Page 13 of Lion & Lamb

MARCHESE: How’s this for a retainer?

LAMB: That is…impressive. Lupe, my faithful friend, I think that will keep you in dried salmon treats for months to come.

MARCHESE: So we have an agreement?

LAMB: Just one thing. Two things, actually.

MARCHESE: Go on.

LAMB: I’ll need full access to the team. And the owners.

MARCHESE: You don’t honestly believe one of Archie’s own teammates murdered him, do you? Or the Sables?

LAMB: Maybe I’m a huge fanandmilking this situation for all it’s worth.

MARCHESE: I’m sorry, what?

LAMB: Maybe I promised my kids some autographs.

MARCHESE: But—

LAMB: Or maybe I’m really good at my job, and you should trust my instincts.

MARCHESE: (Sighs) Fine. What’s the other thing?

LAMB: If you hire me, I’m not going to stop until I find the truth.

MARCHESE: That’s what we want.

LAMB: Even if the truth is very bad for your client?

MARCHESE: (Slight hesitation) That’s what we want, Lamb.

LAMB: You’ve got yourself a private eye, Marchese.

Chapter9

1:12 p.m.

COOPER LAMBfork-and-knifed his way into a hot pork sandwich at the DiNic’s counter at Reading Terminal. Sitting one stool away was Victor Suarez, his unflappable assistant, nursing a mug of black coffee.

“So what do you want?” Victor asked.

Cooper shook his head, then pointed a forkful of broccoli rabe and pork at his assistant. “No, my friend. Question is, what doyouwant?”

Victor sighed. Or perhaps it was just him exhaling—the differences were subtle, and even a trained ear like Cooper’s had a difficult time telling them apart.

“I mean,” Cooper continued, “you can’t just sit at this counter and torture yourself with that sad, lukewarm cup of alleged coffee. The roast pork here is the best in the world.”

“I assume you’ve got a list for me, boss?” Victor asked.

“Of course I have a list.” And with that, Cooper began to reel off the items. He was confident Victor could find him the information he wanted because Victor Suarez could find outanything. Seriously. No matter the organization—the local police, the Feds, freakin’ Facebook—Victor knew how to slip through the digital back door. He’d take a discreet look at the most highly protected files and go—no one ever knew he had been there, and it wasn’t as if Victor himself went around bragging about it. Sometimes Cooper wondered if his longtime inside guy had seen so much brain-melting top secret intel that he no longer reacted to any news, no matter how shocking.

“I need everything on Archie Hughes—”

“Already compiled and on this flash drive.” Victor slid a slender metal fob across the counter toward his boss.

“No so fast. I’m also gonna need everything Mickey Bernstein has.”

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