Page 25 of The Devil's Detail
“How great he thinksyouare, you mean.”
I grin. He is very obvious, but he’s harmless. I bat Ash off. “Yeah well, him and the rest of the world.” I brush my fingers across the shoulders of my suit.
He chuckles. “You’re worse than him. But he’s like a badly behaved puppy—any attention is good attention, even if it’s not. You need to break the cycle. Stop coming when he calls.” Ash is all good advice today.
“I don’t come everytime. If I did, I’d be there more than you. I come when he really fucks up. Which, at the minute, feels daily. We’ve had a serious talk today. I think I’ve gotten through, but we’ll see. If he doesn’t improve, I’ll put him on the transfer list and start to get a few options together.”
He nods in agreement. “He was fine in Scotland. Chilled out, normal even. Here, he seems to go loco. Must be something in the water,” he muses.
“Or maybe in the country. Gary’s back. He was picked up at the airport. Got a tip-off. So we’ll have to be extra vigilant. I’m sure one of those fuckers Carter insists on keeping on payroll called him over.” I pick up Carter's schedule and look it over. “We should be alright for a few days. There are no official appearances, just personal stuff, dinners etc. But we’ll keep going as we are. Next week looks like a nightmare, so I’ll draft a few more guys in. I might even speak to his PR team—this looks excessive.” I slap the pages in exasperation. This schedule is madness. Even Carter will be going some to get through it all.
“Anyone would think you cared about him.” I look up into Ash’s grinning face, and I smirk at him.
“I do. He’s a friend.” I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “And I’m too scared of my sister to let him get hurt.” We both start to laugh, because neither of us are joking.
18
James Greystone (nephew)
June, LA
No one ever wants to admit that their family might justbe slightly weird, strange, and, at best, eccentric. With my lot, you also have to add in dangerous. Sometimes to other people. But to themselves? You bet. Such is the way when your uncles are the brothers Greystone.
And they are losing their ever-loving minds.
Initially, I thought it was just Uncle Jonno hitting some sort of midlife crisis in March.
His actions in Scotland nearly got him thrown out of the birthing party for my newest sibling, little Rio. My papa had had enough of him, begging me to try and decipher the Greystone mind. Ha! Good luck with that.
And now, Uncle Jackson. There must be something in the water. Or maybe it is as I’ve always suspected—they are so inexplicably linked to my mother, that anything that happensto her is like a weird butterfly effect, some sort of catalyst. It ripples out and they are driven mad by it. Caught up in it. And eventually end up in strangely similar situations.
I know them so well, it’s scary at times. They raised me, along with my mum. They nurtured me, loved me. And I them. And the insights those years have brought… well, it’s a lot.
Uncle Jackson, for example. What can I say about him? A deep thinker, an articulate man. He portrays the polished veneer of civility and normalcy. But underneath, he is none of those things. He’s dangerous, dark. Gives off a wild, feral energy. It’s thinly contained and people can feel it. I’ve watched many men retreat from him when his veneer slipped. It’s his eyes. They’re dead, cold, shark-like.
Too many memories of death and pain are held there. Yes, he is a dangerous man, and surrounds himself with similar people. Most of the people he employs are former service personnel. And in his eyes, anyone is welcome. He’s never been discriminatory in the slightest. If you can competently do the job for him, you’re in. You then belong to him, and therefore he looks after you.
“Uncle Jackson’s been calling. Have you had any missed calls?” I ask my adopted brother, Bucky.
He pulls out his phone to check, and shakes his head. If the Greystones ring one of us and don’t get an answer, they usually ring the other.
“Weird,” I state and shrug.
“Weird doesn’t touch it.” Both Uncle Jackson and Jonno seem to have boarded the crazy train, which is why Bucky and I have switched our ring tones for both of them to the Randy Rhoads guitar riff from ‘Crazy Train’. “Although Jackson did seem okay the other night at dinner. Apart from all the ridiculous phone calls from Carter Maywood.” He shrugs. “I’d get rid of him. Hard work.” He curls his lip in disgust.
“Did you think Jackson was alright?” I question his comment. “He seemed a bit off, a bit like Jonno. I’ve tried to find out what’s up with them, but no joy.”
“Brother, you are not getting to the bottom of the Greystone brothers, not those two anyway. Especially Uncle Jax. I definitely do not want to go there.” He visibly shivers.
I know what he means. Both of those two Greystone brothers are dark and murky at times. But I’ve narrowed the start to their new levels of bonkers down to a night in CAshO in March. Considering that, maybe it’s better I don’t know.
My phone rings again, I grin as the guitar riff blasts out at us. Jackson. I pull a horrified look at Bucky, but answer. “Hey, Uncle Jax, how’s it going?”
“Like shit, nephew. But how are you fixed?” His voice is jovial, so I don’t take him too seriously. But I do help out with security stuff on occasion, so I am on alert for another new request.
“I need your and Bucky’s help for a ‘soft extraction.’”
I bubble up a laugh. “What the fuck is a soft extraction?” I ask in shock.
