Page 68 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold
“I am a businessman.” Franklin sounded defensive. “A free agent. A... useful person to know when people like you need to talk to people even worse than me.” He got out of the chair and walked to a glass-fronted fridge, where he pulled out a fresh Dr Pepper. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I’m good.” King felt cold. This wasn’t how he thought this was going to go, and if there was one thing King hated, it was surprises.
“How about”—Franklin turned to Alex and added with an exaggeratedwink wink—“your lovely wife? Say, how are things on the other side of the island? I heard they got a new chef. Flora won’t let me order takeout, though.”
“Flora—” Alex started, but Franklin’s laugh cut her off.
“She’s my big sister. You didn’t know?” He laughed harder. “Behold”—he held out a hand, gesturing to the island all around them—“our inheritance. I make more money with my side than she does with hers, though.” The Dr Pepper opened with a fizz.
“Congratulations.”
“Now.” Franklin dropped into a leather desk chair and crossed one leg over the other. He looked ready to make a deal. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I think you know.” King pointed at the painting that was hanging over the desk. Three daggers formed a triangle. “We just saw that. Tattooed on the arm of a man who tried to kill us in Las Vegas.”
“Oh. That’s my personal symbol. Three blades, you see. TriBlade. My whole organization kind of...” Recognition seemed to dawn. “Oh shit! Javier. Is he okay?”
“He is not,” Alex said simply.
“That’s too bad and...” The man kicked back and eyed King. “Surprising.I didn’t think you liked the violence.”
King hated the violence, but that didn’t change the fact that—“It was unavoidable.”
Franklin nodded slowly, as if he understood. As if he’d been there himself. As if that was the cost of doing business. “Poor Javier. He was good. Not good enough, though, I guess.” He gave a sigh that said,Oh well.
“So our question to you is pretty simple.” Alex prowled closer. “Why,exactly, did you send him to kill us?”
It might have been the shadows or the hour or the sound of the sea, but it seemed to take forever for the man to understand. “I’m sorry...me? You thinkIwant you dead?”
He leaned back and studied King and Alex. “Oh no. I’m what you might call... a fan.” He pointed between them. “I ship it. Gotta say—kind of exciting to see you two working together again!”
“Then why didyour mentry to kill us?” King was running out of patience.
“Oh, they didn’t.” Franklin sounded so strong—so earnest—King almost wanted to believe him. “I’m just a broker. I thought you knew. Merritt never told you?” There he was, using her name again like he had any right to say it. Like they were old colleagues—old friends. Like they were all on the same side and everything else was just a technicality. “I’m a matchmaker, so to speak. I put people who have needs”—he held up his right hand—“in touch with people who provide goods.” He held up his left and then brought them together. “Or services. It’s all very civilized. Murder for hire is hardly my forte.”
King could actually see Alex’s patience starting to wane. “So who hired youthis time?”
They should have shut the doors—turned on more lights. They should have done something because King couldn’t get a read on that moment or that conversation or that man. Because the guy with cheese-puff fingers was suddenly looking at Michael Kingsley as if he might be a fool, even as he whispered—
“Nikolai.”
The word sounded like a shot fired from long range in high wind, like something that had been chasing King for ages and was aboutto find its mark. But Franklin just sat there, shaking his head like he might be on candid camera—like it might all be a joke. “I thought you knew—”
“Nikolai doesn’t exist.” King was going to throw him out the window himself.
“Ha. That’s...” Franklin trailed off. “Wait.What do you mean?”
“You just said the tooth fairy tried to kill us,” King snapped.
But Franklin was shaking his head, confused. “No. Nikolai is... like... mybestclient.” Franklin scooted forward. Alex cocked her gun. Franklin scooted back. “Look, I don’t know—”
“I do,” King snapped. “Even if Nikolai were real, he’d be dead or in a nursing home by now, so—”
“Merritt isn’t in a nursing home.” The kid had the audacity to smile.
“I should put you in the ground.” King would have done it, too, but Alex was there, pulling him back.
“King, calm down. King... Michael.”
