Page 83 of Poisoned Pawn

“What happened to getting him clean?”

Shep raises his chin. “What happened to you getting out?”

“We both know I was just blowing smoke. I’m never going to be anything more than a gun for hire.”

He nods, then looks over to Zak, scanning him from head to toe. “Not like you to bring a stranger in here. The last one is back to haunt you.”

I let his accusation slide because he’s right. I’ve only ever brought one other person to Shep’s door, and I didn’t miss his veiled reference to Rook.

“He’s a friend.”

“Ain’t no friend of mine. He’s a Lawler. And right now, his name, and yours, means a fucking shit load of trouble I don’t need.”

Zak bristles at Shep knowing who he is, and I get it. I wouldn’t be too happy if it was the other way round.

I scrape a hand over my chin, scanning the room we are in. It used to be a corridor, but the walls have been knocked down opening it up into a larger makeshift entry way. The corridor Titch went down is the only way further into the building.

“The fact you know who this is”—I point my thumb over my shoulder to Zak—“means I came to the right place. I need to know what you’ve heard.”

“Ha! What I’ve heard is you got yourself caught up in a little three-way with Orlov, the 51s and a dead guy over some piece of arse. It’s a fuck fest for sure, but not the kind you’d usually be down for.” He steps closer, waving his cane at me.

“Fucking watch it, Shep,” I warn, making it clear that piece of arse he was referring to is off fucking limits. “And what the fuck do you know about a so-called dead guy?”

“I know a guy, who knows a guy that might just have laid eyes on a very much alive ex Shadow. Ringing any fucking bells, Carter?”

“He here?” I ask, knowing that I’m treading on shaky ground asking Shep to put one of his own in my sights.

He holds my gaze for a moment, and I can see his mind working behind his eyes. He spins on his heels and hobbles down the corridor.

“Don’t make me regret this, Carter.”

I look at Zak over my shoulder, then follow after Shep. Passing the room Titch went into, I see him sitting in a giant bean bag cooking up his next hit. I shake my head at the waste of a good life spent poisoning your body. But it’s not hard to fall into when no one gives a fuck about you. It could have been me under different circumstances.

We pass several more rooms like that one, all set out like individual makeshift bedrooms, some are empty, and others have people getting high on whatever drug is their flavour tonight; whatever drug they can afford or get their hands on.

Piss and body odour coats the air like a veil of mist mixed with stale beer and the underlying sweeter air of weed, and I breathe through my mouth to try and stave off the nauseating stench.

“I can’t fucking wait for our next date,” Zak mutters as Shep stops outside a room in this fucking maze.

“Sketch,” Shep says as he enters the door. “Got a guy here that wants to talk to you.”

A cough comes from the room as the sound of clothes rustling drifts into the corridor.

“I don’t know anything,” he says, his eyes widening as I step into the room. “No, no, this is bad. Bad,” he says shaking his head and scurrying back on the filthy mattress he’s sitting on. “You can’t be here. He’ll know I talked then he’ll kill me. Bad. Very bad.” He’s twitchy and panicked, eyes darting around the room and looking anywhere but me and Zak.

“It’s alright, Sketch. Carter is okay,” Shep tries to soothe him and ease his panic.

Sketch backs himself into the corner, hugging his knees and muttering under his breath. Aside from the dirty mattress and a small rucksack, the room is bare.

I lean over to whisper to Shep. “He’s so fucking strung out, does this guy even know what day of the fucking week it is?”

As though he heard me, Sketch lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes are fully focused now.

“I know you. The one he talked about. Wants you dead. Punish you for taking his woman. Ruined him. Shot him. Boom!”—he places his hands near his head, shooting them out like an explosion—“Broke his head. Chess. Likes chess. Poisoned pa…” He pauses, tilting his head as though trying to remember. Shaking it off, he continues his rambling quietly.

“Where is this guy, Sketch,” I ask, trying to refrain from shaking the information from him. If he knows anything more of use that is.

“Not telling you. Wants you to suffer.”

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