Page 11 of Queen Of WildCards

Spadegrumbled something that sounded suspiciously like'pickpocketed me,'but surely he hadn't let someone likeJokerget the upper hand on him.

Right?

"Surelyyou're toying with me."Istood and paced back and forth in the warehouse's office, staring out over the garage, whereJoker'sbattered bike stood in one corner.TothinkIactually got it out of impound for the disgraceful fucker.

"IwishIwas, boss, but that's not even the half of it—"

"Hardee har har,Spade.Noteven half of it?Tellme he didn't—"

Spadesighed. "Hedid.Plastered.Walkedout into the alley and puked his guts out; serves the fuckface right for making me pay his tab at the bar—"

"Hedidwhatnow?"Myfingers pinched the bridge of my nose asIclosed my eyes and tried counting backward from ten to regain my calm control. "Okay, that's ungentlemanly."Ipaused, and my eyes opened to mere slits. "Whataren'tyou telling me,Spade?"

Theother end of the line was deathly silent for a hot minute.Then, so quietlyIalmost didn't hear it: "Hecalled one of those therapy video lines and told some shrink his real name, then jerked off to their conversation in the alley."

IfIgritted my teeth any more, clenched them any tighter, they'd probably crack. "Whatelsedid he tell them?"

Spadegrumbled incoherently, and there was a shuffling on the other end of the line.Joker'snauseous groans filled my ear, butIwas well past sympathy.

"Goahead,"Spadedemanded, "tellAcewhat the fuck you've done."

Iheld my breath in annoyance and anticipation.Iwanted to put my fist through a wall.Orthrough someone's face.Iwanted to drink untilIcouldn't stand upright, forget all about this shit show in motion.

Therewould be no such reprieve for me.

Jokercoughed, spit off to the side of the receiver, and grumbled atSpadeas he took the phone and his voice grew closer. "Imay or may not have spilled details about the heist, okay?Thatwhat you wanted to hear, thatJokerfucked up again?Idon't remember what allIsaid,Iwas drunk, for fuck's sake—"

"Whenyou get back here, you're going to dry out and cut it cold turkey, you ignorant fuck.Isaved your ass on those charges, the least you can do is not run yourself and the rest of us into the ground in gratitude."

Iwasn't normally so brusque withJoker.Hemeant well, he was just a little reckless sometimes.Predictablyunpredictable, he'd once called himself, andIhad accepted the challenge of taming him and turning him into a working team member, a hell of a heist thief.Butlately, something was off with him.Itwas like the boy from the streets was surfacing once more, his insecurities driving him to do unhinged shit like he was invincible.

He'dnearly died on the sidewalk when he tried to hightail it back here with that haul.Andnow there was an unknown variable out there, hunting us down for what he stole that the police confiscated.

Ofcourse, they were only allowed to hold it for thirty days unless someone claimed them, asI'dmanaged to forge some solid shipment documents claiming we'd purchased them, and a doctor's note blaming his blood loss and recklessness on bipolar disease and a lack of his medication.Hesimply hadn't noticed he was bleeding out, riding on a manic high,I'dtold them, and they ate it all up.

Butthis.

Thiswas serious, and this was a loose end.Wecouldn't afford loose ends.Especiallynot random therapists who, for all we knew, could be halfway across the world or affiliated with our worst enemies.

"Spade,Joker, get your asses back here.Wehave some damage control to do."Ididn't wait for an answer and flung the phone against the nearest wall with all the forceIcould muster, laughing darkly as it shattered into a million tiny pieces. "Andyou,"Imuttered, turning to face the fourth member of our little gang,Blackjack, who stood in the doorway, eavesdropping. "Ineed his phone records.Ineed to know who he called, and where we're going to find them."

Blackjack'slips quirked up in a smirk. "Whatdid the idiot do this time?"

Ishook my head, my anger simmering in the wake of the phone smashing. "Hecalled a therapy hotline and spilled his guts to a shrink, that's what."

Blackjackwinced. "Aclean-up, then."

"Yep."Theair in this office was stifling, butIwasn't eager to leave the safety of my office.Idisliked chaos in any form, and every timeIturned around lately, someone was causing it for me.Atleast in my office,Ihad control over things.Icould breathe deeply without worryingIwas about to be shot or followed, or that someone was watching over my shoulder for me to fail.

Ifonly my father could see me now.

Deardad was a first-generationJapaneseimmigrant to the states, and he'd been fleeing the negative impact my grandfather's past dealings withYakuzahad on the whole family.WhenIrealized crime ran in my blood,Iabandoned my father's lofty ideas for me to go to medical school and started up theWildcards.

Weweren't anything special, but anyone who's anyone knew for the biggest jobs, you called us.

Wedidn't work for anyone we didn't want to, and we stayed out of gang politics, happy to stay far away from the bullshit.It'spart of what kept us alive.

Blackjacktook the seat behind my desk and leaned back in the expensive office chair, kicking the heels of his combat boots up onto the pristinely polished surface.Iwinced as caked mud flaked off the soles of his shoes and fell across the marble surface.

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