Me: Any jobs for me?
Ollie: Nope. Your calendar is pretty quiet for the moment.
Me: Might not be a bad thing. I’m out of the country.
Ollie: Where are you?
Me: Croatia.
Ollie: Why? AND why am I only hearing this now?
Me: Long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I come to visit.
Ollie: You’d better. Keep your ass alive, Cin, or I will be pissed.
Me: Love you too, dick.
Ollie: Bye, bitch.
Lips curving, I tossed my cell down on the bed and picked Muñoz’s up again. Spying an unread message from a contact with no name, only a number, I read the text with interest.
Need you in London tomorrow. Will provide address when…
The message preview cut the text off at that point. When I tapped on it, oddly enough, it opened that non-native calculator app again.
Bizarre.
But that was a dead end and I couldn’t see anything in the message inbox either.
Yawning, I checked my cell, saw Star had sent me an address in someplace called Uvala Lapad, and I replied to her with a thumbs-up, then found Goldstein had messaged me too.
God, Interpol agents were always such a drag, but he was the worst.
Goldstein: McClure’s dead?!
Me: What did you think was going to happen when you reported he had a sex slave in his fucking basement?
Goldstein: The whole point of me infiltrating his office was to gather evidence, for fuck’s sake.
Me: Interpol’s fine with sex slaves suffering while their agents dick around looking for evidence?
Goldstein: I don’t dick around. Shit like this is sensitive. It takes fucking time.
Me: She might not have had time, goddammit. I’m not going to argue with you. I wasn’t the only one who okayed the hit. I’ll assume you think it’s easier to get in my face than the Five Points’?
Me: I hate to tell you this but they’ll just kill you. I’ll bite your face off.
Goldstein: You’re a cannibal?!
Ah, my reputation had spread farther than anticipated. Ididenjoy scaring grown men.
Lips twitching, I tapped out:
Me: I don’t particularly appreciate seared ‘Goldstein face’ for my supper, but I’m handy with a knife and I know a dog who’d appreciate those sweet cheeks of yours.
Me: Back the fuck off and if you’ve got any complaints (I’d recommend that you don’t btw) then take them to Conor. He’s your liaison, isn’t he?
Goldstein: This is a career killer. He promised me a fucking promotion out of this.