"Yeah, Jack. It's real easy. You take a couple of days off. Hell, anything you want, it's on me. Whiskey, girls, horses . . . not a bad way to spend a couple of days."
"So I do that. Drink. Fuck. Gamble. Wait until they take her. No big deal."
"Exactly. Live it up at my expense and--"
Jack leaned across the table. "I lied. She's more than my protege."
Cillian only gave a sweaty smile. "Okay, so you really will be worried. But all the more reason to indulge, right? Get your mind off it. I know a couple girls--twins--who'll get your mind off pretty much any--"
"Take the pill."
Cillian blinked.
"Count of three," Jack said. "Take the fucking pill. Or I pull this fucking trigger. It won't kill you. Just make you wish I had."
"But--"
"Pill. Now."
"Jack, please. I--"
"Anyone watching?"
"W-what?"
"Are there fucking eyes on us?"
"N-no. Just my boy."
"Take the pill. It's slow-release cyanide. You'll have an hour. Swallow the pill. Walk with me. Tell me what I want. Everything I want. I might give you the antidote."
Cillian stared at the capsule.
"Take it. Now."
Cillian picked it up, put it in his mouth and took a swig of coffee.
"On your feet. Walk."
Cillian obeyed. Once they were in the alley, Jack spun and slugged him in the stomach. Cillian went down, gasping and hacking.
"What the fuck, Jack?"
"Making sure you swallowed it. Now get up. Walk."
5 - Nadia
I spent the rest of Sunday looking into the case Quinn was working. Well, that and conducting my lodge-hostess duties. I couldn't escape those, no matter what else was going on. The lodge is my real job. I never forget that.
So I skated between responsibilities all day. Show guests the budding wildflowers. Grill Diaz on what he knew. Give shooting lessons at the range. Call Evelyn for background on Diaz. Take a group white-water rafting. Research the background on Quinn's case.
Yes, maybe calling Evelyn wasn't absolutely necessary. Maybe I'd mostly been checking in to see if she'd heard from Jack. She's a retired hitman and his former mentor. If I claimed Jack is the closest thing she had to a son, she'd treat me to a diatribe about the uselessness of children while getting in a few digs at Jack on the way. But theirs is the longest and closest relationship either of them has ever had. That didn't mean he would call to chat, not unless he needed her help. He hadn't.
Diaz knew the basics of the case Quinn had been working on the side. As I researched, I could see why Quinn had jumped at it. Those with a vigilante bent often lean toward specific crimes. For me, it's ones involving women and children, not surprising given my history. Quinn's focus is similar, without the personal experience to explain it. If I whipped out my psychology credits and analyzed, I'd say it's the frustrated family man in him. He had been married once, to his teenage sweetheart
. They'd split before having kids, which I'm not sure is as much a symptom of the problem as a cause. Quinn comes from a tight-knit family and grew up expecting that for himself: wife, kids, house in the suburbs. It hasn't happened, and while I think part of what he channels into his vigilantism is what made him become a cop, as it is for me, another part is that frustrated instinct to protect.
It had been that sort of case that started Quinn's vigilantism. A family friend's daughter had been murdered by her abusive ex. When the ex was acquitted, the man asked Quinn to "help him find justice." Quinn refused. The father killed the ex-husband and went to jail. His wife committed suicide. Quinn blamed himself.