Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best way to read books txt) 📕

deck. They went into the cabin for drinks and he told them about his latest conversation with the man. The brothers listened, shaking their heads in disapproval.

“I told him we should have gotten rid of them afterwards,” Travis said. “Made them disappear. Lots of women vanish and are never heard of again. Happens all the time in the big city. Putting them out on park benches like that afterwards is like a big flashing neon fuck you sign. Does he even use condoms? I doubt it. DNA and all that CSI shit you see on TV, sometimes I think it’s like he wants to get caught. Or even worse, maybe he thinks he’s invincible and can’t be caught, Jesus H. Christ.”

“Careful now,” the accountant said. “You wouldn’t want him to hear you talking like that.”

“Who’s going to tell him? You, you fat old faggot? I don’t think so. Not if you know what’s good for you. Now get over here and do your other job.” Travis reached down and unzipped himself.

The accountant licked his lips nervously. “I don’t think—” he began.

“We don’t need you to think. Better get your strap out again, Clint, I guess he must have liked it last time.”

His brother grinned and pulled off his belt and undid his pants. They dropped to the floor and he kicked them to one side as he stepped out of them. He tripped the fat man and pulled down his trousers and shorts and moved up close behind him.

“Your turn to set the pace, Travis,” he said. “I’ll just ride along double back here. Woo-hoo. Giddy up, old hoss.”

The belt cracked.

The fat man shrieked.

The brothers giggled.

Chapter 16

James Albright stood on the balcony high up in the Properties, his eyes closed in rapture, his arms outstretched as the Götterdämmerung soared to its magnificent finale. A pair of glasses wrapped in paper and an unopened bottle of single malt Scotch sat on a small metal table beside him. He let out his breath and turned and spoke to the lawyer who had been standing by the door in silence watching him conduct for the last few minutes, not daring to interrupt.

“I can give you ten minutes. I have to be at a dinner downtown in under an hour. At five thousand dollars a plate, I can’t afford to be late. The party needs that money right now, our war chest is getting low. We can’t afford any more screw-ups. Is that understood?”

Richard Sullivan nodded. “Understood.”

The lawyer was a tall, well-built silver-haired man who looked like everybody’s favourite uncle. If you were ever accused of anything serious, he was exactly the type of man you would want pleading your case, Albright thought. In other words, a lying, cheating weasel. He opened the Scotch and poured out two drinks and handed one across to Sullivan.

“I think we’re good,” Sullivan said. “Clint and Travis are at his place now, going through his things and making sure there’s nothing lying around that could tie him to us. He lived alone in a one-room apartment and had no real friends that we’re aware of. We’re still checking, but it seems clear that he was a bit of a loner. I doubt he spoke to anybody before he ran. I can’t imagine why he insisted on wearing that stupid jacket with the crest. Did he think it gave him a bit of class? And then to give them his real name? How dumb was that?”

“Anyway,” Albright said.

“Right. The other two. Jared Kane and Daniel MacLean. Not to be taken lightly it would seem. It turns out that Kane is hooked up with the sister of one of the women.”

“One of the women?”

“One of the women on the park benches,” the lawyer said, and immediately regretted it. Why the hell had he even brought them up? A slight sheen was visible on his forehead now.

“And just how does that concern us?”

Sullivan stared at him. James Albright regarded him impassively, his eyebrows raised in question. Sullivan was famed for his quick wit and ability to think on his feet in courtroom battles, but at the moment his mind was a blank slate. He felt hypnotized. Like a rabbit in front of a fucking mongoose or whatever the fuck it was. The translucent hazel eyes watched him. The seconds ticked by and the silence grew.

“Well,” he began cautiously, searching for a way out of the quagmire.

Albright smiled. “You were saying about the two men, MacLean and Kane?”

Was that Albright’s idea of a joke? Was the man playing with him? Sullivan realized he had absolutely no idea. For about the hundredth time he wished he had never become involved in any of this. But really, how could he possibly have known? And by the time he began to suspect, it was already too late, he was enmeshed from the soles of his thousand-dollar English shoes to the feathered tips of his two-hundred-dollar Robson Street haircut. There was no deal to be cut, no plea bargain to be had that would not destroy him and everything he had so carefully built up over twenty-five years of long hours and personal sacrifice.

It would absolutely be jail time for him; he had no illusions about it. Hard time even, and he knew he couldn’t handle that. The only sure escape left open to him now was a full-blown slash-and-burn scorched-earth retreat to a no deportation jurisdiction in South America, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. It might be sooner than later though. But he thought there was still a good chance for him here if he played it right. Albright stared at him and he wondered for a moment if the mad bastard could read minds. It might not have completely surprised him. He refocused and took a deep breath and continued.

“We’re still gathering information. Kane is dating the sister of the last girl. Both he and MacLean have criminal records; they met when they were in prison. Assault for Kane, a