Page 44 of One Love

He pretends to think about it. “If you win, you can buy me a drink.” He grins and moves over to the dart board a few feet away from the pool table, pulling the darts out and handing me three.”

Taking them, I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “How about, when I win…” I pause and lean closer to whisper in his ear. “I don’t break your fingers for touching me.” So it was only his fingers on mine as he passed the darts, but whatever.

“Dude, you do know who that is, don’t ya?” one of the older guys that I’ve seen in here every night pipes up, laughing and slapping Ricky on the back.

“What? Who?” Seems Ricky does have something about him because he doesn’t try and posture his way through his lack of knowledge.

“I know you’ve heard of the Shadow, man.” The guy laughs again and shakes his head before turning to me. “You hustling our newbs, Shadow?”

“Hey, he approached me. No hustling here.” My smile is real this time.

Ricky’s eyes widen and he turns to me, to really look at me. “Ah shit. Sorry, Shadow. Can I get ya that drink now or…?”

“Fuck the deal, Ricky. Just play. We’ll start at 501.” I tilt my head toward the board and throw my darts, two of them landing in the triple twenty and the third in the bullseye. Shoo notes down the scores on the small whiteboard on the wall beside us as Ricky sighs and begins to play.

Spending time in bars is not something I particularly enjoy, especially not when I am on constant alert for something that doesn’t fit, but playing pool and darts has been killing time. Plus, it makes us look like we belong, which is exactly what we needour serial killer to think. Maybe whoever it is will believe me or my crew are the same as the newbs they’ve been focusing on so far.

It isn’t long before the game is over and Ricky’s shaking my hand—not quite the douche he first came across as. He’s actually good at darts. His aim is a little off but he’s got great potential.

I check my phone to see if Binx and Tab have texted with any updates from out front where they’re staking out from the van. Our target may not ever actually come into the bar, which is why outside is being watched too.

There’s nothing from them, but there are two unread messages waiting. One from Hallie and one from Dmitry.

Hallie:I miss you.

I immediately reply.

Me:Miss you too, Kid.

It breaks my heart every goddamn time she says that. The only thing that helps is knowing I’ll have her back as soon as I’ve found a way around her grandparents. And I will find a way.

Big Magic D:Your ass looks great bent over that pool table.

Me:Perv.

The fucker’s changed his name in my phone again, so I quickly change it to Big Delusional D. The timestamp on his message says it was sent about an hour ago and I’m kinda surprised he hasn’t just shown up again. I guess the corner of the tech-cave Glitch cleared up for him gave him enough of a hard-on to stay for a while. They were working on trying to figure out information on the other people in the picture they found of Mr. Wright—Cook—and what we think is his family. If we can find them, maybe we’ll have a clearer picture on his background and links to the mob.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Cook is sitting at the bar talking to Craig, nursing a bottle of beer between his palms. What is this guy’s deal?

So, I know he has land that Z wants—wanted—to buy, which is why Z didn’t want me to teach Cook a lesson the first night I beat him at poker. I know he’s a slimy fuck who seems to be a fucking ninja at evading a tail, and I know he told Shane Brennan where I would be the night I was taken off my bike. What Idon’tknow is why he’s got my hackles up so much. I mean, grassing up my location to the mob is enough for me to want him dead, but maybe he just needs some rehabilitation.

I get the impression he’s got a bit of a gambling addiction, and considering how long he’s been talking to Craig over the bar, my impression is basically confirmed. Eddie’s crew deals with a lot of gamblers across the city, often needing to borrow money and generally, these days, the majority of people are good about paying their debts off. The mafia may be into a bit of extortion, but we don’t want to see our city go to shit. The deals Eddie offers are always fair unless the borrower fucks him off, then all bets are off.

“Is that Cook?” Shoo hovers behind me as we pretend to watch two people playing pool.

“Yup. See if you can get close enough to figure out why he’s here.”

Shoo doesn’t verbally respond to my request as he begins making his way to the bar, sitting himself down a seat away from Cook and ordering himself a drink from Margie—Craig’s still busy.

When he comes back, drink in hand, he stands directly in front of me so I can still keep eyes on Cook over his shoulder without it being obvious that I’m staring.

“He was asking to borrow more money, but he’s late on his last payment so he was trying to barter with some land. Craig said he’d have to check with Ed before he made a decision, so Cook’s just waiting now. Or Wright or whatever. This shit’s making my brain hurt.”

I nod in response, my mind whirring with possibilities and explanations as to why Cook keeps popping up every-fucking-where.

Fuck it.

“Let’s bring him in. I’m sick of him taking up valuable brain space. Let’s figure out his deal. Tonight.”

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