Page 72 of Velvet and Valor
“Damn, are you sure?”
“No, of course not. But the threat is enough to make me wary. Just…just let me handle this, okay?”
“I’ll pass it along to Jax, but ultimately it’s up to him what happens next.”
I end the call, cussing under my breath. If those guys show up guns blazing, they might get June killed. Moorcrock might really have eyeballs on all of them. If so, he’ll know the second I break my promise.
If I’m going to get backup, it will have to be someone outside of the normal Platinum Security crew. Somebody Moorcrock can’t possibly know about. That leaves out Jax’s friend on the force, or any of our regular contacts.
Then it hits me—I know a guy. Not someone I would normally bother, but he’s probably available. If I’ve caught him early enough in the day that he’s not drunk, that is.
Best of all, Moorcrock doesn’t know him. At least, I hope he doesn't.
I have to get a cab back to my place. Not long after I leave the Marina, I notice a tail following us like stink on rotting fish. I hide my smirk at how amateurish it is. I keep the phone tucked in my pocket for now.
When the taxi drops me off, he asks if I need a return trip.
“No, thanks,” I say, tipping generously. I’m not about to get someone else killed. I head inside while the pickup truck that tailed me from the marina pulls up outside and parks. Real subtle guys. Of course, they might want me to see them. Clearly, I underestimated Moorcrock once. Never again.
Once inside, I ransack the shit out of the place until I find the briefcase. I dig around and find a circular plastic container of breath mints. I give it a rattle and it doesn’t sound like anything suspicious.
I open the container and see perfectly wrapped mints. My face twists into a sour grimace.
“Moorcrock sent me on a wild goose chase,” I grumble, thinking I’ve been had. “I should have kept looking for June…”
I pick up one of the mints and turn it over in my fingers. It looks professionally wrapped, but the feel is off. It should be smoother. I break the seal, again thinking it looks authentic in every way, and unwrap the object within.
It’s a fucking mint.
“Bullshit!”
I throw the mints across the room and it smashes into the wall. The mints spill out onto the carpet. Now I feel bad for making a bigger mess than I already have.
I pick up the container and freeze dead in my tracks.
“Tricky sons of bitches,” I whisper as I find a cleverly concealed false bottom in the mints. Inside are about a dozen objects. I lift one out between thumb and forefinger and purse my lips, nodding to myself. It’s rough-looking, pinkish, and about the size of a six-sided die.
Uncut gems aren’t pretty but they’re worth a damn lot more than the cut variety. I’d say I was holding roughly eight million dollars’ worth, and that’s a low estimate I’m sure. A lot of terror groups and criminal syndicates use them for currency for that reason, not to mention they’re easy to fence.
I’m holding a lot of money in my hands right now. I could rescue June and leave the country. We could start up a whole new studio in some country that doesn’t allow extradition. Buy enough security to keep us safe…
For a second or two, it’s tempting. But June doesn’t want a new life. She wants the life she’s built. And as much as I’d like to start over from scratch and be a new person, I can’t. June has taught me that all of the experiences I’ve had, both good and bad, turned me into the man I am today. I might not be perfect,but at least I TRY to do the right thing. Guys like Moorcrock do the thing that’s only right for themselves. I stuff the gems into a plain bank billfold for safekeeping, since I’ve ruined the mint container.
I’ve got the goods. Now I need to know where I’m going. More importantly, though, I need a way to get there. Time to call my back-up and hope he’s sober.
I go into the bathroom just in case they’re watching the house. As far as I know there’s no cameras in there. Just in case there are listening devices, I turn on the water in the bathtub and the overhead exhaust fan before making the call.
“What do you want?” says a gruff voice on the other end.
“Hey, Ezra, my oldest friend–”
“Don’t you oldest friend me,” he grumbles. “Boot camp was a long time ago.”
“And did I not help you get laid a whole lot of times by telling everyone you were that guy from the Hangover movies?”
A long pause, then.
“I said, what do you want? You’d never call me this time of day unless you needed something. You sound sober, so it’s not that you want me to bail you out of jail. So, it must be something that could potentially get me killed.”
