Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Heard from who?” James glares at Ringo accusingly, and he shrugs, unperturbed. I smile. I know the ugly fuck missed our she-warrior. I think perhaps Goldie missed Ringo too. And here they are. Reunited. Let the banter commence.
“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” I ask, reminding James that we have bigger issues to worry about. Besides, I get the feeling Goldie’s holiday wasn’t all she thought it was going to be. I look between her and Ringo, wondering . . .
“Who is it, anyway?” Ringo asks, sitting, motioning to the screen.
“Officer Richard Bean,” I explain, taking a drag of my forgotten cigarette before it burns out. I flick it into the sea. “His kid, Preston, attends the same school as Daniel. They had a few words and Daniel’s been thrown out.”
“Basically,” James says, “Bean’s been saying things he shouldn’t have been saying to Bean junior, and Bean junior’s been antagonizing the kid.”
“Fuck me, was that a tongue twister?” I ask over a laugh.
James eyes me, his expression irked. “Otto’s been doing some digging and found Bean’s been talking—”
Ringo starts sniggering. “I can’t take this seriously.”
“Bean has been—”
“No.” Ringo chuckles, falling back in his chair. “Doesn’t work.”
Otto throws his hands up, exasperated.
“The cop,” I say. “Let’s just call him the cop.”
“The cop has been in contact with Nolan,” Otto finishes, and doesn’t that shut Ringo the fuck up. Yeah. My thoughts exactly.
“Does Brad know?” Goldie asks, frowning. “And where is he, anyway?”
“Probably hanging out the back of a hooker,” I murmur, rubbing at my forehead.
“Seriously, Danny.” Goldie’s face is pure disgust. “So he’s still a moody bastard?”
“Affirmative.” James eyes are on me, obviously thinking the same thing. Pearl. He’s moody because of Pearl. And it was hard seeing him so torn up in the club yesterday—admitting he’s struggling. Acknowledging the problem. He won’t fuck her. I know that much. And she seems pretty disgusted by him. Plus, there was a woman in his room this morning. Which means what? I blink, my head hurting.
“No one mentions to Brad that Bean’s been talking to Nolan.” Funnily enough, no one laughs this time. “I’ll handle it.”
“What the fuck are you going to do?” James asks. “Put a bullet in Nolan’s head and hope Brad doesn’t notice he’s gone missing?”
I’m hoping it doesn’t come to any bullets anywhere, but I have a horrible feeling in my stomach. I haven’t forgotten how shifty Nolan was yesterday. “No one mentions this to Brad,” I affirm.
“And the cop?” Goldie asks. “The last thing you want is to make an enemy of a cop.”
“Because they aren’t all enemies already?” I ask.
“I’m talking about personal vendettas,” she says.
“Bean made it personal when he let his son hear shit he shouldn’t have heard. We managed to keep who we are and what we do well away from Daniel and his education until Bean came along.” I can’t hand on heart say that’s true, given the kid’s retaliation. Pops’s gold letter opener. But still . . . “Now, my kid is out of school.” I unscrew the cap of my water and take a slug. “I promise I’ll handle it delicately.” I’ll use a shotgun instead of a rocket launcher.
“And the principal?” James asks.
“Will be having a civilized conversation with the barrel of my gun.”
“Rose will be delighted.” Goldie laughs.
“Rose won’t know,” I grate, raising my eyebrows at her. “Will she?”
Otto drags his laptop back to his side of the table. “Heads-up.” He nods past me, and I turn to see Brad’s arrived. Looking like he wants to kill something.
“Jesus Christ,” Ringo breathes. “Who shat in his cornflakes?”
“Well, it wasn’t you, Ringo,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face, “because you only shit in the evenings, don’t you?”
“Fuck off.”
Goldie falls apart, and it’s a lovely sight. Bugged phones, the Black family emblem, dead Russians and Mexicans, a moody bastard cousin, a wife, baby, the kid. Trouble around here is like buses in London—you don’t see one for hours then ten of the fuckers show up at once. But, and I hardly want to admit it, I’ve missed this. Brainstorming. Picking things apart, putting the puzzle pieces together.
Brad swipes an orange juice from the fridge when he passes and swigs it down as he walks over, dropping heavily into a chair.
“All right?” I ask, getting ready to duck to miss his swing. What the fuck’s wrong with him now? Clearly his guest last night hasn’t loosened him up.
“Fine. What did I miss?”
I humor his need to swerve my question. “Nothing,” I say, giving everyone around the table a warning look. For fuck’s sake. Nolan? “Otto was just about to update us on—”
“The Escalade outside the club?” Brad asks.
“Yes, that. What’s the deal with you playing kamikaze?” I saw the footage. Brad walked right into that, the prick.
“What the fuck did you expect me to do?”