Ghost released him and stepped back. Turned to face Vince. He put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around, marched him back down the hall and out the front door, despite Vince’s affronted protests.Try me, he thought.I’ll put you over a table, too.
“That man is the victim’s family,” he blustered, “you can’t–”
“What I can do,” Ghost said, spinning him around, shoving a finger in his face. “Is clean up your damn messes,lieutenant. He came storming in here, talking about how his son wason display. How’d he know that little tidbit? Did you show him fucking pictures?”
Vince spluttered, as pale in the face as Connors was red. “He – he asked questions. The family has a right to know–”
“The family doesn’t have a right to go off half-cocked on some vigilante justice mission, dipshit.”
Vince’s expression hardened. “Oh, and what you do isn’t vigilante justice?”
“I own this city,” Ghost snapped. “Knoxville belongs to me, and so do you.” He gave him a light shove in the sternum. “Do your fucking job.”
Vince staggered back, more steps than necessary, a wry, disgusted smile breaking sideways across his face. “Don’t act like you care about this kid. You’re worried about your reputation. You’re just a goddamn gangster.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m the one holding your leash. Now, I’m going back inside to question Dave Connors. You can participate, or you can leave. What’ll it be.”
Vince glanced off across the parking lot, visibly collecting himself. He muttered something too low to hear, took a huge breath, and then nodded. He headed back for the door, and Ghost followed.
~*~
“I don’t understand why we continue to meet at this place,” Ian said. He plucked his fork delicately off his napkin, held it up to the light, and frowned at it.
“I thought you liked it,” Mercy said around a mouthful of country ham and eggs. “Thought it made you feel like one of the regular people.”
“Yes, well.” Ian produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and polished the fork with a grimace. Then he looked down at his plate of waffles and bacon and made yet another polite face of disgust. “Many aspects of it leave something to be desired.”
“Eat your waffles,” Mercy said. “They’re good for you.”
“Hm. Hardly.”
They were at Waffle House, in a booth by the window, and, at first, Carter had been too shocked and gratified that Ian had actually taken his call that he hadn’t been bold enough to broach the subject at hand yet. Ian wasn’t the sort of person you could just come right out and say stuff to. He liked to play word games and trade the sort of banter Carter didn’t feel sharp enough to employ.
But he was starting to get impatient.
He cleared his throat, and Ian and Mercy both looked to him immediately. Mercy with a smile plucking at one corner of his mouth like he knew how awkward Carter felt. Ian with a single arched brow of inquiry, the rest of his face impassive.
He had to clear his throat again, and take a sip of water for good measure.
“Poor boy,” Ian said, “I feel like I must ask you why you wanted to meet with me because you’ll never get it out yourself.”
Carter frowned, and felt his face heat.
“Go on, then. Lay your – what looks to be very serious – proposition before me.”
“He’s being an asshole,” Mercy said in a stage whisper. “He can’t help it. Just go on and tell him.”
“Felix, I’m wounded.”
Carter said, “I wanted to ask you about protecting the Cooks.”
“The Cooks whose building I’m in the process of acquiring?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s that going, by the way?” Mercy asked.
Ian waved away all thought of concern. “The old man is being a stubborn fool, but he’s beginning to crack, and he wants it off his hands. We’ll sign paperwork this week.”
