Page 77 of Make Them Bleed
“Etta replied,” Render says suddenly. “Two minutes ago.‘You mean Nico A? He’s Gray’s friend. Old money. Don’t get tangled; he collects girls who like puzzles.’”
Collects. I taste copper.
Nico slides a card across the bar—unbranded, crisp, a number and a name that is absolutely a front. “You should tell me a longer story,” he says. “Sometimes the ending is better if you let it breathe.”
Juno looks at the card but doesn’t touch it. “I like to write my own endings.”
“You will,” he says, as if blessing a child. “If you stop trying to narrate other people’s.”
I stand. My body makes the choice my brain would veto. I walk to the bar and take the empty stool on Juno’s other side. Nico turns slightly; Juno remains still, but I feel her relax a millimeter because I am a predictable animal.
“Good evening,” Nico says, polite as a threat. “We are discussing literature.”
“Not my subject,” I say. “I do math.”
“Useful,” he says.
“Unforgiving,” I correct.
He laughs and slides off the stool with the economy of a man who never overcommits. “I will see you around,” he tells Juno, not me. To Megan, with a nod that assumes familiarity, “Merci, chérie.”
Megan’s smile is a weapon. “It’sMegan,” she says.
He goes. The door hushes on his exit. For a second the room simmers with all the conversations we didn’t want to overhear. Then the hum reasserts itself and the world acts normal around the hole a man like that leaves when he walks away.
“Bike,” I say into comms.
“On him,” Knight replies, already out the door. “Black sedan, matte, plate confirms NRS-0417. He’s not in a hurry.”
Gage: “Cams picking up the trail. He’s heading toward the river.”
Ozzy: “Smoker shows NEREUS-NAV-PRO moving. RSSI dropping. He’s out.”
Megan plants both hands on the bar and leans toward us. “If you’re going to keep doing this in my bar,” she says, “you bring me cake next time.”
“Render promised you cake,” I say.
“I promise you to watch your back in here,” she counters. “But don’t turn my floor into an op again without warning.”
“Understood,” I say, honestly.
She flicks the card Nico left with the disdain of a woman who’s seen too many men gift bad choices. “You want this?”
Juno finally touches the card like it’s evidence, not a present. “Yes.”
“Prints,” Gage reminds, already wearing gloves in my mind.
Megan smiles. “Have a good night.”
We tip like we’re paying rent and slide out into the night air. The sky is the color of promises it won’t keep. Knight’s voicesteadies in my ear as he narrates the tail: “He’s taking Bay past the boatyards. Slowing at the Marina Club. Yep. Gate’s opening. He didn’t touch the call box—badge access. Parking under. He’s out.”
Render: “Marina network pinged a member card:Nicolas Armand. Time stamp matches.”
Gage: “Got him on the elevator cam feed. Level G to P2. Then gone. I can put him on the north stairwell on a two-minute delay.”
“Give me the slip,” I say.
“Nereus slip D4,” Juno answers before comms do, voice flat with purpose.
