Ian

I was consulting with my headache when the phone rang. It took me two full groans and a grunt to pick myself out of my sagging office chair, grab the phone, and answer.

“Spector.” The voice – so soft, and yet without a hint of kindness – went down my spine like a trickle of cold water, leaving steel clarity in its wake.

“Lachlan! Hi, how are you doing?” Perky made me sound like a fool, but I needed a moment to let my pounding heart settle.

“Quite well, thank you,” he answered smoothly, the courtesy perfectly measured. “What can you tell me?”

How to play this? Gavin Othmar had been dead right when I spoke to him. The incursion of Nosa Costra mafiosi into Rindburg was bad news, and if it had anything to do with this case then I was better off cutting my losses. But Lachlan’s voice, his heels, the cruel promise of his fingers in the fishnet gloves he sometimes wore… And his money, of course.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Taking my time over the words, I said, “A… friend… pointed out that dragon racing is mafia business if it’s anything. Nosa Costra types. They’ve been seen around Rindburg lately.”

Lachlan held his tongue for a moment. “Would Castelloro work with them?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Used to be proper bad blood between our gangs and the mafia. That was a long time ago.”

“I need to know if there’s a connection there, Spector. Find out what Nosa Costra are doing.”

I took a deep breath. “That’s dangerous work, those southern guys don’t fuck around.”

“You want hazard pay?” Ike’s tone made clear he wasn’t going to tolerate me being coy about it. “You’ll have it. I’m happy with your work so far, Spector. Keep me that way.”

Hopefully the phone line went dead before Lachlan could hear the disgusting whimper I let out as he finished.