Dion wore all black, probably for the drama, and he slid a knuckle buster off his hand. It landed with a thunk on the table he had at his side, also covered in plastic. How very thoughtful of him to plan ahead.
He said he had an appointment coming, not one that was already there. So, either he wanted to play me, or he really hadn't gotten the notice of my arrival.
"Fuck you," the man—Reed—in the chair said, blood and spittle flying from his lips. A flash of silver appeared and vanished when he licked at his abused lips. "You're a fucking coward."
"Whatever. I'll be alive and you'll be dead," Dion told him, smug as fuck. What a dick. "This is business, Reed. A fact you should have remembered before you went around me."
I had questions. Dion pointed the revolver in Reed's direction, but it wasn't direct. In fact, he was aiming more at the wall to Reed's right than he was at his prisoner. Dion didn't know how to handle that gun.
Decision made, I took two steps forward and shoved the sliding screen door open. In between one breath and the next, the man in the chair shot a look toward me and all I saw was hope flare in his single visible eye.
Blue eye.
The rest of him was so battered and swollen, it was hard to make out any features. All I could discern was the chin length, messy brown hair, and sharpness of his face. But even that might change after he healed up. If he did.
Even as he jerked around in surprise, Dion's aim wasn't mine. I took out his knee, and he squeezed the trigger on his revolver. The heat of the bullet passing me seemed almost visceral. He missed.
I hadn't. The gun fell from his fingers as he swore and dropped to the ground. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he grabbed for his leg. Blood spattered all over the plastic. Like I said, how very thoughtful of him. I closed the sliding glass door. Careful to use my sleeve and not my fingers.
Dion wept. "What the fuck, Drew?" Air wheezed out of him as he stared up at me. Gone was the cocky, smug fuck and genuine fear flooded his eyes. I glanced at the man in the chair and then down at Dion.
The first link in the chain had always been crooked. But I'd never seen him get his hands dirty. That didn't mean I believed he was innocent. The brutalized prisoner cuffed to the chair was a stranger. Didn't mean I believed he was guilty.
"I have questions," I said simply. "I'm short on time and patience." I had maybe ten minutes if we were lucky, before someone called the cops. Then again, no one lived behind Dion and he probably soundproofed his house because I couldn't hear the lawnmower anymore.
Still, no reason to risk it.
"The first one to answer me honestly lives." I flicked my gaze from one to the other. "Clear?" I didn't wait for their response. "Good. Let's begin."
Dion cursed me up one side and down the other. Looked like he was going to be the one forfeiting his life, which didn’t surprise me. Or upset me.
“How do you know…” I waited expectantly for the man to answer.
“Fletcher,” he growled while glaring at Dion. It seemed Dion wasn’t very good at making friends.
“How do you know Fletcher?” I paused, training my gun between the two men, prepared to shift in either direction if needed.
With all of the intelligence of a toddler, Dion bared his teeth, refusing to answer. After a few long seconds, I was starting to think I’d have to resort to some more persuasive tactics when Fletcher answered me.
“I’m in the same line of work as Dion. We recently started running in the same circles and Dion isn’t happy about it.” Fletcher continued to stare down Dion, as he strained against his seat where his hands were cuffed to the back of the chair.
As much as Daddy tried to make sure our associates in the network were the most upstanding citizens we could find given their professions, sometimes we were left to deal with the dregs of society. However, as soon as we were made aware of their downfalls, we replaced them as quickly as possible.
And with Dion, I’d already suspected him of foul play. “Shocker,” I said, moving the gun to aim at his other knee. He jerked it back, scooting toward the plastic covered wall, as if that could protect him.
“And what is the infraction Dion believes you’ve made?”
Fletcher didn’t hesitate to answer this time. “Several of his clientele have started coming to me instead. They’ve been mostly tight-lipped, but there are whispers he wasn’t as discreet as he promised. Floating pieces of information about his clients to others as part of a blackmail scheme. Or cashing in on his privileged information, I couldn’t decide which it was.” Another flash of silver as he licked at his split lower lip.
“You fucking bastard!” Dion tried to push himself up in a sad attempt to attack Fletcher, but fell back, screaming in a mixture of frustration and pain. “You’re just trying to sabotage me. I’ve heard how you’re stealing my people out from under me,” he said, swiping at the angry tears staining his face.
Fletcher rolled his eyes, apparently forgetting the situation he was in. I had to admit, I was impressed with his reckless courage. Not many people could be brave while restrained with a very real chance of death on the horizon.
“You don’t actually believe him, do you? I’ve worked with you for years! I’ve known you since you were ten!” Dion was starting to get nervous. And that told me all I needed to know about Fletcher’s accusations. Still…
“I’ll give you one shot to defend yourself.”
“He’s lying. He’s a pissant who got lucky a client walked in while I was getting my retribution. You know all about this business. It’s cutthroat and I can’t allow him to steal from me.”