The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

I join James on the opposite side of Brad’s desk, our backs to the door, and pull out my cigarettes. “Do I need to cage you?” I ask in gest, offering James the pack. His eyes turn slowly onto me. He’s in no mood for jokes. “Just let me lead this, okay?” I go on as he takes a smoke. “I know Adams. I know what makes him tick.” I hold out my zippo to him before lighting my own.

“Knock yourself out,” he grunts, exhaling as he gets comfortable. Trying to quit? Not while we’re in Miami.

Brad appears in front of me, taking his chair, and I look over my shoulder to see Otto and Ringo looking cozy on the couch. I return my attention forward as the door opens, and I watch Brad’s eyes move past me, his smile slowly forming.

“I’m honored,” he coos. “The mayor of Miami making a special trip to my club.”

“I’ve been wondering since you summoned me why,” Perry replies. “Why would Brad Black, ex mobster now nightclub owner, want to visit with the mayor?”

“And what did you conclude?” Brad pouts.

“That he wants something.”

“An extended license would be great,” Brad says, and I smile. “Thanks, Perry.”

“You’d have to apply.”

“But I’m friends with the mayor.”

“I’m straight, Brad. And we’re not friends.”

“Okay, I’m not your friend.” His hand holding his glass extends across the desk, pointing to me. “But he is.”

“He? Who’s he?”

I slowly stand and turn, slipping my cigarette between my lips and sucking back a hit of nicotine, keeping my eyes up. His face. It’s fucking golden. “Hello, Perry,” I say over my exhale, sending smoke billowing into the room.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, frozen. It takes him a few minutes to find any more words, and I let him take that time, thoroughly entertained. “I’m completely legit now, Danny. I’ve got to be. The town is in order. Oh fuck, don’t start creating anarchy.”

“Me?” I ask over a laugh. “I’ve been dead for three years, Perry, and by all accounts, there’s not been much peace around these parts.”

“It’s being handled.”

“What’s being handled?”

“The gangland killings. Criminals turning up dead everywhere. The police have it under control. It’s quieted down.”

Quieted down? Yes, because The Enigma has been on holiday in St. Lucia and was blown up when he returned a few weeks ago. For fuck’s sake. “So there’s no problem with drugs? Women? Guns?”

“This is America. There’s always problems, but it’s not an outright war out there.”

Not yet, no. But Perry had better brace himself. He’s also hinted to something that supports what James found out earlier. There’s one person controlling Miami, and it isn’t who the people elected as mayor. The Bear has woven a pretty solid web of crime, somehow getting every crook in this town to answer to him. Who the fuck is he? “Sit down, Perry,” I order, and he scurries over to a spare chair, dropping into it. This is the Perry Adams I remember. Constantly shitting himself.

“I haven’t cheated on my wife since Rose,” he mumbles nervously. I ignore James and Otto, who have both just inhaled loudly enough for me to hear.

“Never speak her name, Adams,” I warn. “That’s the first new rule.”

“You gave me your word. I got you every scrap of information on that lawyer, Green,” he rushes on, keen to detail his good deeds. “I cleaned up my act. You said—”

“Have I asked you for the thirty-five million you owed me?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “The photos of you with Rose are gone.” I burned them while I shook with fury at the sight of another man’s cock in my wife. “And I don’t plan on killing you.” I walk over, standing before him. “So I’ve kept my word.”

“You’re not going to blackmail me?”

Fuck me, how does such a pathetic piece of shit run this city? He’s an embarrassment to men. “No, I’m not going to blackmail you, Perry.” I smile, and it’s dark. “I’m going to ask you very nicely for a few things from time to time, and you’re going to give them to me because I’m your friend and that’s what friends do for each other.”

“Like what?” he asks, surprised but cautious.

“Well, first of all, I need a permit for the work I’ve had carried out at Byron’s Reach.”

“The work you’ve carried out? Already? Without a permit?”

“There was no time to apply. I’m sure you can get something sorted retrospectively, can’t you, Perry?”

“What have you built there?”

“Just a cabin. There’s a few containers.” A massive underground bunker that’ll be full of firearms. “And my new jet ski business.”

“You need a permit for that too,” Adams says, almost reluctantly.

“Then get me one,” I fire back, my face serious. “That’s all for now.” I walk away and help myself to a drink from the bar, which is a piss-poor alternative to the well-stocked display in the hidden office upstairs.