Double Play (Nadia Stafford 3.5)

"Last chance. Anything to say?"

"Just that you're a--"

Jack didn't wait to find out what he was. He already knew. Just like he knew this guy wasn't giving him answers and he didn't have time to beat them out of him. He hit the guy again. No anger behind it. Just shutting him up so he could speak, because he really hated to repeat himself.

"You've been put down," he said. "By a guy old enough to be your father. That's humiliating. But you know what's worse? Telling your boss about it. You can cross that road with me and do it. Or . . ."

Jack stepped back. The guy pushed to his feet and looked Jack up and down in hopes of saving his ego by seeing that Jack was younger than he'd heard, bigger than he'd thought. The result of that onceover said Jack didn't look that old and he wasn't small. But nor was he twenty-five and six-foot-four. The guy grunted and crossed his arms.

"Take off down the back alley," Jack said.

The guy said nothing, but when Jack stood his ground, he stalked in that direction. Jack watched him go, then turned toward the street.

As Jack walked away, he kept his ears attuned for any sign the thug decided to circle back behind him. His attention, though, was on the guy's burner phone. On the text message the guy had received from Cillian.

Make sure you're ready.

Jack exhaled. He'd still been giving Cillian the benefit of the doubt. Presuming he'd only told his boy to protect his back. But Jack was not an optimist. His gut had said the Cillian he remembered would never admit he was concerned about a meeting with an old friend.

Jack knew his own reputation, too. It came partly from prowess. He was damned good at his job. But more than that, he was fair and he was trustworthy. Cillian would know that much. Which meant he knew Jack would never double-cross him.

And that meant Jack was the one being double-crossed.

Fuck.

The thug's phone buzzed with another text.

Where are you?

Jack sent the reply. Pissing.

Get the fuck back to your post.

Jack picked up his pace to a jog. He headed back the way he'd come. Down two alleys. Circled another building. Exited far enough from the thug's post that it wouldn't look suspicious. When he reached the sidewalk, he slowed to a purposeful stride.

As Jack approached the cafe, Cillian looked up, his head tilting as he squinted. Then he went back to his newspaper. He hadn't recognized Jack. Not surprising after thirty years, but even less surprising given that Jack wore a disguise as he always did for a client meeting.

Jack pulled out the chair across from Cillian.

"That's--" Cillian began. Then another squint over his reading glasses. "Jack?"

Jack sat without a word. He endured the obligatory appraisal, that onceover from an old friend that wasn't so much seeing how he'd changed as seeing how much he'd aged, while hoping the answer was "more than I have." A tightening of Cillian's lips said he couldn't have that satisfaction.

Jack wondered if all people did this. Go to a high-school reunion and size up your classmates, hoping they showed their age more than you. Or was it just guys like them? Guys who needed to reassure themselves they were still men to be reckoned with.

"You look good," Cillian said with obvious reluctance.

"Not here for a date."

Cillian snorted a laugh and reached for his cigarette, burning on the side of a small plate.

"You know they don't allow smoking here?" Cillian said. "Even on the patio? Fucking world, huh?"

Jack set one generic, unmarked allergy capsule in front of Cillian.

"What the fuck's that?" Cillian said.

"A choice."