“Prove it.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Like sharks?” I ask, cocking my head, getting another laugh.
“Yes, like sharks. What do you know about sharks?”
“I know sharks don’t last long out of water, so if I find one knocking around the streets of Miami, I’ll make sure it finds its way back into the ocean.” I smile at Higham, and he deflates.
“Let me have The Shark.”
“What shark?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he says on a sigh. “James, you and Danny want The Bear for personal reasons. You’re popping off fucking animals left and right. Let’s start with the Irish—The Snake, The Eagle, The Crocodile.”
“It was The Alligator,” I say. “Vince Roake was The Alligator, and he was set to take over the Irish drugs ring. Whoever killed him did you a favor.”
His eyebrows are so high he’s got a new hairline. “You made a real fucking mess of that club.”
“They did?”
“Fuck me,” he sighs, losing his patience, but what the fuck does he expect from me? Confessions written in blood? “The Dodo?” he asks. “He was set to take over from Roake but conveniently disappeared.”
I look out the corner of my eye. Higham would throw up if he had the gory details of The Dodo’s death. “I know nothing about any Dodo,” I say casually. “And aren’t they supposed to be extinct?” I smile on the inside, seeing all of us laughing our arses off at the boatyard after the poor Dodo’s grisly end.
“So who’s fronting the Irish now?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. No one’s heard anything. In fact, Higham, Miami is scarily quiet.”
“Who was in the Escalade that blew up on a side street not long after I let you walk out of custody?”
Oh? So they couldn’t identify him? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Look, Higham,” I say, getting tired of the interrogation. “You and I know the best chance the FBI has of getting rid of the scum crawling around Miami is me and Danny.”
“Yes, and the problem with that, James, is that you and Danny have collectively killed more people than all the inmates of Florida State Prison put together.”
“Oh, now, come on, Higham, that’s giving us a little bit too much credit.”
“Fuck me, you’re an arrogant cunt.”
“Watch it, Higham,” I warn lowly, and he breathes in deeply, nodding to himself, as if coming to terms with what we both know he needs to do.
“You’ve gotta leave a few for us to put on trial, James.”
My lip curls. “The lethal injection isn’t slow enough for me, Higham.”
“I will stop breathing down your neck. No raids on the club, the boatyard, nothing.”
“You planning on raiding?”
“Not me, but you can bet your bottom dollar someone is.”
“Are you trying to crawl into my pocket, Higham?” I ask, wanting to hear it.
“I want the war in Miami to stop. We have to get crime rates down, and that’s not going to happen with the Russians, Polish, and Irish in town. Or you two, for that matter. You’re like a magnet for trouble.”
“Let’s simplify this, Higham,” I say tiredly. “With The Bear gone and us in Miami, your crime rates are gonna drop tenfold, trust me.” I pout. “They just might peak beforehand, but it’s got to get worse before it gets better, right?”
“Jesus.”
“We’re not traffickers, Higham. Not drug dealers or rapists or bank robbers. The people dying around you deserve to die.” I shrug. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“This really is personal, isn’t it?”
“It couldn’t get more personal if it tried.” I back away, nodding my respect, because, actually, I do have some for Higham. “We need to find Carlo Black’s body or there will never be peace in Miami.”
His cheeks puff out, and he starts waving his arms above his head, barking orders to his men. I head over to Brad. “Any luck?”
“Still no answer.” He looks as concerned as I am starting to feel. The news we have is not the kind of news we should break if Danny’s unwell wife has taken a turn.
We start heading toward the car, and just as I drop into the passenger seat, about to call Beau and check in, Brad’s mobile rings. He slumps back in his seat and takes a deep breath. I’m not going to lie, I take one too.
“Everything all right?” he says in answer, switching it to the car’s Bluetooth.
“Yeah, fine.” Danny sounds as cautious as he should. “I’ll ask you that question. Eight missed calls in ten minutes? What’s going on?”
Brad looks across the car to me. I have nothing for him. No advice, no encouragement. It is what it is, and it is going to cause fucking anarchy. Brad takes a hand to his forehead and smooths over his damp brow. “We have an issue,” he says, staring out of the windscreen to the swarm of cops around Carlo Black’s empty grave.
“What?” Danny’s tone says it all. He already knows whatever he’s about to learn will send him into orbit.
Brad needs to just spit it out, not try to sugarcoat it. Nothing could water this down. “Your dad’s missing.” He flinches, and I look at him like the dickhead he is. “His grave. The body.”
“Someone’s exhumed your father’s body,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone that earns me a look of disbelief from Brad.
Silence.
“We’re at the graveyard,” I go on. “Higham’s here, a forensics team, cops.”
Silence.
“We’ll find him, Danny,” Brad says, slumping back in his chair. “And when I find out who’s done this, I will cut their flesh away with a blade in wafer thin slices.”
I truly believe he will. If Danny doesn’t get to them first.
Silence.
Brad and I look at each other, all out of words. I can literally feel Danny’s bubbling anger dripping through the line. This is a message, like the call from The Bear, like the newspaper article, to entice us back to Miami. He can’t end us if he doesn’t know where we are. Now he’ll definitely know.
He’s in for the win. But does he know that moves like this only drive us harder? Stirs the beasts inside? Shakes up the darkness that’s dormant?
I can feel it rousing within me, and it’s not even my father’s grave. My teeth grit. My father couldn’t have a grave. There was nothing left of him. Or my mum. Or my sister. My fist clenches, and I wedge it into the door, pushing my weight through it before I put it through the windscreen.
My phone ringing saves the glass, and I try to clear the rage fogging my sight to focus on the screen. And when I see the number, I exhale slowly. “It’s him,” I say quietly. “Can you keep your mouth shut or does Brad need to hang up on you?”
Danny snarls in answer, and I go ahead and connect the call.
Silence.
We’re back to that game, me waiting, him waiting. I’ve got all the time in the fucking world. He, however, does not. Not if he doesn’t want me to trace him.