Page 65 of Kept in the Dark
I huff a sigh.
He nods towards the outline of the gauze patch I inexpertly affixed while cleaning my wound after the shower. “And how’s the gunshot healing?”
The pain is dull and easy to ignore unless I think about it, which is the benefit of having a high pain tolerance and a properly treated wound, even one that has recently taken damage. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Missed all the important stuff, then?”
“Agraze. Still, I hate to be shot.”
James snorts. “Could have been worse. I’ll remind you thatyou’rethe one who won’t carry a gun.”
James’s derision makes some sense, as he would never allow himself to be parted from the long-range rifle he considers to be an extension of himself. The way he cleans it is so obsessive that I cannot help but approve. He confessed to me once that he does not keep track of his kills, only the shots he has missed. That metric can be counted on one hand.
“Nah, I’m with Dimitri on this one. Guns make you a target—well, at close range anyway,”Wesley corrects. James is usually too far away to be spotted, let alone shot at.
“Like being the size of a fuckin’ house doesn’t make him a big enough target already.” James laughs once. “Eh, I guess I see your point.”
“If they cannot dodge a knife, they do not deserve to carry a gun.”
There is a beat, and they both grin, sharing a look. “Add that one to the Google Doc,” James says, jerking his chin at Wesley.
“Way ahead of you,” he returns smoothly, placing his hands back on the large, rainbow-backlit keyboard and hammering something out.
“What Google Doc?” I ask, lost.
“We’ve got a shared document called ‘Dimitri-isms’—we’re writing down all your little pearls of wisdom.”
I scowl. He says it as if it is something I should be flattered by, but it does not feel like a compliment. It feels like another joke that they make where I am the subject, but do not share in the humor. “You record the things I say? Why?”
James hides his grin as he grabs for his phone and flicks his thumb across a page of—presumably—the recorded things I have said. “It’s good stuff. Like, ‘shortcuts are for people who are too lazy to take the time to do something correctly’ and ‘dull blades are better at weighing down paper than cutting it,’ things like that.”
“My favorite is, ‘planning is pointless if you cannot account for the unaccountable,’” Wesley adds, joined by James’s nod of confirmation. “I liked that one—good wordplay.”
I lift a brow. “Ah, I see. Things that are true.”
“Useful knowledge, poetically put,” Wesley says, his tone a singsong recitation.
“To what end?”
James scratches at his jaw, the motion rasping the wrong way against his facial hair. “To… have it? Hey, who knows, maybe the next generation of hitmen-and-women—hit-people?—would benefit from a manual of sorts. Wesley could post it anonymously on one of those forums.”
I consider it. The idea of a future generation benefiting from what my own father taught me and what I have taught myself is not such a bad thing. “I suppose, then, it is allowable. But if this is some kind of elaborate joke at my cost, I will be very displeased.”
“At yourexpense,” Wesley corrects.
“That is what I said.”
James lifts two fingers in a mock salute. “Heard, Big D. Promise, no elaborate joke. It’s just stuff you’ve said that we like and want to remember.”
I suppose I have no reason not to believe them, other than the fact that they often share in jokes I do not understand. At the very least, they mentioned it to me when they could have remained silent about it, so it is nothing happening behind me.
I check my watch and sigh. We waste so much time.
“James, what updates on Volkevich?”
“Well, I followed Viktor back to his place and added his personal residence to our file. Also put a tracker on his car. He’s been lying pretty low, so I followed some of the goons he sent out back to the estate. As soon as the police cleared out, they went in. Tore the place a-fucking-part.”
“Looking for something?” Iguess.
