Working Stiff (Revivalist 1)

Bryn waited, but he didn’t say anything more. Still, he hadn’t hung up on her. That was something. “So,” she said. “You were supplying him with … a certain drug. And I’m going to need new stock, obviously. Whatever my uncle had on hand burned up with him, and I’ve got clients. Desperate ones. I need something to sell. ”

“I don’t trust you,” he said.

“My clients don’t have a lot of time to wait around for us to develop a relationship. ”

“That’s too bad for them. My advice is to recruit new clients. This is going to take some time, and you’re going to show me some goodwill to start or this conversation ends now. ”

Bryn’s office door opened, and Joe Fideli stepped in, moving in his usual ninja stealth mode. She pointed at the phone, and he nodded. Luckily, Mr. French had already gotten used to Joe; he raised his head and stared at him, but didn’t bark or even growl. “What kind of goodwill?” she asked.

“You’re going to do a wire transfer of a hundred thousand dollars into an account that I will name in the next call, and you’re going to do it without bargaining. ”

“Really,” she said flatly. “What do you take me for, an idiot? You think I’ll just hand over that kind of money for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” he said. “You’ll hand it over so I don’t put a bullet in your head the next time you go home to that crappy apartment, Bryn, or the next time you go out walking that ugly dog of yours—and I’ll kill the dog for free. A hundred thousand buys you a week for me to look you over and decide whether or not I want to deal. No negotiations. I know Fairview’s coffers are deep. ”

Click. She waited, but he was gone.

Bryn hung up the phone and took a deep breath, feeling strangely violated—not so much that he knew so much about her, but that he’d mentioned her dog. Dogs are off-limits. “He threatened to shoot me,” she said to Joe. “And my dog. ”

“Fucker,” he said, and bent to pat Mr. French, who allowed it with regal indifference. “What does he want?”

“A hundred thousand dollars. I suppose it’s an introduction fee. Black-market deals in Iraq used to be like that—you pay to play. ”

“And you know about black-market deals in Iraq how, exactly?”

She smiled grimly. “I was in supply, on the ground, in a war zone. How do you think I know? We couldn’t always get what we needed when we needed it. My job was to get it, period. ”

“You’re just full of surprises, kid. Okay, so you pay the hundred thousand, and …?”

“And maybe he’ll come back for more. Or maybe he’ll just shoot me and walk away. ”

“Well,” Joe said, “the good news is that if he d

oes, you’ll just ruin a good outfit. ”

He was, Bryn thought, always looking for the bright side.

The next morning, she got a modulated voice on the phone, reciting a string of numbers, which she took down and read back. There was no conversation, and no additional threats, by which she understood he wasn’t screwing around. She gave the info to Joe, and he made the transfer using some method she didn’t know about, and didn’t want to know.

She got another call that simply said, “You’re not dead yet. ”

Which almost made her laugh, because, hey, she really was.

It took exactly the amount of time Joe had said for the construction work to finish, and during that time, she got no more calls, except from two more of Fairview’s extortion victims; those were quietly spirited away by Pharmadene, but away from Fairview’s premises.

The grand reopening arrived, mostly thanks to Lucy’s hard work; Bryn honestly didn’t know what she would have done without her. Lucy knew absolutely everything about everything, including things Bryn had never imagined would have to be done. Plus, she was a complete sweetheart with inspectors, all of whom went away charmed and delighted with Fairview’s new improved looks.

Bryn had settled into a little bit of a routine—wake up, shower, breakfast, pat Mr. French on the head, drive her new car to Fairview, and get her coffee there. Joe Fideli had morphed into a totally acceptable funeral director, which did not surprise her much; in putting on the dark suit and tie, he’d also put on an air of gravity and seriousness. The only time he dropped it was when they were alone in her office, and even then, he used his little black pyramid device to give them a few moments’ privacy.

“Done,” he said on the morning of the grand reopening, as he emptied the contents of a syringe into her arm. She’d gotten used to choosing blouses that rolled up easily, determined not to have to go half-naked before him, and particularly McCallister, ever again. Fideli disposed of the syringe in a red biohazard sharps container, which he put in a second red biohazard bag. She watched this process, frowning, as she slipped her jacket back on.

“Is the syringe dangerous?”

“Nah, but it’s proprietary. So I try to keep it double-bagged until I can get it back to the mother ship. I’m responsible for every one of these bastards. ”

“Have you found Fast Freddy yet?”

“No. ” Fideli seemed peeved about it. “He must have had a stash of the drug somewhere, and was able to make it there safely before too much damage was done. Otherwise he’d have shown up by now. People tend to notice shambling, decomposing—” He checked himself and looked at her. “No offense. ”