Page 98 of Torched Spades
Slidingacross the booth’s plastic red cushion, I place my phone on the table and cast a side-eyed glare at the young waitress hovering over it. She’s visibly tense, and with good reason. I’m not here for a shitty sandwich. I’m here to draw blue blood from the heart of Providence’s finest.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks, gripping her notepad and pen so tightly her hands tremble. I shake my head, her eyes widening as I pull a folded hundred-dollar bill out of my pocket. With a flick of the wrist, I hold it tucked in between my index and middle fingers.
“No drinks, no food,” I say icily, passing a quick glance at the name tag pinned to her hot pink T-shirt. “Just here to meet a friend, Bree. While I do, why don’t you and Ben Franklin get better acquainted on the other side of the diner?”
She’s young and judging by the way she’s looking at the offered cash, also broke as fuck. Luckily, innocence and poverty usually come with a side of sliding ethics.
An assumption that’s proven when she plucks the bill from between my fingers. Giving me a curt nod, she tucks the money and her morality into the pocket of her apron and scurries away.
Smart girl.
Then again, cash has a way of muddling even the sharpest of memories, especially during an interrogation.
After a quick check of the time, I clasp my hands together and turn my gaze toward the front door. While ensuring privacy is always important, securing the perfect vantage point is the main reason I arrived early.
Booth tucked in the back right corner to ensure discretion.
Seat facing the front door to secure the upper hand.
Never turn your back on your enemy.It’s not as much a rule as it is common sense when dealing with law enforcement. However, when meeting with the morally bent face of it, it becomes basic survival.
Ten minutes later, the cowbell above the door clangs, and I watch as George Reese steps inside the diner. He’s in street clothes, the jeans and polo shirt he has on somehow making him appear even more dangerous than his uniform. He pauses only long enough to scan his surroundings—a move I’d respect if there weren’t all of four people in the whole damn place. Once our eyes lock, he clenches his fists by his side and strides toward me. I watch every methodical step he takes, taking special note of the unnatural bulk under the right side of his jacket.
I smile. From the looks of it, our interest in Becca isn’t the only commonality we share. From the shape and position, it seems Police Chief Reese and I share similar tastes in weaponry.
His heavy footsteps come to a stop at the end of the booth. “Where is she?”
“Have a seat, George,” I say, motioning across the table.
“Fuck you. Where is she?”
Shifting against the back of the booth, I click my tongue. “Your civil service leaves a lot to be desired, Chief.”
“And your name leaves a lot unspoken for,Johnny.”
My smile widens. Finally, this pretense he’s been carting around of being the lord and savior of Providence is wearing thin. Both our masks are coming off, and this cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing is reaching its end.
I nod out an approval. “Well, now that we have our insults out of the way, once again, have a seat, Reese. We have a few things to discuss.”
I can tell he wants nothing more than to reach under that jacket and draw his Glock. But he won’t. It’s the precise reason I chose this location.
Witnesses.
A fact he realizes isn’t serving him too well right now, according to the tight lines clustered around the corners of his narrowed eyes. Still, his ego won’t let him walk away, so heaving himself into the seat across from me, he clasps his hands together in a mimicking pose. “Let’s get this over with. I want my daughter.”
“We all want things we can’t have.”
“If you’ve hurt her…”
“Me?” Tipping my head back, I let out a corrosive laugh. “How could I have hurt her, Reese?”
Fury flares in his pale blue eyes, and he lunges across the table, his hands clutching my jacket. “I’ve seen the bruises you left on her. I swear to Christ, I won’t rest until you get the chair for what you’ve done.”
“First of all, if you enjoy your hands attached to your wrists, I suggest you get them the fuck off me.” Anger flickers as he glances out of the corner of his eye to find every head in the diner turned our way. Whether out of self-awareness or self-preservation, the chief slowly releases his grip and sinks into his seat. Straightening my jacket in place, I lean my forearms on the table and lower my voice. “Secondly, we both know I had nothing to do with Becca’s attack. You, on the other hand—”
“Have done nothing but try to protect her from men like you.”
“Now see, this is where we’re going to have to agree to disagree.” Reaching inside my jacket, I draw out a playing card and toss it on the table in front of him. “Because I have it on good authority you paid a very incompetent man to break into Becca’s condo earlier tonight and leave a shitload of these for her to find.”
