“I fuckingknewI recognized that voice!”James interjects, sounding vindicated.
Personally, I do not think he gets to consider that a win, due to the fact that he did not fucking warn me about it.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”Wesley fires back, as if he can read my mind.“You knew we were going in blind since I couldn’t find a photo of him anywhere.”
“I wasn’t sure. I can’t see him; the angle of the window blocks that side of the bar.”
I simmer in anger, and Felix watches with a cool sort of interest meant to disguise unease.
Instinctively, I know the test is not quite over. He wants to see how I will react. I swallow the irritation and force out a calm question. “Why not introduce yourself sooner?”
Predictably, his attention is on the marred skin around the scar that twists up the corner of my mouth and disappears into my hairline through my temple. I have grown used to the surprise, the poorly veiled horror as people imagine what might have happened to me.
“Maybe I wanted to get the measure of the biggest, meanest motherfucker I’ve ever seen before sticking my neck out.”
It was a clever move on his part, I must begrudgingly admit. My physical size—height and build—and scar are excellent for intimidation, and I use them to my advantage whenever possible. Men will agree to less favorable deals and do more to keep me happy if they are afraid.
But Felix’s trick broke the illusion and forced me to interact with him first as a civilian instead of a hitman—I am no longer the aloof, dangerous, vaguely threatening presence, I am the man with whom he found common ground over a preference for large women. Additionally, because I am still here half an hour after our agreed time, he knows I want what he has badly enough to wait for it.
My hand curls into a fist, pulling at the healing scabs on my knuckles. I do not mind being bested by a worthy adversary, as it is often the only way to improve, but I rarely suffer having my time wasted.
Still, he owes me a payment. I can swallow down my frustration for now.
He is still waiting for my reaction, tense and ready to move quickly in case I become disagreeable. When I turn my head, he flinches—the smallest show of fear. I pretend not to see it as I glance around to take in all the potential witnesses and exits.
My size also makes me memorable. I cannot afford to leave witnesses.
“If I had known it was you, I would not have choked down two bottles of this American-made piss.” I gesture at the beer.
He laughs, and the tension of the moment disappears. “Hey Vi, take over for me, will ya?” Felix asks a small woman wearing a half-apron at the end of the bar. She nods without looking up from whatever she is doing on her phone. “Let’s step into my office. Tip your bartender, huh?” he says with a wink, as if he has not been acting as my bartender.
I exhale heavily and reach into my wallet. I toss a folded $20 to cover my tab and stand. To my surprise, he pushes through the metal door with a handwritten piece of paper taped to it declaring it an “Exit to Alley.”
His office indeed.
The night air is cool but moist, and it lessens the city stink that drifts around me. There are no signs of life except for a far-off police siren and the sound of some nocturnal creature rifling through the garbage nearby. The rest of this derelict neighborhood is full of condemned homes, trash, and broken chain-link fences. A few two-story buildings flank the alley, casting dark shadows beyond the flickering light of a single bulb overhead that illuminates the path to the dumpster.
In some ways, this was the ideal location for our meeting. It is a shitty bar on the “wrong side of town.” The people who live here look out for only themselves. It makes them wary of strangers and mind their own business. Still, cities such as this do not ever fully sleep, so my eyes dart around for movement or onlookers.
Felix settles against the crumbling brick siding, leaning against one shoulder. He crosses his arms. “Apologies for the stunt in there, but you can’t be too careful when your sniper buddy says he’s sending intheRussian.I’ve known Mackenzie for years, and I know how he is. He’s full of shit and hot air, but he knows people. Understands ‘em.”
“And what did he tell you about me?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Nothing!”James protests. At the same time, Felix flashes me that gold tooth while he shakes his head and says, “Nothing. That’s the problem. Anyone else he’d say, ‘he’s good people,’ or ‘watch your back,’ or ‘he acts tough, but he does pottery,’ or some shit, like I give a fuck. But you?Nada.” He cocks his head. “So, me? I had to wonder, is it because he doesn’t know you, or because he knows you too well?”
I mirror Felix’s relaxed posture, settling against the door in case anyone inside thinks to join us. He is baiting me, and I will not rise to it. “If you want information about James, ask him yourself. If you want information about me, that is too bad for you.”
After a few seconds, Felix cracks that knowing little smile. “Where is Mac tonight, anyway?” He cranes his neck, looking down the length of the alley. His eyes lift to the rooftops of the buildings flanking the alley, scanning and settling on the one due east. He waves.
“Tell him he’s way off,”James grumbles.
He is not, and I will not.
Tucking his arm back into the space on the inside of his elbow, Felix grins. “Anyway, we didn’t come out here to talk about our mutuals. How’s my witness?” He glances down at my scabbed, bruised knuckles. “Still feeling chatty?”
“I find that it is difficult to speak without teeth,” I answer vaguely.
His smile turns dark, mirthless. “The literal approach. I like it. All right,Ghost. I’m a man who pays his debts.” He reaches into the pocket of his black half-apron, produces a card of thick white paper, and holds it out to me. The reds and oranges of his ink flash in the light, a dance of color among the gray and darkness.
