Casey came back in with tea and a plate of cookies, which may have saved Frank’s head from exploding. Frank handed me the entire plate and said, “More biscuits than that please, Case.” Now Casey understood and he rolled his eyes, grabbing a book off Alan’s shelf on his way out of the room. “Call your countryman. Schedule a meeting with him for tomorrow and let me know immediately when it will take place.”
Alan sighed. “You’re not going to sic the beast on him are you?”
Frank raised his eyebrows. “Hugo?”
“Your husband.”
I smiled and demurely nibbled on my last cookie. He thought I was a beast! That was the nicest thing Alan had ever said to me.
“Yes, I am.” Frank stood, taking hold of my arm and pulling me off the sofa. He sent Alan to go retrieve Casey. “We’ll call Joe and ask him to meet us tonight.”
“Might I get to kill someone?” I asked expectantly.
He gave me a kiss. “It’s quite possible, V.”
My smile lasted the entire drive home. Until I saw that Deaglan was still there. Frank glared at Bella and said, “You were supposed to take him to the airport.”
She shrugged. Most people would’ve fled faster than Bella could drive if Frank wanted them gone, but Deaglan had quickly figured out that as long as you didn’t talk about Casey’s mom, or punch him in the face, he’d stick up for you. And Frank was a pussycat around Casey. “My flight leaves in the morning,” he said, shifting his chair away from the lovebirds.
Frank glared at Bella. He wouldn’t address Deaglan directly. “It is morning.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Deaglan corrected, sipping his coffee. I figured the only reason he was still here was to annoy us. I knew the tactic well.
“Vincent was nice enough to offer to fix Alan’s car,” Casey said, ever the peacekeeper. I’d told Frank that Bella did the damage to ours and Alan’s car. If he knew it was Deaglan, not even Casey could save him.
But I’d neglected to mention that fact to Bella. “Like you need another car in your front yard. You should’ve taken it to the fucking shop. Send the bill to D—” Casey put his hand over her mouth, and would’ve smiled to make everyone get along and be happy again had she not bit him.
“Come on, babe,” I said, putting my arms around Frank and trying unsuccessfully to pull him away from the scene of the soon-to-be crime. Casey hopped up to help me, leaving Bella to make what must’ve been her first pacifistic decision, and take her friend to the airport like she was supposed to.
And just like it had been in October before all the craziness started, before Maggie and Gideon came to spend an autumn honeymoon at chez Sullivan-Moreaux and Bella showed up with her counterfeit hit, we were back to three. Now if only I'd asked Joe for a wood chipper. “Fuck it’s quiet in here,” I said.
“Behave,” Frank said.
Casey laughed. “Fuck they swear a lot. It’s like a Tarantino movie.”
“You behave too,” Frank grumbled. He didn’t know who Tarantino was. He probably didn’t even know how many uses there were for the word fuck until he’d met Bella. “I’m going to take a nap before I call your mother.”
“She won’t want to talk to you,” Casey said.
Frank closed his eyes with a wince. I would’ve thought it was obvious she’d be pissed at him. I guess not. “Vincent…”
“Yes?”
“Run.”
I hauled ass upstairs. He wouldn’t follow, no matter how mad he was at me. His foot must’ve been killing him. Then I remembered something that would make Frank forget all about being mad at me, and I brought down Casey’s drawings of Silva.
Frank looked like his heart stopped. He handed the papers back to Casey and limped down to the wine cellar, locking the door behind him. It was cold and dark in there. That was just what he needed.
“I thought we were going to break that to him gently,” Casey said.
“There’s a time and a place for everything.”
Casey put his arm around me. “I’m gonna miss you, Vin.”
“When Frank kills me?”
“Yeah,” he said, and we sat down to wait.
Chapter Seventy-Two
She ignored their warnings and went right to the wine cellar, calling “At ease, Frankie,” before shooting off the lock. Bella didn’t abide by doors that refused to open for her.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Frank said glumly as the door shut behind her. He stubbed out his cigarette and extinguished the only light in the room.
“I used a silencer.”
“Liar.”
She slowly followed his voice. Frankie had a great voice for dark cellars, but it would be just like him to stop talking when she needed his direction. “Degs is gone.”
“Have a seat.”
“Not unless I know what I’m sitting on.”
He sparked his lighter and revealed a perfect room for torturing someone: bare walls, cement floor, cold as fuck. There was no furniture. Frankie was on the floor in the corner, his legs stretched out in front of him. She plopped down on his lap, only to have her ass hit icy cement as the flame went out. He asked, “Have you seen the drawings?”
She adjusted her skirt. “Aye. Sneaky fucking old man.” She knew when it had happened. They'd been discussing le garçon so much, and then he got that tone in his voice when he was up to something and said he had a job for her in Sydney that would take two weeks. “He’s lucky he’s dead pulling that shite.”
“Bell—”
“I know you killed him, Frankie.” She let him simmer in silence for a bit before punching him in the chest. “Fucking pricks, the both of you! If he wanted someone to kill him he should’ve asked me. I wouldn’t have fucked it up the way you did.”
“Did Vincent tell you it was me?”
She nearly lied to see what would happen, but any more trouble might be the death of the boy. And Casey didn’t handle bereavement very well. “Casey told me.”
“Did Vincent tell Casey?” he asked hopefully. Frank was such a fucking sadist. Vincent was barely walking straight since he got home.
“Silva sent him a note.”
He sighed. “Sneaky fucking old man. I did fuck it up, didn’t I?”
“Oh, aye! That was a fucking disaster! Casey did a better job killing your foot.”
“You weren’t exactly helping by screaming like that.”
She knew why they hadn't warned her, but she was so shocked by it that she actually thought Vincent had killed him. She could still see Silva laying over his desk. Laying in the ground. Rotting alive and now dead. “It’s not my fault. I’m hormonal.”
“Are you going to keep it?”
“I’m gonna try.” The goddamn hormones tugged at her again. She set her head against his chest. He shoved her to a different, non-bruised spot. “I’ve never carried one to term before.”
“I know.” Frankie was probably just as scared of this as she was. And the more she thought about it the more terrified she became. What the fuck would she do with a little girl? Babies needed nappies and breast milk not designer onesies and high heeled booties.
“I'm gonna fuck this up, Frankie,” she whispered, not daring to say it louder in case it came true. It would come true. She would fuck it up and everything would be ruined.
He put his arm around her. “What's the worst that could happen? You damage them psychologically and they end up killing people for a living?”
She laughed. “When you put it that way it's not so bad. Can you fucking believe it though?” She set her hand briefly over her stomach, then moved it to her breasts. “Me with a kid?”
“You always did remind me of my mother.”
If there were any justice in the world she would've been born French. His mother must've been lovely. And tall! “Is that why you let me call you Frankie?”
“I have never let you call me Frankie.”
She smiled evilly in the darkness. He’d tried correcting her a total of five times before givi
ng up and accepting his Frankie fate. “Do you think I’ll do okay?”
“Between you and Casey?” He laughed. “It’s a good thing you’ll have Maggie.”
“Did she have problems with Casey?” Maybe his family had really good genetics. They could cancel out her shitty ones.
Frank scoffed. “Not until he met you.”
She wondered what Maggie would say when Casey showed up at her door on Christmas. She'd bought him a plane ticket when she dropped off Deaglan. Just because she was stuck there didn't mean he had to be. “I'm sending him home for Christmas.”
“You're what? Bella, Malkolm is out there just waiting for the opportunity!”
“Casey found his sketchbook. It was at the gallery the whole time. And Malkolm hasn’t shown up on your security camera. There was no sign of his handler either. I think we’re fine.”
“As long as Malkolm lives we will not be fine, Bell.”
“They sure as fuck aren't going to Portland fucking Oregon looking for me. Casey'll be back before New Year's, and they’d have no way of finding this place, anyway.”
“I hope you’re right,” Frank sighed. “Alan had an offer on his gallery. I suspect Malkolm’s behind it. I’m meeting with Joe Russell tonight to go over what he’s found out. We’re setting up the buyer tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to help?” She didn't want to help. She just wanted to go into the city to buy more baby clothes.
“You’re staying home.”
She bristled. “You think because I’m pregnant that I’m fucking weak?”
“No, you’re staying home because you left me at Silva’s with an empty gas tank and without a single fucking book to read.”
“All right, all right. Fuck, you’re sensitive. You’d think you’re the one who’s pregnant. Anyway, I thought you had Silva’s book.”
“Touché,” he quietly muttered.
“So you’re getting back to work then?”
“Vincent and I are, yes. Would you want to do it again? I’m sure once things have settled a bit V would be willing to share. Well, maybe not willing. Convincible.”
“I don’t know.” She was shite at it toward the end, once Silva started getting sick. She got too scattered. The adrenaline helped her focus but it couldn't last so she had to do it quickly. Frankie had never understood that. He got off on the hunt. Weeks and weeks and once even a month and a half. He'd finally let her do that job so she wouldn't kill him instead. “It wouldn’t feel right without Silva anyway. That was part of why you quit, wasn’t it? Because you wouldn’t have Charlie?”
“Part of it.”
“And now you’ll have Joe fucking Russell.” She hated that prick. He was one of the few handlers who disliked her. All the men hated her, but the handlers liked having a woman on the job to do things for. Russell didn't fall for any of her charms.
“Things will work out. He and Vincent get along surprisingly well.”
“Are you worried about Vincent? If he gets a headache like that on a job…”
“I’m more worried about what will happen if we don’t get back to work. I was wrong to force him into retirement. He’s good at this. He likes it.”
“So do you.”
Frank changed the subject. “Will you give retirement a shot then? I’m sure Casey can help. He helped us.”
“When you first told me about them I thought you were out of your fucking head. I get it now. It’s like a completely different world. And even though Casey’s a fucking helpless idiot he’s…amazing. His mother’s a cunt but what can you do?”
“You give her a grandchild and she’ll love you forever.”
“Granddaughter,” Bella said, speaking louder than before, and clearer. Perfectly fucking clear. “I'm having a girl.”
“You can't already know. Not this early.”
“I'm having a girl. Her name's Sylvia. She's going to be five six.” She held her stomach again. Her little princesa. Her huge tits.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Vincent pouted magnificently, his arms crossed heatedly over his chest. “This isn't funny.”
“This is how it is done,” Frank said. He held open the door to the seediest strip club in all of Paris, and gestured for Vincent to enter. That type of establishment had been a part of Frank's life from conception. It was where his mother met his father and where Frank grew up, watching his mother work. But it had also become part of Frank's own work.
From his earliest solo jobs in America, strip clubs were a tradition. Charlie would give him an unmarked envelope containing cash and a photograph, and over the next several hours they would discuss the job between cigarettes and cheap scotch, and Charlie's endless harassment of the dancers.
“This is how it was done,” Vincent said with a glare. Frank was fully aware that he would never get away with this again. That chapter of his life had ended with Charlie’s death. In all likelihood, Vincent would take the reins going forward, dealing with Joe as Frank had dealt with Charlie. But for now he had the perfect opportunity for spite.
They entered the building, Frank following closely behind in the dark hallway, giving V's ass a possessive and rough squeeze before they reached the club floor. He knew Vincent's displeasure with the venue would likely be as much from insecurity as militant homosexuality, but Frank also knew that Joe Russell would be even more miserable meeting there than Vincent could ever be.
There were two Algerian bouncers standing in the entryway, dressed alike with black jeans and tight black T-shirts. They could have been brothers, even twins, but the one on the left was slightly smaller in stature. Frank automatically moved to the other side of Vincent, choosing the larger opponent in case there was trouble. Vincent nodded in acknowledgment and they walked forward, sitting at a table at the very back of the club. Joe was late. At least he had that in common with Charlie.
Vincent ordered an expensive cognac in nearly perfect French, averting his eyes from the bone-thin bottle blonde waitress at all costs. She pointedly sneered at his pronunciation, although hers was nowhere near as strong and she also had an American accent.
“It smells funny in here,” V said, finally looking up once she’d walked away. “Do you think if I tip them they’ll get dressed?”
Frank shook his head, taking Vincent’s drink from him the moment it arrived.
“Hey!”
“It gives you headaches.”
“Why’d you let me order it if you weren’t gonna let me drink it?”
“Because I’ll drink it.”
Vincent put his hand over the glass. “You’re on antibiotics. No drinking.”
They glared at each other for a moment, Frank’s hand around the glass and Vincent’s hand on top of it. Frank slid it over and released it in front of the empty seat to Vincent’s right just as Joe finally arrived.
“Interesting location,” Joe said, sidestepping a topless brunette with a long stemmed rose tattooed down her spine. She scowled at him, taking her dismissal personally. “I thought I’d gotten the address wrong.”
“No, you got it right,” Vincent muttered.
Joe sat on the other side of Vincent, brusquely waving away the waitress before she could get near enough to take his order. She scowled at him, too.
“This is the way he used to do it with Charlie,” V said, rolling his eyes.
Frank had only been given the opportunity to choose their meeting place because Vincent was unsure of himself over that aspect of the job. But Frank hadn’t anticipated that meeting in the strip club would help establish camaraderie between Vincent and Joe, and make V more confident. There was nothing Vincent couldn’t accomplish if he put his mind to it, but he had little faith in himself without encouragement. Frank slipped Silva’s book to him, letting him be an intermediary and forward it on to Joe. Then he sat back, watching them interact.
Joe flipped through the book in silence for several minutes. “What’s all this writing?”
“It was in code,” V said.
> “You did this?”
Vincent shrugged and said, “You can ignore the last few names.” There was no need to ignore them. Frank had already crossed them out.
Joe grinned. “Took a little liberty with the book, did you?”
“As long as someone pays us for it what does it matter who wrote the name?”
“And who’s going to pay you for it?” Joe asked.
Vincent smiled and gave another shrug. Payment was yet another aspect they would need to discuss. Charlie used to get thirty percent plus whatever he could skim off the top, but Frank wasn’t sure what was standard. Perhaps he should have asked Charlie before killing him. Frank had not been prepared to accept a new handler, but they couldn’t very well do it without one. He would frighten the clients, and Vincent would end up killing them for not taking him seriously.
“Moving on to more pressing matters…” Joe said. “Jennings was likely on the lookout from the day Bella left the Czech Republic, so it’s possible that he saw her car in the area even before your friend made his trip to the gallery.”
Vincent’s face became flushed and he lowered his head. “We went back to the apartment after going shopping.”
“Bella knew Jennings,” Frank said. “There’s no way she would’ve let him follow her.” He reassuringly gripped Vincent’s thigh under the table. “You would’ve noticed someone following as well, V.” Vincent smiled at him, setting his own hand between Frank’s legs. Praise always put him in the mood, regardless of the number of nude women present.
“You said that your friend parked on the street in between your apartment and the fashion houses. He went shopping, stopped by your apartment, and then went to the gallery where he ran into Jennings. Even though Jennings didn’t make his presence known until the gallery, he could’ve spotted the license plates at any time. Now, the good news is that Jennings didn’t drive, so he wouldn’t have been able to follow your friend outside of the area unless he took a cab.”
“Even Casey would’ve noticed that,” Vincent said. Frank nodded. Joe was clearly making a conscious effort not to say Casey’s name, and Frank appreciated it. He wished more than anything that the kid wasn’t involved in this.
Les Recidivists (Chance Assassin Book 2) Page 37
