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“You know the rule. No money, no product.” I flung open my desk drawer, pulled out the ledger, and flipped through the pages. “You’re still on the books for thirty-two-grand.” I snapped the book closed and stared at Dickie and Carlos. “So, where is it?”
Carlos shot a glance at Dickie. Dickie got real interested in the snot residue on his finger.
“Horace said next week, boss,” Carlos said. “Ran into some trouble and had to bail out a couple of runners.”
“How is that my problem?” I asked. “Does he want me to wipe his ass too? I don’t deal on consignment. I want my goddamn money.”
“We’ll get it,” Carlos said and swallowed hard. “Next week.”
I leaned back in my chair. “And you want me to front you the coke before I get the money for the last batch. Is that it?”
Dickie nodded, but Carlos seemed to get the picture a bit clearer. He took a couple of steps away from the desk. Wise man because, before Dickie could move a muscle, I grabbed the Glock from my drawer, lunged across the desk, and whipped it across Dickie’s cheek.
A scream exploded as Dickie stumbled back and a stream of blood splattered across my desk. Carlos drew in a horrified gasp and stared as Dickie lost his balance and fell on his scrawny ass. Tears broke and streamed down Dickie’s face as he cupped his split cheek with his hand and more blood seeped through his fingers.
“Carlos, you have one minute to get him out of this fucking office,” I said. “When I’m done counting, if you’re still here, I’m coming after you too.”
Carlos dropped to his knees and gathered Dickie against him. He shifted clumsily to his feet and half dragged a sniffling Dickie toward the door. Butch opened it.
“Carlos.”
Carlos turned slowly to look at me. “Boss?”
“You have until Tuesday. After Tuesday, that split cheek is going to look like a love tap.” Carlos nodded. “Fifty-six, fifty-seven...”
Carlos bolted out the door, dragging Dickie by the throat. Butch closed the door.
“What the fuck is wrong with these people? Do I look like a loan officer?”
Butch chuckled.
“Get a rag and get this mess cleaned up. God knows what kind of diseases that worthless shit has.”
Butch got a rag and spray bottle from the closet and cleaned up the blood splatter.
I poured myself drink and decided to pour one for Butch. He settled in the seat opposite me and downed it in one swallow.
“You do know that’s Macallan?” I asked.
Butch looked at his empty glass. “Whatever it is, it’s good.” He held out the empty glass.
I threw my head back against the chair. Why did I even try? I poured him another one. “Savor it, Butch. It’s three hundred dollars a bottle.”
Butch stared at the amber in the glass then swished it around. “It all tastes the same to me.”
Fuck it. I tossed the contents of my glass in a gulp and poured myself another one too. “So what’s going on between Hannah and O’Shea?”
Wrong question. Butch’s nostrils flared, and his eyes blazed, the red rims making them appear demonic.
“How the fuck would I know? I’m running all over this town doing your business.” He leapt to his feet and started pacing erratically around the room, throwing his arms up, his voice rising with each word. “I can’t keep my eyes on her every damn minute of every damn day. For all I know he’s banging her behind the bar the entire time I’m gone. Maybe she’s giving him blowjobs in the back room. Maybe they’re fucking in the back alley. Maybe he’s reading her goddamn sonnets and massaging her in baby oil. Jesus, Richie, I don’t know. It’s driving me insane, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about because”—he slammed his hands on my desk and leaned forward—“I’m your fucking errand boy.”
I took a sip of my drink. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah.” He slumped back into the chair and heaved a sigh. “Motherfucker.”
“So, basically, you don’t like him. Is that it?”
Butch’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Is that all you got from that?” He ran a hand over his bald head. “Jesus.”
He was so easy to toy with. Such fun.
“What do you really think is happening?”
“Probably nothing,” Butch muttered. “Yet.”
“Do you think she’s interested in him?”
Butch nodded miserably.
I straightened up in my chair and slapped my hands on the desk. “Well, we can’t have that. Doesn’t work for any of my plans.” I’d been feeling Hannah slipping from my grasp lately. Something wasn’t adding up. She usually just did her job, had her dinner, and went upstairs to...
I had no real idea what she did up there. She’d always had an attitude and got too mouthy for her own good, but lately it had seemed more than that. I saw a spark she’d never had before.
She’d actually brought her little ass down into my domain, after hours, just last week. I couldn’t have her snooping around my real business. The club was supposed to keep her occupied, give her some spending money and possibly a bit of self-worth. I let her boss around a couple of employees and treat her customers like pets and she was supposed to be grateful. Something had changed, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I couldn’t let her think she could find that self-worth anywhere but through my generosity. I certainly wasn’t going to let her cozy up to some drifter who might be more than that. I hadn’t decided yet how far to trust O’Shea, but I’d put him to the test soon enough.
“Has Hannah ever punched you before when you touched her?”
Butch cut a glance toward the wall.
“Jesus, Butch, don’t deny you’ve touched her. I know how you feel about her. Has she ever slapped you before when you touched her?”
“No, she usually just brushes me away and finds something else to do.”
“And today she hit you like a prize fighter. You don’t think that’s odd?”
Butch furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I guess so.
“She’s changing, Butch. Right under my nose. Maybe I’ve been too busy, maybe I’ve let too much out on the reins, maybe she thinks she actually has some freedom. Not sure, but she needs an attitude adjustment.”
“Like how?” Butch said.
“I’m not sure yet because I don’t know the reason for her sudden defiance or her late-night excursions.”
Butch gave me a puzzled look.
“The night you saw her in the hallway.”
That dense look just got more puzzled.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. “In her bathrobe.”
“Oh right. Yeah. That was strange.”
“Strange enough,” I said, “to warrant investigation. I want you to get Archie to check out her apartment. See if he finds anything unusual.”
“Like what?”
“If I knew that,” I snapped, “I wouldn’t want him to check it out. Tell him to look for letters, papers, check her computer, look through her books, check her calendars, ransack her drawers and cupboards. I don’t know. Something has changed her lately.”
“She has new locks, boss. She changes them like every month.”
“Huh. See what I mean?”
Butch nodded, but he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.
“I can handle that. You get up on the fire escape tonight and break that AC unit.” Butch opened his mouth. “Don’t ask me how. Do I look like a fucking HVAC tech? You figure it out, but do it quietly.” I pulled a pad from my desk drawer. “I’ll leave a work order here, and tomorrow you have Carmen go fix it when Hannah complains.”
Butch opened his mouth, but I put up my hand.
“Believe me, she’ll complain. When he comes back down, tell him to give you the keys. You book down to the hardware store and make a set.”
“Carmen won’t like that.”
“Carmen can’t support five kids from El Salvador. You tell him they’re my orders, and he’ll do what he’s told. Call Archie tonight and set things up. Now get out of here. I need to think.”
Butch rose from his chair.
“Have him look everywhere in that fucking room. I mean everywhere. But he needs to put things back the way he found them. I can’t have her knowing we’ve been there. She’s my goddamn sister, and she thinks she has privacy.”
“Sure, boss.”
“And get some ice on that nose. You look like crayons melted all over your face.”
When the door closed behind him, I thought about Danny O’Shea. Once I knew what Hannah might be hiding, and I had her back in control, I’d figure out what O’Shea meant to my life.
An asset or danger?
I hadn’t decided yet, but I could deal with either one.
Both could be good for business.