Page 43 of Bastard

“Eh, they don’t wear boots. They’re too fancy for that.” I took a shot that sent the twelve ball into the corner pocket.

Murder frowned, confused. Rocket rolled his eyes and pushed him out of the way. “What do you do up there besides walk beside your bitch looking all important?”

“I feed her grapes while fanning her with a palm frond. When she gets bored I strip naked and do whatever she tells me to.” I deadpanned.

Murder was even more confused now. Spades slapped his knee and started laughing. “I forget you can be funny sometimes.”

By the end of the game they forgot all about me and started drinking and harassing Pam, the only woman I knew who put up with them on purpose. My brothers had a game of Texas Hold ‘Em going, so I watched Home Run strip everyone of their money between nonstop talking and joking. He used distraction as a weapon, which was why I never played poker with Teddy.

Riddick brought me a beer. “How’d it go?”

“As expected. How was it holding down the fort?” It was Home Run’s turn to stay behind next.

“As expected. Todd got unexpectedly happy right about the day you told him you got a gig with the Feyereisens. I was pretty weirded out until you read me in.”

“Sorry. Lots of moving parts these days. Hey,” I turned away from the game and leaned closer to Riddick. “I think I got a first name for the man behind the curtain.”

“Well?”

“Randall. I did a quick search of the employee database and found a Randall Cork worked for Bernard Roark twenty years ago.” There were other Randalls, but none of them would have worked in Bernard’s sphere.

“That’s very old information. What makes you think it's the same guy you saw now?”

I shrugged to look nonchalant, but I was really excited by this development. “If you were pulling the strings on some rich assholes, would you want your name easy to find?”

Riddick nodded his head from side to side. “I guess not.”

“Here’s my idea. He and Bernard got together, but this Randall Cork guy is smarter, so he suggests going freelance. Working for them, but on the side. He has all the access he wants and none of the paper trail. Bernard goes toes up. Maybe he’s part of it, maybe he’s not. Either way, now he only has the Feyereisens to deal with. I think if we track this guy down we’ll find he’s behind one of the contractors the brothers use.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I come up with. It’s better than nothing.”

And maybe I could get one of these recordings from Sam. Whether she thought something was criminal or not, the voice might be useful.

“I’m ready to head out. The car at the new drop point?”

Riddick knocked the counter with his knuckles. “Yep. I’ll pick up your bike in an hour. Better make an appearance downstairs on your way out.”

The last thing I wanted to do was walk through a crowded bar, but I knew he was right. At least no one was using the backroom yet. Everyone was still busy with pool and poker. The door closed and locked behind me as I stepped into the busy bar. The usual mix of business people sat on the left side of the bar, but on the right, it turned out to be a night for clubs to show their faces—and colors—at our bar.

I should have asked Riddick to walk out with me. Especially since this looked a hell of a lot like a flex. No Pythons to be seen, but most of the other clubs from our coast, plus I recognized a few from the north part of the state, Georgia, and the Carolinas. It was too late to call for backup and the last thing I could do was flinch. So I put on the full Red swagger, knowing every single one of these men was trying to look tough, but inside they were scared shitless of me.

This meant I couldn’t take a turn and leave like I planned. Now I needed to make a show of it. I started at the bar, leaning loose and casual against the edge while I flirtatiously asked for a shot of whiskey. This showed everyone I wasn’t afraid and it allowed whoever had a hard-on to come to me first.

They didn’t disappoint. I had just gotten my shot when Johnny Johnson—real name—slapped his pint down next to my shot. “How’s the Red Right Hand tonight?”

Johnny was part of the Shadow Ghosts. Generally a funny laid back guy, but he was none of those things tonight. He was gunning for a fight. “Not too bad. How ‘bout yourself?”

Johnny laughed at some internal joke. It was kind of maniacal. “Oh I’m good. Real good. I’m just curious.”

“About?” I shot the whiskey, giving the bartender a wink of thanks for letting me play my part while she gave me the weakest whiskey behind the bar.

“What’s it like fucking the richest heiress in the world?”

That…was the last thing I expected. “What?”

He laughed some more, fidgeting and almost jumping around he was so amped up. Maybe he snorted some coke before he walked up to me. “You’re on the news, man. The front page of every fucking paper in the country.” He spread out his hand and arced it through the air. “The Heiress and the Bad Boy.”

Fuck.

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