A full body shiver went through his lanky body. “Yo, why does he keep coming up? This is fucking weird.”
Someone across the bar was trying to flag him down. Juice looked that way, considering ending this conversation here. “Please, it's important. Tell me who that is,” I begged. There was a wild storm in me, it was eager and hungry and it was praying Hecko was my target.
Let my hunt be fucking over.
“He was Frank's nephew,” Juice mumbled. His skin was fading into chalky white. “Emphasis on the was. Guy is dead, now. They found him the other day in an alley behind a dumpster.” That rang a bell, I didn't know why. “Look... this shit isn't fit for where we are. You got my number, sweetie. I gotta take this.” Nodding at the customer, Juice turned his back and started ignoring me.
Mixed within my moment of frustration was hot, bubbling optimism.
He had more information, he just wasn't willing to talk about it here. Fine. I was walking away with the phone number of the first person who was able to give me a real lead.
Tonight had been a good night for me.
****
While I waited an hour in the club, it became clear that Jacob and Kite weren't coming back. That also meant my target wasn't showing.
My gut warned me that this had been some sort of set-up, but I was too elated from meeting Juice. It helped soften the blow.
Not wanting to wait all night at the club, I left the Calloway Club and got on the metro. I had a lot of questions for Kite and Jacob.
But, when I got to Kite's, neither of them was there.
Determined to confront them about what had happened, I headed upstairs.
Jacob's door wasn't locked. With a crisp noise, I pushed through, finding the two men inside. Both of them sat on the couches, drinks in hand.
Again, Jacob wore the face of a man who'd been expecting me. “Welcome back,” he said, sipping from his glass.
Slamming the door, I glowered at them both. “Okay, so. I'm going to jump right to it. What the hell happened tonight?”
Kite crossed his ankles. He was stretched out length-wise, his fingers white around his drink. He looked from me, to the ceiling. “We made a mistake. That's all.”
There was a tenuous pause. Finally, Jacob stood, moving fluidly into the kitchen and filling a third glass. “I thought I'd found your man. I was wrong. That's what he means.” Eyeing his friend, Jacob wandered towards me. The drink he extended felt like a peace offering. “Forgive us, if you can.”
Crinkling my nose, I took the glass. I was confused and a little frustrated, but the phone number in my purse was too exciting to let their 'mistake' drag me down. “What about the guy at the bar?” I asked slyly.
Jacob straightened up. His wall softened, a thought crossing his mind that I could almost see behind his eyes. “Did you speak to him?”
“Just to get him off your back,” I lied. I didn't want to hand over my secret key. Juice knew something, and if I could take the mission on for myself—from here on out—I intended to do so.
My purse was heavy for many reasons.
A big hunk of my heart still hoped for a happy ending. I was going to find the man I was after. I was going to kill him.
What happened after that was still a mystery.
Smelling the drink, I let it slide over my tongue. The burn was welcome, it cleared my head. I didn't push the topic about Juice or why Jacob had freaked out, why the bartender had called him by the name 'Dennis' or the like. I'd find everything out that I needed from the source.
There was a heaviness in the room. From them, and from me. I knew where mine came from. Why were they acting so morbid, though? Why was Kite looking around and avoiding me, or Jacob standing so silent?
Lowering the rim of the glass from my lips, I smiled up at him. “You guys are acting like I'm pissed at you. It's okay if you were wrong about tonight. We'll find him eventually.”
Lifting his eyebrows, Jacob hesitated. “Yes. I imagine we will.” Turning, he moved to the couch, bending to clink his glass on Kite's. “Stop sulking, Kite. Everything is fine.”
The red-haired man frowned, his gaze rolling to me. The veins in his eyes looked like fresh blood. “Yeah. Everything is fine,” he murmured.
Jacob's face reflected a fraction of the sorrow in his friend's. Low in my chest, the pain of their emotions was cutting at me. I was attached to them solidly. Empathy for killers, who would have guessed.
Burning with my need to see them smile, I walked until I was standing by Kite. “What would make you feel better?” I asked.
“Nothing. I'm fine,” he said, finishing his drink in one swish.
“That's not convincing.” Folding my arms, I sighed. “Kite, let me at least try make you feel better. I can't handle you looking so beaten down.” Without knowing why, I added mentally.