surprise to me too, but some things seemed obvious now. Maybe getting beaten had shaken something loose in my brain.
“He doesn’t own the Roosevelt, does he?”
“Yeah, he does.” Kyle’s look was questioning, so I told him, “He owns it through a shell corporation called Colson Holdings Limited. I tried to look up who owned Colson and where they were based, but I couldn’t find anything except a link to First Liberty Bank.”
“Blunt’s bank.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why I figured it was a dummy corp.”
He scratched his head, not even moving his short black hair. It wasn’t that he used a lot of product; it was just the result of hat hair. “I don’t get it. He’s straighter than a ruler. Why is he fronting for a secret gay sex club?”
“Good question.” Actually, an answer immediately popped to mind. But if that were true, there’d be evidence. “You going back to the Roosevelt?”
Kyle nodded, weariness etched on his face. “Have to. There’s one hell of a scene there. I’m sure Blunt has his lawyers on it and it’ll be dismissed, but until then we do have some evidence to gather. Why?”
“You might want to keep your eye out for something.” I then told him my theory, which made him raise his eyebrows even more. But he didn’t disagree.
Kyle insisted on taking me back to his place; he didn’t think it was a good idea if I was at my apartment alone, and I had to agree. I didn’t want to get beaten up anymore.
Sloane had taken over Kyle’s bedroom, mainly because Kyle was too polite to have a guest sleep on the couch, and I felt a brief stab of jealousy. But why? I had slept with Sloane, so why shouldn’t Kyle get the chance? But the thing was, Kyle wasn’t like that. No open relationships for him; he was pure fuddy-duddy, all the way down to his bones. Opposites attract, right? Kyle was as pure as the driven snow, and I was as muddy as a swamp. It was what brought us together and broke us apart, although love didn’t stop quite that easily. I almost wish it did.
I could’ve looked in on Sloane, but I didn’t, mainly because I was having a heavy case of the shakes. I needed a drink so bad I could hardly think. Kyle didn’t really drink, which was a bummer, but I wasn’t out of luck, as he had bottles of wine, most often brought by dinner guests and family members who had no idea he had little time for even the most benign alcohol. Because he’d never throw out a gift, they sat in the back of his lowest kitchen cupboard, behind his pots and pans. If he hadn’t re-gifted about half of them, there’d have been no room for the pans.
I don’t know anything about wine—I don’t like it very much—but I grabbed the first bottle I found, and I was lucky to find it was a screw-top. I twisted the cap off and drank the room-temperature stuff, which basically tasted like sour grape juice and made me want to gag. But having been a dedicated drinker for so long, I had no problem suppressing my natural gag reflex, and once I’d gulped down about half the bottle, I began to feel a nice warm glow in my belly. The shakes had finally stopped, and I could think more or less clearly again. That didn’t happen often, so I knew I’d have to enjoy it while it lasted.
I took a couple more swallows of the stuff before putting the cap back on and stowing it back beneath the counter. I figured Kyle would get angrier if he found an empty bottle, but who cared about a half-empty one?
I tried connecting the threads together, but I had to admit this was an ugly tangle of knots. If I was right about Tricky Dick’s connection, this case had gotten way too complicated. The reason Tricky Dick was Echo City’s crime boss was because he had connections in high places, some so high I risked getting a nosebleed from the elevation alone.
Could Nick Giardi have been one of Tricky Dick’s slingers? Of course Dick was in the drug trade, but he kept his hands clean and left the dirtier work to his
“He doesn’t own the Roosevelt, does he?”
“Yeah, he does.” Kyle’s look was questioning, so I told him, “He owns it through a shell corporation called Colson Holdings Limited. I tried to look up who owned Colson and where they were based, but I couldn’t find anything except a link to First Liberty Bank.”
“Blunt’s bank.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why I figured it was a dummy corp.”
He scratched his head, not even moving his short black hair. It wasn’t that he used a lot of product; it was just the result of hat hair. “I don’t get it. He’s straighter than a ruler. Why is he fronting for a secret gay sex club?”
“Good question.” Actually, an answer immediately popped to mind. But if that were true, there’d be evidence. “You going back to the Roosevelt?”
Kyle nodded, weariness etched on his face. “Have to. There’s one hell of a scene there. I’m sure Blunt has his lawyers on it and it’ll be dismissed, but until then we do have some evidence to gather. Why?”
“You might want to keep your eye out for something.” I then told him my theory, which made him raise his eyebrows even more. But he didn’t disagree.
Kyle insisted on taking me back to his place; he didn’t think it was a good idea if I was at my apartment alone, and I had to agree. I didn’t want to get beaten up anymore.
Sloane had taken over Kyle’s bedroom, mainly because Kyle was too polite to have a guest sleep on the couch, and I felt a brief stab of jealousy. But why? I had slept with Sloane, so why shouldn’t Kyle get the chance? But the thing was, Kyle wasn’t like that. No open relationships for him; he was pure fuddy-duddy, all the way down to his bones. Opposites attract, right? Kyle was as pure as the driven snow, and I was as muddy as a swamp. It was what brought us together and broke us apart, although love didn’t stop quite that easily. I almost wish it did.
I could’ve looked in on Sloane, but I didn’t, mainly because I was having a heavy case of the shakes. I needed a drink so bad I could hardly think. Kyle didn’t really drink, which was a bummer, but I wasn’t out of luck, as he had bottles of wine, most often brought by dinner guests and family members who had no idea he had little time for even the most benign alcohol. Because he’d never throw out a gift, they sat in the back of his lowest kitchen cupboard, behind his pots and pans. If he hadn’t re-gifted about half of them, there’d have been no room for the pans.
I don’t know anything about wine—I don’t like it very much—but I grabbed the first bottle I found, and I was lucky to find it was a screw-top. I twisted the cap off and drank the room-temperature stuff, which basically tasted like sour grape juice and made me want to gag. But having been a dedicated drinker for so long, I had no problem suppressing my natural gag reflex, and once I’d gulped down about half the bottle, I began to feel a nice warm glow in my belly. The shakes had finally stopped, and I could think more or less clearly again. That didn’t happen often, so I knew I’d have to enjoy it while it lasted.
I took a couple more swallows of the stuff before putting the cap back on and stowing it back beneath the counter. I figured Kyle would get angrier if he found an empty bottle, but who cared about a half-empty one?
I tried connecting the threads together, but I had to admit this was an ugly tangle of knots. If I was right about Tricky Dick’s connection, this case had gotten way too complicated. The reason Tricky Dick was Echo City’s crime boss was because he had connections in high places, some so high I risked getting a nosebleed from the elevation alone.
Could Nick Giardi have been one of Tricky Dick’s slingers? Of course Dick was in the drug trade, but he kept his hands clean and left the dirtier work to his
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