Page 14 of Long Way Down

He grinned. “You keep saying we’re not gonna hook up anymore, too, and look how that turns out.” He swayed forward, gaze dropping to her mouth. “I didn’t even get to kiss you tonight.”

She threw up a hand, and his warm, soft lips touched her palm, sending a rash of goosebumps all down her arm. “Goodbye, Pongo.” With an effort, she drew back, stepped around him, and marched down the hall.

“Night,” he called after her, unbothered. “I’m gonna want that kiss next time, though!”

~*~

Pongo gave her five minutes’ head start, in case she’d forgotten something and came back – he wouldn’t miss a chance to rib her some more; it had become something of a favorite past time – but when she didn’t return, he pulled out his phone and headed down in the elevator.

His bruised reflection regarded him from the mirror panels inside the cab, and he made a face that pulled and hurt. He hadn’t lied to Dixie about getting decked…but he hadn’t exactly told the whole truth of the circumstances. Yes, he’d been in a bar, and yes, someone had caught him looking. Not at a woman, but at a tattoo that he shouldn’t have noticed.

Despite the fact that it wasn’t yet six a.m., Maverick answered on the first ring. “You’re checking in late, Pongo.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, boss. I kinda…fell asleep.”

The elevator arrived and the doors slid open on a little old lady with a CVS bag who did a double-take at his shiner and clutched her bag tighter into her duffle coat. Pongo offered her a blinding smile and stepped out and through the lobby.

Maverick’s voice adopted that very measured tone that meant somewhere in the back of his head, he was screaming and throwing things. “You fell asleepat Hauser’s?”

“Nah, at Dixie’s. I went over there afterward.”

“Ah. Okay. So you were late checking in ‘cause you had to get your dick wet. I understand.”

“Aw, c’mon, Mav. It wasn’t like that.” Maverick’s silence on the other end of the line brimmed with doubt. “Okay, so maybe it was, or I wanted it to be. But nothing happened. She watched a movie and I fell asleep.”

A breeze had come up with the first pink touch of the sun, sharp and cold, heralding the cold front predicted to come through later in the weekend. First thing on a Saturday, the sidewalks were mostly empty. He dropped a five in a homeless guy’s cup while he waited for Maverick to get his sighing over with and respond.

When he spoke, his voice was businesslike and calm. “How did it go last night?”

“Good. Mostly,” he amended. “Toly’s contact was alright. Little squirrelly, but he’d calmed down by the end.”

“He still want the guns?”

“Yeah. He’ll take the Glocks. But he doesn’t have cash. Wants to trade us a couple crates of Skorpions for ‘em.”

Maverick tsked.

A newsstand opened with a rattle of its metal grate going up, and Pongo clamped his phone between chin and shoulder, greeting the proprietress with a smile as he dug out his wallet and ordered the biggest coffee she had.

“I’ve got no use for those,” Maverick said at last, keyboard clicking in the background. “But Albie Cross likes ‘em. Maybe he wants them, or can move them for Ghost. I’ll reach out and see. Tell Toly’s guy to give us twelve hours to decide.”

“Cool.”

“Any trouble?”

“Thanks.” Pongo accepted a delightfully huge foam travel cup of coffee, left a generous tip in the jar, and hit the sidewalk again. “Not with the Russians, no,” he said, wincing to himself. It pulled unpleasantly at his face, but the hot coffee felt nice in his mouth.

“Who?”

“I kinda had a bit of a dust-up with some yakuza types.”

“Christ,” Maverick said, tonelessly.

“They were sitting at the next table and they kept looking over. Being real obvious about it.”

“Were you flying your colors?”

“Well, yeah.”

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