LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “Just—you don’t need me there, aye? Thinkin they all give you the squint-eyes iffen they see me.”

      Her first thought was to wonder where this had come from, why he was bringing it up now, but then, she knew, didn’t she? A look at how regular people lived, a bit of thought about the difference between Downside and the rest of Triumph City, between Downside and Church headquarters, and it was clear enough. Or at least why he was talking about it at that moment; he’d probably been thinking it already. Shit. “I don’t care what they think.”

      “You oughta, though. ’Speople you workin with, it matters.”

      “No.” Damn it. They were out in public, where she couldn’t touch his face or climb into his lap or whatever else to change his mind. She grabbed his hand instead, low, where no one would see. “What they think doesn’t matter. They don’t have any effect on how I do my job or what cases I get or anything else, and even if they did I don’t care. I want you there with me. I want you to meet Elder Griffin.”

      “Have he thinkin you lost yon mind.”

      “No, he won’t. And you know what, even if he does, I still don’t care.” She squeezed his hand to make him look at her, so she could look in his eyes. Or where his eyes were, because his sunglasses were on. “I care what I think, and I want you there.”

      He hesitated. “Don’t wanna fuck things up for you—”

      “You won’t. You’re not.” She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. It wasn’t that big a deal, really, it was just … just that she finally had a chance to be with him in public, to show everyone that she belonged to someone, that she mattered to someone, and that she was proud of that. Because she was. “I want you to be there.”

      “Maybe you—”

      “It’s—it’s important to me, okay? Please come with me.”

      “Don’t think you need—”

      “Terrible. You are coming. And if anybody doesn’t like it they can fuck off. That includes you.”

      His lips twitched. “You givin me the orders now, aye?”

      “Yes. So cut it out.”

      Another pause; she could see him trying to come up with another argument and plastered a don’t-even-fucking-try-it look on her face.

      Finally he sighed. “Aye, right, then. But iffen you wanna change yon mind, you just say.”

      “I won’t.”

      They’d parked near the dull industrial-green façade of Gordon’s building, peeling and dusty in the afternoon sunlight. He opened her door and led the way up the semi-intact sidewalk. Hopefully they’d get some information in there.

      Or not. The second she picked the lock and Terrible swung open the door to Gordon’s apartment, she knew they wouldn’t find anything of use—or, to be more exact, they wouldn’t find anything magic-related. No energy beckoned them farther into the room, no dark power set her tattoos on fire.

      A good thing, yeah, but not helpful.

      Searching through Gordon’s things wasn’t much better. Playing cards were everywhere—scattered over the carpet and furniture, decks tidy on shelves and the kitchen counter. Chess stopped counting them when she hit twenty-three.

      More signs of Gordon’s habit showed up in other places. Books on poker and blackjack strategy by the bed, in the bathroom, lying with their spines bent on the floor. Racing forms. Sports pages from four different newspapers. Sports magazines. Poker chips made bright circles all over the dirty brown shag carpeting; torn lottery tickets and betting slips covered them, confetti for a loser’s parade.

      “Lots of boxes around,” she commented as they entered the dim, stale-smelling bedroom. Gordon hadn’t been too worried about personal cleanliness; a dark sort of coffin-shaped smudge on the right side of the bed indicated both where he slept and that he didn’t change his sheets much. “Was he moving or something?”

      “Ain’t got any on that.” Terrible shifted a few of the boxes so he could get to the closet doors, then stopped. “Hold up. Check this.”

      She crossed the dirty carpet to take the paper—no, the photograph—from his hand. Two men sitting at a table covered with beer bottles, their arms around each other, drunken grins plastered across their faces. “What? Who’s that?”

      “’sGordon there, aye? An Yellow Pete there.”

      Gordon and the man he’d killed. The man he’d been magically directed to kill. “They were friends?”

      “Guessing so. Never seen em together what I recall, but ain’t like I seen either much, ceptin when Pete checked in, handed over he lashers an whatany else. Pete weren’t a gambler, neither.”

      She started to sit on the bed, then reconsidered. “So somebody didn’t just kill Pete, they made his friend kill him?”

      “Aye. Guessing they figure makes it easier, dig? Pete ain’t be scared on Gordon, he sees him comin.”

      “Did Pete have reason to be scared of someone?”

      He shook his head once, a quick twitch. “Aw, Chess. Always reason to, aye? Ain’t can trust on nobody you see.”

      Yeah. She knew that.

      He opened the closet doors to reveal the emptiness within. “Guessing—”

      “Wait.” Okay, that could be something. That might get them somewhere. Right? “Gordon and Pete knew each other. They were friends.”

      “Lookin so, aye.”

      “So someone—whoever did this—knew that, right? Because it’s too weird to think they just happened to pick Gordon to kill Pete, and they just happened to be friends. The sorcerer knew.”

      The approval in his eyes made her feel warm all over. “So the spell maker, he knew em too, aye? Knew em both.”

      “Looks like it, huh.”

      He nodded. “Maybe be good talkin to some at the card games. Ain’t guessin he neighbors be much for knowledge on him.”

      Terrible’s phone rang. Shit. Lately it seemed like it was never good news, and this time didn’t seem to be an exception. He hung up—slammed the phone shut, would be a better term—and rubbed his forehead. “Gotta go. Gots us another man down.”

      “What? Another—Lex, you mean. Another street guy dead.”

      He nodded, already pulling his keys out of his pocket and heading for the door. “By the docks, this one. Lemme get you home.”

      “Why? Why?”

      “Gettin late, baby, ain’t wanting you up there—”

      “And taking me home is going to cost you at least another twenty minutes or so. No. I’m going with you.”

      “Ain’t safe there, an I don’t—”

      “But you’ll be there. There are people there, right? I’ll be fine. Come on, take me with you.”

      Another dealer killed by Lex—another man killed by Lex or at Lex’s order. At least so Terrible and Bump thought. But maybe it wasn’t him; maybe someone else was doing it. Maybe if Chess saw it, she could find out.

      Maybe she just needed to see it. To see that Lex really had done it, that he really was doing his best to fuck up her life.

      Whatever the reason, relief blossomed in her chest when Terrible nodded. “Aye, right, then. Only you do what I say, dig? I say get in the car, you do. Aye?”

      “Don’t I always do what you say?” She raised her eyebrows, grinning at the little flash of memory—memories—the words invoked and the accompanying heat in her veins.

      “Aye,

Скачать книгу