about this bitch than I care about my partner, I’d suggest you drop the gun,” Skinny said.
Nico looked up, caught sight of Angel with the gun to her head, and dropped the weapon.
Beefy straightened, messaging his arm, and took the gun back from Nico, then cracked it hard across Nico’s face. A cut opened up over his eye, and blood streamed down his cheek.
“Now that wasn’t polite,” Skinny said. “We were just having a conversation.”
“Didn’t look like that was the direction things were going,” Nico said, blotting at the gash on his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt.
“Please let me kill this son-of-a-bitch,” Beefy said, pointing the gun at Nico.
“Sean wouldn’t like it,” Skinny said.
Sean? The men were sent by Sean Murdock, software engineer extraordinaire?
“Fuck,” Beefy muttered.
“Just tell us why you were talking to McDermott,” Skinny said to Nico.
“Raneiro Donati wanted to offer him a job,” Nico said.
The last name triggered a flicker of recognition on the faces of Skinny and Beefy. Sean Murdock might own Dublin, but Rome belonged to Raneiro Donati.
She tried to keep her face impassive. Would Sean Murdock check their story? Would it cause trouble for Raneiro? Negate the deal they had with him? She didn't know, but it’s not like they had a choice. It was as good a story as any she could have come up with.
Skinny looked confused. “What kind of job?”
“Fuck if I know,” Nico said. “I’m just the errand boy. Donati heard McDermott was out of a job with Murdock. Asked me to feel him out. Maybe he’s looking for some brains to add to his brawn.”
“What did McDermott say?” Beefy asked.
“Said he was still under contract with Sean Murdock,” Nico answered.
“That’s it?” Beefy asked.
“That’s it,” Nico said.
They lowered their weapons. “Then I suggest you get out of town,” Beefy said. “Sean doesn’t like anyone sniffing around his people. Makes him nervous.”
Nico nodded. “On our way out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Tell Donati to find his own talent.”
Nico nodded as they shoved past him to the door.
22
T hey took the first flight to London the next morning. Angel had slept fitfully, half listening for any strange sound. Nico didn’t seem to do any better; every time she looked at him, his eyes were open, his posture making it clear that he was on alert. They were exhausted by the time they reached the apartment they’d rented in London,, and they collapsed into bed with hardly a word.
They woke nearly twenty four hours later, the weak London sun spilling gray light into the one-bedroom flat. They threw on clothes and stopped for breakfast on their way to the market where they bought food for the apartment. Angel had no idea how long they’d be in London — Nico said it depended on how things went with Farrell Black — but they were well supplied for a few days at least.
When they got back to the apartment, Nico pulled out two new Tracphones. He kept one for himself and handed one to Angel.
“Call David while you can.”
“What are you doing with that one?” she asked, looking at the phone in his hand.
“Calling Luca,” he said. “I don’t want to approach Farrell Black without him.”
“Are you sure we can trust Farrell?” she asked.
He seemed to think about it. “No one can trust Farrell. He’s only loyal to his own cause. It’s not ideal, but it makes him a better bet than the soldiers who are willing to die for Raneiro.”
“I’m still not clear how Farrell can help us,” Angel said. “It’s our job to get the Darknet file for Raneiro. Won’t he be pissed if we enlist Farrell’s help?”
“We’re not enlisting Farrell’s help with the file.”
“We’re not?”
He shook his head. “We need supplies — weapons, surveillance and communications equipment, transportation. It will take too long to put it together myself, and Farrell will have a better idea how to get it all in
Nico looked up, caught sight of Angel with the gun to her head, and dropped the weapon.
Beefy straightened, messaging his arm, and took the gun back from Nico, then cracked it hard across Nico’s face. A cut opened up over his eye, and blood streamed down his cheek.
“Now that wasn’t polite,” Skinny said. “We were just having a conversation.”
“Didn’t look like that was the direction things were going,” Nico said, blotting at the gash on his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt.
“Please let me kill this son-of-a-bitch,” Beefy said, pointing the gun at Nico.
“Sean wouldn’t like it,” Skinny said.
Sean? The men were sent by Sean Murdock, software engineer extraordinaire?
“Fuck,” Beefy muttered.
“Just tell us why you were talking to McDermott,” Skinny said to Nico.
“Raneiro Donati wanted to offer him a job,” Nico said.
The last name triggered a flicker of recognition on the faces of Skinny and Beefy. Sean Murdock might own Dublin, but Rome belonged to Raneiro Donati.
She tried to keep her face impassive. Would Sean Murdock check their story? Would it cause trouble for Raneiro? Negate the deal they had with him? She didn't know, but it’s not like they had a choice. It was as good a story as any she could have come up with.
Skinny looked confused. “What kind of job?”
“Fuck if I know,” Nico said. “I’m just the errand boy. Donati heard McDermott was out of a job with Murdock. Asked me to feel him out. Maybe he’s looking for some brains to add to his brawn.”
“What did McDermott say?” Beefy asked.
“Said he was still under contract with Sean Murdock,” Nico answered.
“That’s it?” Beefy asked.
“That’s it,” Nico said.
They lowered their weapons. “Then I suggest you get out of town,” Beefy said. “Sean doesn’t like anyone sniffing around his people. Makes him nervous.”
Nico nodded. “On our way out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Tell Donati to find his own talent.”
Nico nodded as they shoved past him to the door.
22
T hey took the first flight to London the next morning. Angel had slept fitfully, half listening for any strange sound. Nico didn’t seem to do any better; every time she looked at him, his eyes were open, his posture making it clear that he was on alert. They were exhausted by the time they reached the apartment they’d rented in London,, and they collapsed into bed with hardly a word.
They woke nearly twenty four hours later, the weak London sun spilling gray light into the one-bedroom flat. They threw on clothes and stopped for breakfast on their way to the market where they bought food for the apartment. Angel had no idea how long they’d be in London — Nico said it depended on how things went with Farrell Black — but they were well supplied for a few days at least.
When they got back to the apartment, Nico pulled out two new Tracphones. He kept one for himself and handed one to Angel.
“Call David while you can.”
“What are you doing with that one?” she asked, looking at the phone in his hand.
“Calling Luca,” he said. “I don’t want to approach Farrell Black without him.”
“Are you sure we can trust Farrell?” she asked.
He seemed to think about it. “No one can trust Farrell. He’s only loyal to his own cause. It’s not ideal, but it makes him a better bet than the soldiers who are willing to die for Raneiro.”
“I’m still not clear how Farrell can help us,” Angel said. “It’s our job to get the Darknet file for Raneiro. Won’t he be pissed if we enlist Farrell’s help?”
“We’re not enlisting Farrell’s help with the file.”
“We’re not?”
He shook his head. “We need supplies — weapons, surveillance and communications equipment, transportation. It will take too long to put it together myself, and Farrell will have a better idea how to get it all in
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