Page 16 of Volatile Vice

I toss the pinky ring on his desk. “Here’s your prize.”

He takes the ring, examines it. “What about the rest?”

I shake my head. “I’m not mutilating a dead body. I got the ring. Take your token. That’s it. I got it done, and I did it my way.”

He fiddles with the ring, a glint of something—oh God, I think it’s pride—in his eyes. “I have to hand it to you, Vincent. It was a good idea. You did your research, and you figured it out.” He puts the ring down and stares into my eyes. “But not everyone I assign to you is going to have a peanut allergy.”

“I’ll find another way.”

“You will also find,” he says, completely ignoring my comment, “that when you take care of it yourself, with no witnesses, you keep yourself much safer.”

“You’ve had plenty of witnesses over the years.”

He cocks his head. “And how would you know that? You haven’t been here.”

“My father’s an excellent resource,” I say. “He’s told me what I need to know.”

“Your father’s a fucking jailbird, Vinnie. A murderer.”

I can’t help it then. I let out a laughing scoff. “You know as well as I do that you’ve killed way more people than my father ever has. You also know that you could get him sprung in the next two minutes if you wanted to.”

He presses his lips together. “You think I have that kind of power?”

“Iknowyou do.” I get to my feet. “You’ve told me yourself. The only reason my father’s rotting in a prison cell is because you’ve got some deal going with the McAllisters. Declan McAllister won’t give you peace unless my father’s rotting behind bars for killing his son. But how many people hashemurdered? How many people did Miles McAllister murder before he was killed? It’s so fucking ironic.”

Grandfather frowns. “The thing about irony, Vincent, is that it often strikes when you least expect it, especially when you think you’ve gotten away with something. Just when you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security, the universe will crash down to remind you in the most surprising way that it never forgets.”

I’m quiet for a moment as I let my grandfather’s words sink in.

For a moment I’m not sure they even came out of his mouth.

“And has the universe forgotten everythingyou’vedone, Grandfather?” I ask.

Silence as I wait for him to respond.

Just when I think he’s going to completely ignore my question?—

“I don’t concern myself with the universe.”

“Then why did you make the comment?”

“Because”—he clears his throat—“you need to be ready for whatever happens. Because you need to have a plan for every contingency, just in case the universe decides to bite you in the ass. The more people you involve in your mission, the better chance that something will go awry.”

“So when you say you don’t concern yourself with the universe, you’re saying that never happens to you?”

He leers over the desk at me. “I’m saying, Vincent, that when itdoeshappen to me, I take care of it. I have a plan in place for every eventuality.”

I sit back down and think for a moment. What could go wrong? The clerk at the hotel. The maid. Perhaps a camera caught me checking things out early this morning.

That’s unlikely, as I kept my face shielded at all times from any surveillance.

The same clerk I paid to give me the room key was also instructed to erase any surveillance tape.

Those are my only loose ends, and I’ve paid handsomely to tie them up neatly.

“Everything’s been taken care of,” I say, my tone sounding more confident than I actually feel.

“For your sake,” he says, “I hope it is. Because if it’s not?” He shakes his head. “This is all on you, Vincent. You’ll need to take care of anything if the universe decides to come calling.”

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