Sam had a great memory and a bum leg he’d gotten during some reconstruction work in Bangkok that hadn’t gone his way. It made him slow but not stupid, whereas Karola was stupid but not slow.
They made a helluva team.
So did he and Scout.
“Karola,” she said, and even without the question being spoken, he agreed. Of the two assholes moving in on the alley, he’d rather take on Karola.
“You want to be my drunk girlfriend?” he asked softly.
Her answer was to stumble and lean into him.
“You som-va-va-bitch!” she yelled, and let fly with one of her fists.
He grabbed her close, and caught her fist before she could land a good blow.
“All right, all right,” he said, annoyed as hell and making sure not to keep his voice down. “You wanna drink yourself sick and throw up all over yourself,
fine
. Do it. But not on my dime, babe.”
“Not your babe!” She dropped her cigarette and swung at him again, and with all the visible disgust he could muster, he started hustling her back the other way, heading toward Rick Karola.
“The hell you’re not,” he said, lengthening his strideand half lifting her off her feet to make sure she kept up. “I own you,
babe
, and you’re going home.”
“Not your babe!” She tried to pull away, and he jerked her in even closer.
There were people on both sides of the street ahead of them, filling the sidewalks, and plenty of traffic, and Jack didn’t hesitate to call out.
“Tommy!” he hollered, lifting his free hand to wave, his gaze focused past Rick Karola, out of the alley, while still keeping the guy in sight. “Joe! Hey, guys! Wait up!”
Coming off the sidewalk and heading into the alley, Karola angled himself toward the opposite side of where Jack and Scout were walking out. Jack would have done exactly the same thing. The last thing a guy with a job to do needed was to get involved with a couple of drunks stumbling along having a domestic dispute, especially if they had friends, also possibly drunk, hanging in the wings. It wasn’t an insurmountable mess, if one of the drunks was your target. If they weren’t, it was just a mess.
Jack had a gray Buick Regal parked in a garage two blocks over, and the plan had been to head to the rally point, the Star Motel in one of the northern suburbs, where they’d meet up with Con and the three of them would wait out the night. The flight to Paraguay left at seven a.m.
Lancaster changed all that.
He and Scout needed to light somewhere long enough to contact Con and come up with a new plan and see what the boss wanted to do with her intel.
“Karola!” he heard Walls yell behind them, from the far end of the alley. “It’s fucking Traeger and the girl! Stop them! Wake up, man!”
Too late.
Scout was already breaking into a run, and even with crowds of people in her way, she’d be impossible tocatch. The girl was quick, and Jack was right behind her, guarding her six.
At the end of the block, they rounded the corner, and Jack tagged her on the shoulder. She understood and ducked into the next doorway, a coffee shop Jack knew had a helluva double-shot latte and a small courtyard out back with a gate opening onto a private parking lot for some high-end condos. The alley driveway into the lot emptied out onto Wynkoop Street.
Once inside the coffee shop, they started down the east wall, both of them checking the street through the shop’s windows. They were almost to the door to the courtyard, when Jack came to a sudden stop. A smile instantly curved his mouth, and he reached for Scout, stopping her, too—
yes!
Con had jacked a Porsche, about an ’88, flat black and good-looking. He was idling in the turn lane at the light …
except …
Jack’s smile faded, and an odd, disconcerting confusion took its place. He kept his hand on Scout’s shoulder and his eyes on the man driving the Porsche.
It wasn’t Con.
And the implications of who the younger man was crashed into Jack’s brain in one
They made a helluva team.
So did he and Scout.
“Karola,” she said, and even without the question being spoken, he agreed. Of the two assholes moving in on the alley, he’d rather take on Karola.
“You want to be my drunk girlfriend?” he asked softly.
Her answer was to stumble and lean into him.
“You som-va-va-bitch!” she yelled, and let fly with one of her fists.
He grabbed her close, and caught her fist before she could land a good blow.
“All right, all right,” he said, annoyed as hell and making sure not to keep his voice down. “You wanna drink yourself sick and throw up all over yourself,
fine
. Do it. But not on my dime, babe.”
“Not your babe!” She dropped her cigarette and swung at him again, and with all the visible disgust he could muster, he started hustling her back the other way, heading toward Rick Karola.
“The hell you’re not,” he said, lengthening his strideand half lifting her off her feet to make sure she kept up. “I own you,
babe
, and you’re going home.”
“Not your babe!” She tried to pull away, and he jerked her in even closer.
There were people on both sides of the street ahead of them, filling the sidewalks, and plenty of traffic, and Jack didn’t hesitate to call out.
“Tommy!” he hollered, lifting his free hand to wave, his gaze focused past Rick Karola, out of the alley, while still keeping the guy in sight. “Joe! Hey, guys! Wait up!”
Coming off the sidewalk and heading into the alley, Karola angled himself toward the opposite side of where Jack and Scout were walking out. Jack would have done exactly the same thing. The last thing a guy with a job to do needed was to get involved with a couple of drunks stumbling along having a domestic dispute, especially if they had friends, also possibly drunk, hanging in the wings. It wasn’t an insurmountable mess, if one of the drunks was your target. If they weren’t, it was just a mess.
Jack had a gray Buick Regal parked in a garage two blocks over, and the plan had been to head to the rally point, the Star Motel in one of the northern suburbs, where they’d meet up with Con and the three of them would wait out the night. The flight to Paraguay left at seven a.m.
Lancaster changed all that.
He and Scout needed to light somewhere long enough to contact Con and come up with a new plan and see what the boss wanted to do with her intel.
“Karola!” he heard Walls yell behind them, from the far end of the alley. “It’s fucking Traeger and the girl! Stop them! Wake up, man!”
Too late.
Scout was already breaking into a run, and even with crowds of people in her way, she’d be impossible tocatch. The girl was quick, and Jack was right behind her, guarding her six.
At the end of the block, they rounded the corner, and Jack tagged her on the shoulder. She understood and ducked into the next doorway, a coffee shop Jack knew had a helluva double-shot latte and a small courtyard out back with a gate opening onto a private parking lot for some high-end condos. The alley driveway into the lot emptied out onto Wynkoop Street.
Once inside the coffee shop, they started down the east wall, both of them checking the street through the shop’s windows. They were almost to the door to the courtyard, when Jack came to a sudden stop. A smile instantly curved his mouth, and he reached for Scout, stopping her, too—
yes!
Con had jacked a Porsche, about an ’88, flat black and good-looking. He was idling in the turn lane at the light …
except …
Jack’s smile faded, and an odd, disconcerting confusion took its place. He kept his hand on Scout’s shoulder and his eyes on the man driving the Porsche.
It wasn’t Con.
And the implications of who the younger man was crashed into Jack’s brain in one
Similar Books
