Page 51 of Marked

Artie’s phone vibrates on the table. It’s been quiet since last night.

When I turn it over and see the notification that a text from Laurens has come through, my blood heats.

Why did I just get a call telling me Harley Turner is still breathing?

The chair flies back when I shove out of it. I had my suspicion. After the phone call from the reporter, then pushing Harley to drop the whole thing.

Something wasn’t right.

Now she’s got Vince’s name too? Where are you?

I clench my teeth, grab my phone, and text Harley to come straight home after the store. We’re going to have to speed up our visit to Vince. I’m still waiting to hear from Jeff on where I can find him, but staying here at her apartment isn’t safe anymore.

Working on it.

I’m not sure my vague text will satisfy Laurens or not. If she’s smart, she’ll send reinforcements here to see if Harley’s still alive and kicking.

And I’ll fucking kill that fucker too.

Anyone so much as gives her a fucking shiver is going in the ground.

I can’t explain this protectiveness I have for her. But I would burn the fucking world to ashes to keep her safe.

And, if this list of assholes gets much longer, it might be the whole city of Chicago that needs to go up in flames.

Meet tonight. 8 at the usual spot.

Well, that’s not going to work.

I scroll through their past communications quickly, picking on any coding they may have used. None, because Artie was a fucking idiot.

Got it.

I text his usual response when she beckons him and dropthe phone on the table. I need to get Jeff on the phone and get a bag packed for Harley.

She can’t tell her mom, either. And how am I going to tell her that?

How can I break her this way, telling her I’m not certain her mother can be trusted?

Maybe it has something to do with that new pension payment she’s getting? From what I could tell, Richard Turner didn’t have any pension with his company when he was let go.

So where did the money that dug her out of her hole ten years ago come from, and where is this money coming from now?

Be there two minutes. Something wrong?

I quickly text Harley back there’s nothing to worry about, and then sit back at the table. Closing out the bank statements for Nancy Turner, I dive into the financials for Vince Scaletto.

Jeff was spot on. This man makes no attempt to hide his tracks, which makes me wonder what he actually does hide. If everything is so open book, it could be a smoke screen for the worst of it.

A quick scan, and I find his local hangout. Cuffs, a bar on the northwest side of Chicago. A divey looking place from the web pictures, but I’m sure that’s a front. There’s probably a whole back room full of money opportunities.

He can keep those secrets.

The credit card statements tell me where he likes to hang, but not when. We won’t be able to have the sort of conversation we need to have at Cuffs.

“Hey. Everything all right?” Harley breezes into the apartment, several grocery bags in her hands.

“Yeah.” I get up immediately. “You should have said you needed help.” I frown at the bags.

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