“He’s an orphan. Got no one. No place in this world.” He knocks back his drink. “Now he’s got a place, and I know a man who appreciates it.” He points his glass at me. “As do you, Danny.”
I can’t argue with that. I was an orphan. Had no one. Then I had Carlo Black. “The others. Tell me about them all.”
“Ringo, Len, and Bud couldn’t take my call quickly enough. They’re back with bells on. Turner and Dick have set up life on the West Coast. They’re done.”
I can’t blame them. “Definitely retired?” I ask. Brad knows exactly what I’m getting at. Trust no one, and don’t trust a man when he says he’s done in this world.
“Definitely. I had Len and Bud tail them for a while.”
“And the other newbies?”
Brad works through another few men, all new, all with stories. And all to be trusted. That’s fine, I’ll accept it for now, but trust only comes from being earnt. I’ll reserve judgment in the meantime. “All sensitive information remains between me, you, and the old men for now. The new guys know what they need to know. Got it?”
He nods. “And what about The Enigma?” He tops up his drink and takes a cool, casual sip.
“What about him?”
“What does he get to know?”
“Everything.”
“You trust him?”
“I trust him,” I reply, looking up as the man himself wanders in. “Your ears must be burning.”
James closes the door and shakes Brad’s hand before pulling out the chair next to him. “Wondering if I can be trusted? Whether I’ll turn you over.” His blue eyes glisten with amusement. “I’m trusting you and your men with Beau. She’s staying here while we hunt down the boogieman. I’d appreciate the same sentiment.”
I smile. It’s wicked. “How is she?” I ask.
“Calmer than your wife,” he retorts seriously, and Brad chuckles. I toss him a warning look that goes way over his head. He loves that my balls are in my wife’s handbag. “You heard that, huh?” I ask.
“The whole of Miami heard it. We might not need to put the word out of your return.”
“Speaking of which,” Brad interjects, getting up and going to the cabinet, collecting a fresh glass and a bottle of vodka. “How are we breaking that news?” He places the tumbler in front of James and pours.
He’s excited. I can see it in his eyes. “We should assume they already know.” I’m not delusional. If they’re as capable as we’ve concluded, they’ll definitely already know. Time will tell on that matter. I flick my eyes to James, smiling darkly. “But they won’t know about my new recruit.”
“I’m no recruit,” James retorts, deadpan. “I don’t work for you, Black. I work for no one. I work with you.”
I can feel Brad’s cautious stare on me, wondering what I might say to that. It’s an historical shift in the Black legacy. “There’s a reason why I allowed you to walk into my office unannounced.” I motion to the chair he’s comfortable in. “Sit in that chair.” My eyes land on the glass in his hand. “Drink my vodka.”
James takes a long sip, watching me over the rim. “Then we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” I agree, as Goldie, Otto, and Ringo all pile in. “Now, for the benefit of everyone here, let’s have a recap of what we know.”
James nods, wetting his mouth with more alcohol and motioning to Otto, who drops to a chair. Let’s start unpicking this fucking mystery. And kill it.
“From the beginning?” Otto asks, looking overwhelmed by the prospect.
“Yes, from the beginning.” I know a lot; James and I talked over many drinks in St. Lucia. And I mean, a lot. I felt like my brain short-circuited every time, the amount of information mind-bending. It’s time to relay everything we know to Brad and Ringo, as well as refreshing me.
“We know he ordered the death of James and his family ten years ago,” Otto says, sending wary eyes to his boss. James maintains his steely stare on my desk.
“Why?” Brad asks.
“James’s father, Spencer James, fronted the biggest cocaine syndicate in the UK.” Otto shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “His last deal was part of his exit plan. The Bear wanted England.”
“And he got it,” I muse, keeping a wary eye on James.
“He had The Snake fill Spencer’s place over there,” Otto goes on. “James got rid of The Snake in Miami over two years ago, the night FBI Agent Jaz Hayley, Beau’s mother, was murdered. He found the order to kill her in a message on The Snake’s mobile. It was sent to another burner. The receiving phone was switched off so we couldn’t locate it.”
“I tried to intercept the hit,” James says, as I slowly turn my eyes onto him. “I saved Beau. I couldn’t save her mother.”
I nod, although he’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. He’s simply building the big, bloody picture again. The mess of his back invades my thoughts. Beau’s arm. “The only reason The Bear would want Jaz Hayley dead,” I say, “would be because—”