Page 63 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

“Woman.”

“Taller or shorter than me.”

The porter scans my body. “Is anyone shorter than you?”

“Really?” I say. “You’re going to try comedy when my friend can break your neck in a couple of moves.”

“It’s really only one move,” Butch says to me as he starts to demonstrate on the porter’s neck. “It has a twist, though, so sometimes it looks like two if you don’t get a smooth break.”

“Taller,” the porter says quickly. “A lot taller, but she might have been wearing heels.”

“Hair color?”

“She had on a big hat and sunglasses.” A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. “I didn’t get a good look at her.”

“Is she a guest of the resort?”

“Maybe,” he says, looking down. “I didn’t see her arrive or anything.”

“You didn’t see her arrive, but you saw her leave?”

He hesitates as he looks up at Butch. “I need to get back to work.”

“You’re not leaving until she says you can leave. Answer the question.”

“The lady gave me a twenty to keep it to myself—”

“And I’m going to let you live if you keep talking,” Butch says. “Which is more important to you?”

“After she gave me the note, she got into a sports car out front and drove away with a guy.” He looks up at Butch. “And I don’t know what the guy looked like. I didn’t really look at him.”

“Because you were looking at his car,” I say, smiling. “What kind of car was it?”

He hesitates. “I didn’t get a good look.”

“Butch.”

The porter winces again. “It was a red BMW convertible of some kind, but I noticed it because the dashboard was high and the guy was slung down low in the seat. I’m not sure how he even saw to drive.”

“Very nice. We’re done. If this woman gives you another note, it comes to one of us.” I point at Butch. “If you give it to anyone else, I’ll have him hunt you down. Do you understand me?”

He nods vigorously.

“Let him go, Butch.”

Butch gives him one more menacing look before he releases him.

“Who do you think gave him the note?” he says as we watch the porter run away from us.

I look at the note again. “I think some troll’s probably just fucking with Sophie. Like maybe Savannah.”

“Seb’s friend Ricky was talking some trash about her last night, too,” he says, leaning back on the wall. “You want me to come with you today to keep an eye on things?”

“No, go fishing. This feels more petty than dangerous, but maybe subtly pump Roman for information about the team owners coming at Sophie. Don’t tell him about this, though. I don’t want him involved. He’s too emotional about Sophie.”

“And you’re not emotional about Sophie?”

“You already know my emotion gets funneled into action,” I say, looking up at him. “When we find the person who sent this note, we’re putting them down.”

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