”
Carl cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed, and Michael looked up to see a sheepish grimace on his handsome face.
“What?” he asked suspiciously.
“Uhm….”
Michael suddenly knew what he was embarrassed about. “No, really?”
Carl shrugged. “I think Good Luck Chuck was really a Good Time Charlie,” he said, his face red. “I was trying to infiltrate a crew. They didn’t just steal—they’d killed a couple of guards. Chuck had just been recruited, and he made me right away. Took me to bed, told me not to come back or I could be in real danger. I told him about the dead guards, and we both hopped a flight out of Sweden, spent a week together in Cairo because it was as far as either of us could think of before we changed our aliases, and went back to working our jobs.”