“S-S-Someone…” Teeth chattering, he wrapped his arms around himself, which was going to do a whole helluva lot of nothing to fend off the chill since he wore only a ratty T-shirt.
Cam sighed, slipped off his coat, and draped it over his informant’s shoulders. “Take this.”
Soup huddled into it gratefully. “I-I-I always like you, Detective. G-g-good man. Good friend.”
There was that friend word again. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.” He straightened the collar, then zipped it up around the guy’s skinny frame. “Keep this one this time, okay? No trading it for dope. I’m running out of jackets.”
Soup nodded, twitched, and snuggled deeper into the flannel lining. After a moment, his shivers subsided.
“All right,” Cam said, ignoring the wind that had gone from brutal to flaying without the protection of his coat. “Give me the bad news.”
“Someone’s asking around about you, man.”
“Who?”
Soup lifted his shoulders in shrug. “Some white dude. Mean. Nice clothes.”
Okay, then. That narrowed it down. He tried a new tactic. “What’s the guy asking?”
“He asked me to kill ya for money.”
Cam backed up a step, unsnapped the strap holding his gun in his shoulder holster, and drew the weapon in a smooth, practiced move. “Back the fuck up. Now.”
Outrage rippled over Soup’s weathered face, but he held up his hands and backed up until he stood against the brick wall of a warehouse. “You think I’d do you like that, man?”
“I think you’ll do just about anything for your next hit.”
“Not that.” Genuine hurt flickered through his glazed eyes. “I ain’t no killer, man. You’re my friend. That’s why I tell you.”
“All right,” Cam said, but wasn’t ready to lower his weapon just yet. “If you’re a friend, you’ll get me more info if he shows again, right? A name would be useful. A description of what he looks like and what he drives. How much he’s asking.”
“I can answer that!” Soup said and twitched in excitement. “A thousand big ones.”
That’s it? Wasn’t his life worth a bit more than—
Cam gave himself a mental shake. It didn’t matter. Yeah, a thousand wasn’t a lot in the hired killer business, but to a guy in Soup’s position, it might as well be a million. “Did he give you a reason why he wants me dead?”
“Said you did him wrong. I didn’t axe no more questions after that.”
“Well, I want you to ‘axe’ more questions,” Cam said. “Talk to people, see who else he approached.”
“Ah, man…”
“And you’ll let me know the second he convinces someone to do the hit.”
Soup shifted on his feet, gaze darting around the empty street like he expected a SWAT team to rush out of one of the buildings. Ignoring the gun, he sidled a step closer, and even in the cold and the wind, his body odor was amazing. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Gonna cost more.”
Yeah, what a pal. “Of course it is.”
“Guy’s gotta eat.”
“Twenty now. Twenty for every additional relevant piece of info about this man.” Cam finally lowered his gun, but didn’t feel confident enough in Soup’s intentions to holster it. One-handed, he slid two tens from his pocket. Soup tried to snatch them with scarred, dirty hands, but he pulled the cash out of reach. “No dope. You buy dope with this, I will know. It’ll be the last payment you ever see from me. Deal?”
In full sulk mode, Soup mumbled something under his breath.
“Deal?” Cam said again.
“Yes,” Soup said, louder.
“You know I’m not fucking around about the dope.”
He nodded, eyes wide. “You see everything.”
“Damn right I do.” Cam finally relinquished the cash and watched as Soup squirreled it away into a pocket before scampering off.
Even though Cam was no longer on the force, he still had his finger on the pulse of this city, and it didn’t hurt to remind the natives of that once in a while.
With the wind slicing through his long-sleeve T-shirt like a saw, he sprinted back to his SUV, parked out of sight a block away, and cranked up the heat as soon as the engine purred to life. He held his stiff fingers over the vent until the air started to blow hot and he could feel his extremities again, then found his phone charging on the dash where he left it and dialed his twin. As much as he’d rather not mention this conversation to anybody, Vaughn had to know about the hit because a drug addict looking to make a quick buck might not be able to differentiate between them.
“Hey,” he said when Vaughn picked up. “You home?”
“Office,” Vaughn answered.
“Stick around. I’ll be there in fifteen. We have a situation.”