Apparently, Chester is thinking the same thing. Almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicker to the clock above the prison’s exit.
Nostrand notices. His scowl deepens. “Are you refusing? You’re still on duty.”
Chester’s jaw twitches. Just as quickly, though, his expression settles back into an impassive mask. “I’m aware. How soon do you need those rooms? Mendoza is coming in on the next shift, so if he and I work together?—”
Nostrand shakes his head. “Mendoza is busy fixing an IT problem in the purebred-only wing. You’ll have to work solo.” Pointedly, he looks at the clock. “And I need them in thirty minutes. Councilwoman Long is coming down to check on these particular demons.”
Chester’s face remains emotionless. “All right. Consider it done,” he says, and he edges past Nostrand to stride down the hall, making his way back into the heart of the prison. The moment he’s out ofNostrand’s earshot, he nearly breaks into a sprint, whipping out his key card to swipe back into the break room, bolting down the sixth hallway of interrogation rooms, shoving his way through the first door on the left?—
Obie follows him at an only slightly more sedate run, bewildered. “What the hell was that?”
Chester nearly jumps a foot in the air at Obie’s voice, like he forgot Obie was even there. “Wereallyneed to put a bell on you or something,” he mumbles darkly, already jogging to the closet across the room to grab his cleaning supplies.
“Uh-huh,” Obie says dismissively. “And it takes you a solid twenty minutes to clean one room, Locke. You can’t finish three in half an hour.”
Chester doesn’t look at him, pulling on a pair of gloves and setting up a bucket in the sink to fill with water. “Watch me.”
“Locke—”
“If you’re that concerned,” Chester bites out, heading over to the interrogation table to start cleaning off the corrosion-imbued straps, “you could always help me.”
Obie doesn’t move. Partly because he doesn’t really care if Chester gets in trouble for a job that shouldn’t have even been given to him in the first place, and partly because there’s no way he’s going to help clean one of his own people’s blood off the floor. “I’m serious. What’s the deal with you and Nostrand? I thought he used to be your mentor.”
“He was,” Chester says curtly.
It’s like pulling teeth with him. “Then why did you two look ready to stab each other in the middle of the hallway? JJ and Roma seem to get along with Sawyer and Naomi pretty well besides the whole abandonment thing.”
Chester winces at the reminder. “Yeah, well, Nostrand and I aren’ton good terms. Never have been. Any other questions?”
Obie scoffs. “I suppose telling mewhywould be too much to ask?”
“Do you care?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.” Chester stalks back to the sink, grabs the bucket of water, and carries it to the interrogation table, dunking his bloody washcloth in it. “You know, you and Nostrand would probably get along. He hates me as much as you do.”
Irritation spikes through Obie. “He tortured both CassandJJ,” he snaps back, and for a brief moment, Chester goes still. “I don’t forgive. You’re lucky thatyounever hurt Cass, or March’s jailbreak would’ve gone a lot differently.”
Eventually, Chester nods. “Noted,” he says, going back to scrubbing the interrogation table. “Now, stop distracting me. The faster I finish these rooms, the faster we can get back to researching.”
Obie lets out his breath in a hiss. “Noted,” he says, and he settles in to lean against the wall, watching as Chester works overtime for the fourth time in four days.
“So there I was,” the elderly man known as Nack Bar George says dramatically, “toe to toe with two police officers, three bouncers, and a club boss in eight-inch platform heels and a sequined thong.”
The twin bowlers known as Trevor and Sasha look enthralled. Magdalena Khan, the demon who helped to start World War I and also happens to bowl on Wednesday nights, looks vaguely perplexed.
Frowning, Chester turns to Obie. “Aren’t you four supposed to be bowling?”
Obie shoots him a disgruntled look—impressive, considering that Chester is currently invisible and soundproofed—before refocusinghis attention on George. “And then? Don’t leave them in suspense, G.”
“You know this story already?” Trevor asks.
“I was there,” Obie says. “I was the getaway driver.”
Chester’s eyebrows shoot up. Sasha looks delighted. “Youwere?”
Maggie squints at him. “Why wouldn’t you just use a rift to get away?”
