Page 41 of Devil's Marker

“Christ,” said Zipper.

“I’m thinkin’ we need to send somebody over there to check out what’s goin’ on. Somebody old enough to drink. Young enough to attract the little ladies. Somebody nobody knows is affiliated with us.”

Every pair of eyes turned to look at Win.

Win laughed. “Gentlemen. Take another look at my face. At the Boss’s birthday party the young ladies told me not to go out, that I would scare small children.”

“That was then,” Boss said. “Now you’re less black and more maroon. Your nose is about half the size it was a week ago and I can hear you’re breathin’ like a human being. Another week and you’re gonna be downright cute. Carla told us that gettin’ you iced down right away was gonna ensure that you’d heal in half the time. And she would know.”

“That’s right,” Zipper affirmed, giving his wife a vote of medical confidence.

Boss went on. “If there’s still a little residual bruisin’, it’ll probably just bring out the sympathy nurturin’ thing that women like to do.”

Win stared trying to sort through how he felt about spying on the Stars & Bars as an undercover Marauder while spying on the Marauders as undercover on behalf of the SSMC. Tricky. Complicated. Dangerous. Also, if he was being perfectly honest, interesting.

“You’re serious.”

“One hundred percent,” Boss said. “You’re what you call the ideal candidate. Heaven sent.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m the only one who’s gotta know. You don’t gotta know. You just gotta do what I say. Right?”

“Right.”

“Glad that’s sorted. You think you can pretend to be upstandin’?”

“You mean like a stock market investor?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

Win hesitated for effect before saying, “I think so.”

“Good. Done. Next Friday, week from today, you’re gonna show up at Night Flight in a BMW lookin’ like a player on the prowl.”

Win nodded. What else was there to do?

CHAPTER Eight

The next day marked a full week since Win had arrived at the Marauders’ club. He’d become a near fixture at the bar because it was the hub of clubhouse life and not much got past his hearing from that vantage point. That made it an ideal post for spying. And that was where he was at one o’clock when R.C. came strutting her stuff through the door looking good enough to jump, in a thigh-length green silk dress and sandals that tied around the ankle.

Her eyes adjusted to the softer light and found Win at the bar right away.

Win opened his mouth to tell her how good she looked, but didn’t get a chance to utter a single syllable. Boss had been alerted that R.C. had come through the gate and he was rapidly approaching with a yell like a thunder god.

“R.C. What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Nice greeting, Pop. This mean you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“O’ course not. That’s a bum-headed thing to say. But I wasn’t expectin’ you and this is a business weekend. Got no time for beautiful shenanigans.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed.

Boss, who seemed oblivious to the fact that he was being played, became a puddle. “Sorry, sweetheart. We got a situation that’s requirin’ all my attention. Give me a month and then I’m all yours.”

“Okay.”

“Since you’re here…” Boss looked over at Win. “Hang on.”

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