Page 2 of A Murderous Crow
It was still murder, and the mayhem of characters like the Lady Chablis – God resthersoul… who’d passed in two thousand sixteen.
It felt like the wild vibe of Savannah’s rebellious era had gone to rest with her, and now it was a slower, calmer, more sedate place to be – a lovely walk down historic streets, past old and historic homes, with a sense of nostalgia steeping in the sultry air; permeating everything.
But Hal wasn’t here for that. He was here for the Savannah of at least thirty years ago, and that was fine by me.
He was looking for the perfect property to steep himself in that Williams kind of vibe, filling it with antiques and a maximalist style, which was, at least, the vibe I had gotten from his emails.
At first, I had wondered why anyone would wish to immigrate to the United States under the current political landscape. But then he took his seat across from me, and I realized he was exactly the perfect archetype that the people in charge wanted around these parts now.
Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and as the Lady Chablis would say…‘stinkin’ motherfuckin’ rich.’
It was quickly obvious as he described what he wanted to me that I could likely addinsufferableto that category as well.
I thought about it as he droned on and on about the kinds of property he was seeking, that he would have been much better off with Corbett Prescott as his buyer’s agent. But Corbett could and would pry the commission I was looking at from the sale of the type of property Hal was looking for out of my cold, dead hands.
Still, this was the game.
Only one person out here knew what I was doing, and that was my assistant, who was older than me! Fabian was pushing forty, but with his skincare routine and generally bubbly personality, he might as well be twenty to myalmostthirty.
I could picture him at home in his light, sheer silk robe with its copious mounds of ostrich feathers surrounding the collar and cuffs, a facemask on his face, and fingers dripping with jeweled rings as he texted me back; his manicure clicking against the screen of his phone as he took notes on a legal pad nearby.
I relayed the information, and he would have a series of properties to review by morning that were up for grabs and fitting Hal’s whims and desires.
I would find Hal what he wanted at a better price than he had ever dreamed of.
It was the Savvy Savannah way.
I just hoped it would be enough.
Chapter Two
Corvus…
I lived separately from the Manse, which most of the club called home for a reason. As much as I would have loved shacking up with my old dorm-mates from our boarding school days, it wouldn’t do with how many… less-than-legal fronts we had dealings with. If the Manse ever got raided and Syn taken in, I needed plausible deniability to remain firmly on the outside so I could continue conducting business. Besides that, I was their best point of contact to secure the entire team of lawyers they would need.
Speaking of which, it was time to sign off on those monthly retainers.
As far as the outside world knew, the retainers we paid on the regular were for business dealings, legitimate to the above-board business we each ran on a daily. Good enough cover. Decent enough to keep a whole contingent of lawyers a phone call away for any criminal court services we may need them for.
I sat at my desk in my townhome off Charlton Street. I could see Troup Square from one of my upper-floor spare rooms’ windows if I angled right and looked hard enough.
The townhome had cost me just a little over a million, and I was its first new owner in sixty years. To be honest, the three-bedroom, two-bathroom place was a little big for me, but it served me fairly well. One bedroom was reserved for the odd occasion that one of the guys had a clash of personality over at the Manse and needed a place for a night or a few days in order to get whatever beef had arisen properly quashed. The third bedroom wasn’t used as a bedroom at all, but rather as my home office.
There was a smaller office space downstairs that I kept as a library with all manner of law books attributed to real estate law, and some personal reading material as well. It held nothing but shelves and a ladder to reach the top along a brass rail, and an overstuffed and comfortable chair with a reading lamp over it.
A cozy, if rarely utilized space.
One of the charms of the place was the exposed brick and open-beamed ceilings, which were great for anyone who loved historic charm. I did not. I preferred sleek, black, and white – preferring modern and minimalist myself – but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make to have the carriage house at the back of the property with enough garage beneath it to house both my car and my bike.
Above was a simple mother-in-law apartment, fully furnished, but empty. The guys referred to it as my “fuck studio,” which they weren’t wrong to do. It was where I brought the insipid, but at least pleasant-to-look-at, women to fulfill my needs, but kept them separate from my permanent dwelling.
I liked keeping my space my own.
I let them believe the carriage house apartment was where I lived to keep them from knocking on my actual door. Still, therewas the odd occasion when it happened. Hence, my multitude of security cameras. And thanks to Requiem, I always knew who was where and what was happening on my property with a few taps on my phone’s screen.
An invaluable tool.
All was quiet as I worked through my morning ritual, pomading my hair back from my face and taming my beard with its own balm and a hot comb. I was what you would consider a “dirty blond,” my hair more bronze than golden, too dark to be a true blond but too light to be considered a brunette, either.
