I look at him but say nothing.
“I’ve looked the other way on a lot of shit, Gambini,” he says. “I’ve buried a lot of evidence for you going back years. I let your friend walk for taking out all those bosses, because you came to me, a favor for a favor, when I had more than enough to lock him away for the rest of his life. So I need this particular situation to end with the Russians, okay?”
He’s not spelling it out, but I know what he’s getting at. “You want me to leave Detective Fuckface alone.”
“We had a deal, you and I... no cops. You remember that, don’t you?”
I don’t make promises, but I did tell him years ago that I wouldn’t target any boys in blue. It was his hard limit. I could raise as much hell as I wanted, but if I ever killed a cop, it would be all over, our arrangement off.
“You really want to cash in your favor for that scumbag?”
“No,” he says, laughing dryly. “I felt safer, knowing you owed me, so I hoped to keep that card for a long time, but I haven’t got much of a choice unless I want a fellow cop’s blood on my hands.”
“I can make him disappear, no blood at all.”
He cuts his eyes at me.
Apparently, he doesn’t like that idea.
“Okay, then. If the guy stops breathing, it won’t be my doing. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Deal.” I take a swig of rum before shoving the bottle aside, tossing some money onto the bar to pay as I stand up. I take a few steps away, pausing to glance back at him. “Just so we’re clear... do ventilators count? Because I can do a lot of damage if we let a respirator do his breathing for now on.”
Jameson’s eyes narrow. “Don’t lay a finger on him, Gambini. I mean it.”
I hold my hands up. “Just checking. Have a great day, detective.”
He mutters something before motioning for the bartender to bring him another beer.
I walk out, seeing my car still parked along the curb, Seven behind the wheel, tinkering with my phone. I climb in beside him and he cuts his eyes my way, carefully setting the phone down.
“Someone call?” I ask, picking it up.
“Yeah.” He starts the car. “A rental agency. Your brother put you down as a reference on his application for an apartment.”
“Did you handle it for me?”
“Of course,” he says. “Told them he was a great kid, a hard worker, responsible and respectable.”
“Good,” I say with a nod, settling in. “Thanks.”
Chapter Seven
Buster was still sitting on the mantle.
A layer of dust covered him, some soot from the fireplace streaking his patchy tan fur. He looked so sad, covered in darkness, the fireplace not lit and the lights not on.
The little girl crept closer, walking through the empty room, and stared up at him, frowning. She wondered if he still smelled like her mother, or if he’d just smell all dusty. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up, her fingertips grazing the bear’s scorched foot.
“What are you doing?”
The sharp voice pierced the room, instantly knocking her back flat on her feet. She swung around, facing the doorway. “Nothing.”
The Tin Man stood right inside the room, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at her.
“Nothing,” he repeated, starting toward her, his steps measured. Uh-oh. He stopped right in front of her, crouching down, eye-level. “Nothing sounds like a lie, kitten. Do you want to change your answer?”
“I didn’t touch him,” she said. “I swear!”
“Another lie,” he pointed out. “I watched you.”
Her voice was quiet as she said, “But I just miss him.”
“Tell me, why is he so special to you? He is old, and ugly, and he stinks. Why does he matter?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Yet another lie,” he said. “One more time and you will live to regret ever opening your mouth to me, so be very careful. I will ask you again, and I want an answer... what makes your Buster so special?”
She hesitated before whispering, “Mommy gave him to me.”
“She gave you your life, too, but you do not seem to care about that,” he said, cupping her chin, squishing her cheeks with his fingers like he sometimes did. “Do you not take me serious? Is that the problem? Do you think I am just joking with you? Because what did I say would happen if you touched that bear?”
She trembled, her knees all wobbly. “That you’d burn him.”
“And?”
“And...”
And... she didn’t know.
She couldn’t really remember.
Remembering was getting so hard.
“And I would burn you, too,” he said, raising his eyebrows, his face so close their noses almost touched. “What makes you think I will not shove you in that fireplace and light you up?”
“You love me,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
“I do,” he said. “You are special to me, kitten, for the same reason... your mother gave you to me. You are my Buster. And oh, how I wish I could set you on the mantle, keep you from trouble, but there is a fire in you. You are the suka’s daughter. She had a fire, also, and you want to know the best way to put out fire?”
“How?”
“You smother it.”
Before the little girl could say another word, he pounced. His left hand grasped the back of her neck, pinning her in place, as the hand on her chin shifted, fingers pinching her nose closed as his palm covered her mouth.
She tried to inhale, but she couldn’t.
Eyes wide, she struggled, clawing at his arms, trying to rip his hand away so she could get some air, shoving him as hard as she could, nearly knocking him back.
Groaning, he stood up, his hold loosening long enough for her to take a breath, letting out a piercing shriek that he silenced by snatching her up. Yanking her over to a black leather chair, he threw her down on it, his knee bracing him, pressed into the cushion, as his hand went over her mouth again.
“Vor!”
The Cowardly Lion’s voice shouted from the doorway. The little girl recognized it. His sudden presence didn’t stop the Tin Man, though. He kept smothering her.
“Kassian! Stop before you kill her!”
The Tin Man let go at those words, and the little girl inhaled sharply, her vision blurry. She blinked, trembling, as he leaned down, his nose close to her nose again. “You will never have your Buster back, kitten, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”
The Tin Man stood up and walked away, stalling near the door, where the Cowardly Lion lurked.
“You are forgetting your place again, Markel,” he said, glaring at him. “I make the orders. If you do not like it, go somewhere else.”
The little girl curled up in the chair, crying, as the Tin Man walked out, disappearing. After a moment, the Cowardly Lion turned her way, carefully approaching. Stopping by the chair, he reached down, brushing the hair from her face, wiping the tears from her cheek.
“I always hated when he made your mother cry,” he said. “So many nights, she would cry, but she found courage with you. And I know you want that bear, sweet girl, but it is not the bear you love. It is your mother.”
“I miss her,” the little girl whispered.
“I know,” he said, sighing. “And in his own twisted way, he misses her, too.”
Chapter Eight
The front door opens just as I step off of the stairs and into the quiet foyer of the house. My gaze flickers that way when Lorenzo walks inside. He’s alone, and nobody else is home, which means it’s just me and him at the moment.
I pause there, cautiously watching him.
He was gone when I woke up, even though I beat the sunrise. The air in the house was stifling last night, and it doesn’t feel any more comfortable this morning. I’m not sure if it’s leftover tension or if maybe I’m just projecting.
Either way, I don’t like it.
I don’t want to wear out my welcome.
Lorenzo glances my way, hesitating a moment before he shuts the door. “You look nice.”