Page 110 of So Steady

“Maybe we should get a drink after this?” Toby said. “If it all goes well.”

Noah was going to say that sounded like a good idea, but Gil’s street came up sooner than he expected. He hit the indicator. “We’re almost there.”

The car fell silent and nerves he hadn’t expected to feel twisted in his belly. Gil’s place was exactly how Noah remembered it—a squat brick flat with a dying lawn and skeletal lemon trees.

“Shit place,” Toby said.

He and Scott laughed and some of the tension in the van dissolved.

“Maybe he hasn’t stolen enough of Sam’s money to upgrade,” Scott said. “Should we get going?”

Noah ground his cigarette into the ashtray. “Yep. No sense hanging around.”

They got out of the van. Scott was sweating again and Toby practically walked to the gate on his tiptoes. Noah’s nerves twisted harder. He headed for the front door, Scott and Toby in his wake.

We’re tall, he reminded himself.Bigger than Gil even with all the heavy lifting shit he’s been doing, and we don’t need to kick the shit out of him, we need to get the job done. With a bit of luck, this’ll be last time I do something like this.

He rapped on the door, not too hard, not too insistent. There was a faint clatter inside the house. Toby made a noise like a dog toy getting stepped on. “He’s here.”

“Breathe,” Noah warned. “Relax and stand tall.”

He followed his own advice, straightening up, squaring his shoulders. He could feel Scott and Toby following suit. Footsteps padded toward the door, then it swung open.

“Hey…” Gil’s unshaven cheeks sagged. “What are you doing here?”

Noah smiled, sliding his foot between the door and the jamb. Clichés were clichés for a reason. “Afternoon.”

Gil looked wildly from him to Scott to Toby. “I…hey, how’s it going?”

“Not bad. Can we come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Noah moved forward. For a second it looked like Gil wasn’t going to get out of the way, but he stepped aside. “Sure. Got beers in the kitchen.”

Noah headed down the hall and paused at Gil’s living room. It smelled faintly of weed and baby vomit, and it was covered in boxes. Most were taped shut, but the ones that were open were full of clothes and kitchen stuff. He turned to look at Gil, who was the colour of an old sports sock.

“Going somewhere?”

He swung his arms, seemingly lost for words. Scott and Toby were doing what they were told—standing behind Gil, triangulating him between their bodies so that if he ran he’d have to move through them.

“What’s happening?” Gil blurted out. “Is the studio in trouble or something?”

Noah folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve been stealing from Sam, skimming out of the till for more than a year.”

Gil’s face was a pantomime of shock, eyes wide, mouth open. “That’s fucked! You’re the one who was stealing!”

God, what a fucking rat. What a cowardly little bastard. How hadn’t he seen it before? Hadn’t he run away when Scott’s dad had tried to burn Silver Daughters down? Wasn’t he always bitching about what the world owed him, while being as mediocre a father, friend and employee as possible? “We’ve got proof, Gil. You’ve been paying your gym membership in cash. Eric, the guy who runs the place, gave us some of the notes you used. They match the ones Sam got from the bank a month ago.”

It was all bullshit, but it was useful bullshit, meant to cut Gil’s whining at the knees, get a confession out of him if they could. It worked like a charm. He collapsed like a sandcastle onto the dirty carpet. “Noah, mate, I didn’t mean it, things were tight, and I needed the cash, but I swear I didn’t mean to hurt the business. I swear it wasn’t a year, it was…”

Noah looked around at Toby. His phone was in his hand, filming everything Gil said. Shitty evidence, but good insurance.

“…my ex wants to send the kids to St Martins and—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Noah said, because he knew Gil would go on all night if they let him. “We’re not here for excuses, we’re here so you can make amends.”

Gil took his hands away from his face, all sobbing and shaking instantly melting away. “What do you mean?”

Noah smiled, walked over to the nearest box and sifted through it. It was mostly mens shirts. He picked one up and read the label. Eton. He picked up another one. Givenchy. He didn’t know much about fashion, but they looked and felt expensive. Gil watched him, his expression rat-like. He didn’t like him touching his precious shirts. That was too fucking bad. Noah turned and handed Toby the box. “In the back. Pack it properly, we’re gonna need the space.”

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