Page 28 of Nash

“No, it’s an opportunity to help someone while we help ourselves.”

He pauses, weighing the risks while I order six Shrimp Po’ Boys before I speed this along.

“Listen, we need the room on their third floor, and it sounds like the owner and her husband need our help. Someone is bribing their daughter, and I have a hunch it’s the same one bribing Six. It’s not a risk; it’s business.”

“Not a risk? After last night?” He scolds, “You’ve lost your goddamn mind over Vale Monroe already.”

“I’m in control andwon’tlose it,” I growl. “Besides, we know who it was last night. You checked this morning, right?”

I have no doubt Axel has called our moles in the police department and the state department of transportation, too.

“Yes,” he answers. “Daniel Ramirez was found dead, shot at the scene on the Ravenel bridge, but Claude Olan Turner the Fourth survived. He suffered a severe concussion and will be out of the hospital in a week. Maybe less.”

“Fuck, I knew it,” I mutter, paying the cashier.

Claude Olan Turner is fourth in the line of men into some dark crimes in this town. Unfortunately, he’s inherited a fortune, too.

“It’s like the myth.” Axel warns, “Cut off one head; two more shall take its place.”

“But now, there are seven of us and only one of him.”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

“I don’t. See you in twenty.” I hang up, not giving Axel a chance to refuse before I grab our bag to go.

Minutes later, Delta’s staff have turned the front parlor into a lunchroom. Even Blair, Vale’s sullen sister, thanked me for the sandwiches.

“Is providing lunch included in your hourly rate?” Stacey jokes with me, but I can tell she’s been crying.

She sits in her husband’s lap. They struggle to eat their sandwiches, and I understand. Concern for your child will steal your appetite.

“With as much as Ms. Monroe has messed up your books?” I make Vale the butt of a joke. “Lunch is on me.”

It lightens the mood just enough as the bell rings, and Five, I mean …Jace, opens the door.

“Welcome to Delta’s,” he greets the customer looming in the doorway.

“Is the owner here, please?”

“May I tell her who’s inquiring?”

“Yes,” the customer steps inside, towering just an inch short of Jace, “Michael Cummings. I’m a local real estate attorney and I have an offer to discuss with her, please.”

“Uh, hi.” Stacey rises from her husband’s lap. “I’m Stacey James, the owner.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. James.” The customer enters the parlor, extending his hand to shake hers. “Michael Cummings.” He notes our group gathered with sandwich wrappers open on Vale’s desk. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch.”

It takes everything I have not to smirk. I give Axel so much shit for his pseudonym.Cummings.It’s loaded with puns, and yes, I’ve used them.

“It’s okay,” Stacey assures. “How can I help you today?”

But her husband eyes Axel. He’s not buying what Axel is about to sell, but I know Axel will make an offer too sweet to refuse.

“May I speak with you,” Axel nods toward Stacey, then Ford, “and your husband? Right? In private, please?”

“This is my wife’s business. You speak directly toher.” Ford rises. He’s an imposing man. “I, nor our two husbands, tell her how to run it.”

And he’s a proud one, too.

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