Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, referenced rape/non-con, and major character death.
Matthew woke up bright and early, right as the sun began to crest the horizon. Elibe's usual drizzle threatened to set in at any moment, from the smell of the air, cleaner than the usual smoky haze. He hoped it wouldn't begin to pour before he managed to check out Harken's place, but the sky had already darkened to a miserable grey.
He slid out of bed, rubbing at his eyes. 6:00 was far too early for his liking, but crime didn't sleep, or, at least, he hadn't in the last few days. Leila likely hadn't, either. Matthew toyed with the idea of picking her up from the rec room. Maybe whatever information they found would be enough to raise her up to a real Fang member, too, and save her from the purple bruises and raw scratches that she didn't deserve. Maybe she would get a nickname, too, something fierce and beautiful.
He absently dressed, pulling on jeans and a rugby shirt, and he headed into the kitchen.
"You're up early," Guy said as he munched on a scone.
"I'm picking up Raven," he lied. "Yesterday he asked me specially to get him. Pain in the arse, I know, but..."
Guy stared at him for a moment, before he smiled.
"Yeah, that'd do it. Got to be the best cabbie in all of Elibe, right?"
"You got it. Speaking of, what are you doing up this early?"
"I...I have work," he replied, stumbling over his words.
"At six? Blimey, Guy, that sucks," he said. He'd never known Guy to go in before eight, but then, Sacaens never lied, so it must've just been an anomaly. With all the intrigue in the past few days, with Legault's strange letter and Isadora's stranger words, there was something to be said for Guy's straightforward honesty.
"Yeah," Guy replied with a weak smile. "I'll be gone real soon."
"Right, right. I'm going to grab breakfast and probably be out there in a few, myself."
Guy nodded before he stood up, grabbed his hat, and opened the door.
"See you later," he said.
"Yeah, bye."
His flatmate stepped outside and shut the door, and in a moment, Matthew couldn't even hear his footsteps on the rickety stairs. Something was definitely going on with Guy that he wasn't talking about, but he could worry about it later. Guy would still be moping around and getting irritated tomorrow; Legault would not still be waiting around for him then. He sighed and picked up a scone off the counter.
Matthew flipped through the paper as he chewed on his meal. Commissioner Griflet took the headline for the sixth day running. They still used the same black-and-white photo of him, shoulders straight, his police uniform neatly pressed. There was something sad about it, almost, greyscale and somber. For the first time, Matthew wondered what Harken was like. Isadora believed so strongly in him, and so did Guy. He was one of the council's dogs, of course, part of the problem, but wasn't he someone's friend, someone's hero, someone's lover? Didn't he think he was doing the right thing?
Matthew shook his head. Talking to Leila had muddled his brain up too much. He needed to stop questioning and just do what he was told. With all that had gone on, though, he knew he couldn't go in unarmed. His shitty flick knife wouldn't help much against…whatever he might find.
He pulled his gun out of his sock drawer, quickly looked it over, and slid it into the pocket of his jacket. After a moment's thought, he grabbed a couple extra magazines. Matthew knew he was a poor shot, a much better thief than a killer, but all their best killers had already been gunned down, so maybe they needed a thief.
His footsteps rang out on the rusted stairs, and then he jogged towards his car. The humidity in the air made him sweat already, and he was glad to make it to the relative safety of his vehicle. As he fiddled with his tapes, he heard a dull "thud." Matthew froze. He slowly looked around, reaching for his gun, but all he saw was a dirty greyhound nosing around the trash.
"You're jumping at shadows," Matthew muttered, sliding his key into the ignition.
His earlier thoughts of Leila returned. She would want to join him, he was sure, and if the glory of finding Harken—and Jaffar's shooter—would be enough to win him his tattoo, maybe it could also win her freedom from Ephidel. Of course, if the Fang was operating correctly, she would never be in that situation. Legault's tales of Brendan Reed's leadership made all the Black Fang sound like they had been the same. No one would have been tossed as a reward to Brendan Reed or any of the others. Why, then, did everyone just accept Ephidel's right to lay hands on Leila? More than that—why did they blame and judge her for it? Why didn't Nergal step in and do anything to stop his lieutenant?
Maybe he and Legault could fix it, Matthew thought. White Wolf, Mad Dog, Blue Crow…All of the old Black Fang could do something to make it like it used to be.
He hesitated a moment at the intersection, then resolutely turned towards Bern. Harken's house could wait a few more minutes.
Jerme leaned against the alley wall that lead into the rec room parking lot, a cigarette between his fingers. He bared his rotting teeth in a terrible grin as Matthew pulled up.
"Roll down your window," he said, walking with quick jittery steps. By Matthew's eye, he looked even more rundown than he had the day before, hair greasy and flecks of blood still crusted in his clothes.
"I'd really love to," he started with a smile, "but—"
Jerme's gun flickered into his hand.
"Right, right, that works, too," he said, rolling it down halfway.
"What's your game, huh?" he demanded, pushing his face into the car.
"What do you mean? I'm here to see Leila. Owes me a couple games of cards."
"The bitch isn't here. I'm wondering why you'd show your traitor hide here and expect me not to cut you into beautiful ribbons."
"Come now, really? You know I'm doing Hurricane's work. He's got me out in Pherae, looking into the shooting."
Jerme's dark eyes narrowed.
"I don't believe you. No one's seen Hurricane since that bastard Jaffar got himself shot. Instead, you're talking to cops. Funny, huh?"
"I helped you take them out, remember? No? Well, I did. I'm good. Now, I'm going to finish Hurricane's business before he skins me alive," he said. Jerme snarled and slammed his fist on the bonnet, but Matthew hit the accelerator, knocking the other man aside and tearing out of there in a squeal of rubber. His eyes flicked to the mirror. Jerme had stumbled back to his feet, but he wasn't giving chase.
"I am so going to die," Matthew muttered as he tore through the early morning streets, nearly running over a cyclist as he merged onto Pherae's main thoroughfare. He didn't think that Jerme would ever believe him. Maybe he wouldn't ever be safe with him around.
He shivered. Jerme had never been a problem when Matthew was a petty pickpocket. It was only when he tried to outstep his bounds that this mess started.
Matthew pushed the thought out of his head. He still had to find Chief Griflet. He had ten hours left until Legault expected him. Finish the mission, then worry.
He checked the scrap of paper in his hand one more time. 261 Pale Flower Way. According to the maps in his glove compartment, it was just a few blocks from Isadora's manse. He barely needed the address to tell him which house was Harken's, though; a thin line of police tape blocked off the front door of one little home, a sooty-grey thing with a pair of windowboxes with half-dead plants. Matthew glanced around as he drove past. Most of the other buildings' windows were dark, and no one walked the streets that early. Most importantly, though, no police Warhorses occupied the road.
He drove through, and after a few minutes, doubled back, coming to park on the side of the road a few houses down. He pushed his hat down over his hair and climbed out of his cab.
Matthew hesitated at Harken's doorstep.
"All righty, then. Here we go," he said, slicing the police tape with his flick knife, picking the lock, and opening the door.
Darkness looked back at him. He slipped into the house, letting the faint beams of sunlight fall through the crack and illuminate the way. Matthew crept forward, fumbling with the lamp.
Nothing cluttered the floor or the tables. He couldn't tell if Harken was just military-clean or if the police had taken most of his possessions back to the precinct, but he could see precious little in the way of evidence. A couple pictures of Isadora on the tables, a little Pheraen flag pinned over the mantle, some souvenir knickknacks, a couple hats on the rack by the door…It looked sickeningly like a print advert for the all-Lycian family. At the very least, there weren't bullet shells and bloodstains.
He wandered into the bedroom, peering around. That, at least, looked more lived-in. Some of his laundry cluttered the floor, although Harken had neatly made his bed with hospital corners. Still, Matthew didn't see anything when he poked around the nightstand or the closet. Desperately, he checked the watercloset, finding nothing but a smattering of toiletries.
Thinking of Isadora's manse, he tried checking by the desk, back in the main room. The papers laying out had nothing more than some to-do lists or tax forms. He turned to the wastebin, pulling out pieces of paper. A half-filled lost item report, a few blurry photographs of Isadora, an ink-stained envelope, a couple receipts. Nothing important. As he went to toss them back out, he caught a glimpse of the back side of the envelope. In quick capital letters, it read, "MEET THE HURRICANE BY THE DOG TRACKS, 14:00." Matthew felt his blood chill.
He knew where Harken was.
"Freeze," someone said, and Matthew heard the gut-wrenching sound of a gun being cocked.
Pity he wouldn't live long enough to do anything about it.
"Okay, relax, I'm not moving," Matthew said. His heartbeat quickened in his chest. Did he have time to draw his own gun? No, there wasn't any cover. He wouldn't be able to hide his movements. If he'd been smart, he would've already had the weapon out. Then again, he'd gone in stupidly, his back to the outside, so preoccupied with the papers that he hadn't even heard the footsteps behind him.
"Hands up where I can see them."
Matthew obliged, but he hesitated a second. He knew that voice.
"Guy?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Don't you question me, though. Black Fang."
"…Pardon?" he asked, heart thudding erratically.
"You heard me. How could you do this to me, Matthew? All this time with me scrambling around, y'know, looking into this mess, and you were the bastard behind it the whole time," Guy replied, his voice trembling.
He circled around Matthew, his thin face scrunched into a dazed sort of frown. He didn't look like a detective or a cop even with his gun; he walked slow and fluid like a Sacaen street kid, his hat crookedly mashed over his hair, but the hands that held that weapon didn't shake.
"How'd you figure it out?"
Guy paused a moment, like he was thinking his options through.
"Leila," he said at last. "You said she was hanging out with you and your friends, but that couldn't be right. She's one of the precinct's best detectives, but she's been out on a case for a while now, and—"
"Cripes," Matthew muttered. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. All that time that he'd helped her out, treated her nicely, stood up for her, and she'd been a traitor. She'd been playing him like a fool, and he'd stupidly fallen for everything she'd said. Of course she was a cop. He thought about her quick, easy marksmanship, like she'd practiced on a firing range half her life, about the way she'd disarmed and subdued Nino in a second, about the way she'd twisted his arm and slammed him against the bonnet of his own car.
He thought about the way she'd kissed him, his cheeks flushing. She'd said she believed in him, trusted him. Matthew wanted to believe that she hadn't lied then. It hurt to think about.
"She was investigating this Fang case, last I heard, right? So I figured that if you're out there, and you're hanging out with Detective Beckett, well, that meant maybe you were involved. Then you've been coming and going at weird hours, even for you, and rifling through my stuff. I got this call from Miss Isadora about you visiting, and then you turned up on the news..."
"Wait, the news? What do you mean, I'm on the news?"
"When you and Death Kite shot those officers in Ilian. You…You killed Sain, but Florina managed to survive, despite your best efforts, and she gave a description of you two. I may not be the brightest bloke, but I can put two and two together! So I stowed away in your car, all right? And I heard you talking to that man, just a little bit ago, and…and you confessed! You killed an officer! That's just so...so...What the hell, Matthew?"
"I lied," he said, quick and clipped. "Death Kite, he's totally unhinged, you don't know what he's like. He was about to shoot me, you know, and I'm...I'm not a brave sort. I panicked. But I didn't kill anyone! You've got to believe me."
Guy paused, grinding his teeth.
"You better tell me what happened. I...I don't know if I believe you, but you better tell me everything."
"Yeah, of course. Would you mind lowering your weapon, though?"
"It's protocol," he muttered, but he nonetheless let his hands fall to his sides. He didn't holster the gun, but Matthew didn't really blame him.
"All right. It's a bit long to give the whole of it, but…I'll cut to the important bits. Yeah, I run with the Black Fang, but I've never hurt anyone, really. I'm a pickpocket, a shoplifter, just like I was in secondary school. I know, I know I told you I gave that up, and I'm really sorry, but that's it. Never even fired my gun off the range. Anyway, I got asked to find whoever it was that grabbed Harken, so that's what I've been doing all week. Poking around and asking questions, all pretty much legal. I just happened to get caught up in something way over my head—Death Kite followed me somewhere and killed that officer who was just walking by. Now I'm just trying to find your stupid police chief and get out before this gets any worse."
"It gets better here, though. I actually did it! I know where Harken is," Matthew said.
Guy's breathing visibly quickened.
"You do? Is…is he alive? Is he okay? Where is he?"
Before Matthew could answer, the door creaked open. They both spun just in time to face an ugly pistol and the grinning rotted teeth of Death Kite. His gun went off once and Guy dropped to the floor with an awful shout.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jerme hissed. "Chatting with one of your council buddies? Sad that he won't be talking much longer."
He laughed, raspy and vicious. Matthew's fingers slowly moved to his own weapon.
Stall for time, Elliot, he thought.
"Bastard," Guy cursed, clutching his leg. Quiet sobs shook him, his teeth gritted so tightly it was a wonder he didn't crack them.
Jerme grinned and chambered another round.
"You idiot. He was about to tell me—"
"Liar," Jerme cut in. He fired again, and Guy subsided with a weak moan. "Traitor."
"I told you, I'm working for Hurricane—"
"I don't give a shit about Hurricane. Him and Angel of Death and those fucking Reed brothers? Traitors and cowards and council sympathizers, corrupting the Fang, stealing glory from Sir Nergal. I heard so from Sonia herself! We're going to clean house of all you fucking idiots!"
"Now, you and I disagree there," Matthew said, wrapping his fingers around the grip of his gun. "Some would say you're just a dumb, rabid beast. Some would say you're worth nothing."
"Oh, are you going to shoot me? You, the worst coward the Fang's ever seen? You're going to shoot the Death Kite?"
He barked out another laugh.
"I could kill you before you could blink!" Jerme said.
Matthew squeezed the trigger. He fired again, and again, and again, emptying his whole clip into him. Jerme was still laughing when his body hit the ground, eyes staring blankly into space. Matthew didn't have time to worry, though; Guy still struggled with his gunshot wounds, his breath coming weakly and muffled crying shaking him.
"Guy! Hey, now, don't move. You'll be okay."
"That…that was…Death Kite, right?" he murmured. Tears streaked his cheeks and his hands clutched, white-knuckled, at his leg.
"Yeah. I…well, he's on his way to getting all stiff and cold on us. I guess I just lied about not being a killer."
The detective cracked a lopsided smile.
"That isn't lying…Ooh, damn, this really hurts."
Matthew frowned and pulled off his jacket, pressing it to Guy's side. He swore fiercely.
"C'mon, I've seen you worse than this before. Remember when Batta ground your face into the asphalt? You bounced right back from that."
"I dunno if I'll make it through this one," he replied, and Matthew froze. "Maybe not...got me in the knee and up here."
"I'm going to call for help. Just...stay where you are."
"Like I could move!" Guy yelped, but he clutched his chest and any further words were cut off by coughing.
Matthew grabbed Harken's phone and hesitated. He knew that, as soon as he mentioned gunshots or Death Kite, the police would come alongside the clerics. If Guy had been able to put two and two together, any of the police could. Couple that with his illegal firearm and Jerme's body bleeding all over the carpet, and...
He turned the dial and picked up the phone.
"This is Lycia Emergency Center. State your business.."
"There's no time! A detective just got shot by Death Kite. He's not doing well. We're at 261 Pale Flower Way, Pharae. Hurry!"
He hung up before they could say anything else, heading back to Guy.
"The clerics'll be here in a few, and they'll patch you back up. You'll be fine."
"You really didn't lie...huh? Pretty decent for a Black Fang," he said with a weak smile.
"A lot of us were," he said. "Revolutionaries like White Wolf, instead of all these thugs like Death Kite. The Fang is ruined, though. Bastards like Ephidel, beating the shit out of Leila...I'd kill him, too."
Guy nodded, but he didn't speak. He clutched at his knee, grimacing. To Matthew's eyes, it was a bloody mess, bone shattered and splintered. He would be amazed if Guy would be able to walk properly ever again. The hole in his chest looked less painful, slipping between his ribs and out his back. It would account for Guy's weak breathing, but not his nearly incoherent moans of pain.
His eyes slid shut, and Matthew shook his shoulder.
"Ow, hey!"
"Don't you go to sleep," he said. "That's how people die."
Guy coughed.
"Can't...help it," he muttered. "I'm dizzy."
"All right, then. I guess you don't want to hear about Harken."
Guy scowled, and he muttered something in Sacaen.
"I'll start by saying that I have no bloody idea why this is happening. But all I can figure is that Legault got it into his head to stage the dumbest kidnapping ever."
"Huh? Legault?"
"Yeah, the bloke with the scars across his face, the one you met down at the pub with me that one time. He's a traitor, maybe. Cripes, I guess I am now, too, except I just tried to save your and my lives, and Legault's just crazy. He gunned down Angel of Death, though I can't figure out why, then snatched Harken and brought him somewhere. Harken took notes, though, and left one right before he got kidnapped. 'Meet the Hurricane by the dog tracks, 14:00.' Hurricane is Legault's name in the Fang, you see? But the police don't know that. So if Harken did, well, it means Legault told him—he probably couldn't use his real name, since Isadora knew it. So—"
"Isadora's involved?"
"...Well, maybe. I haven't quite worked that out yet. I don't think she knows what's going on, though. She's too frantic about Harken to be lying. But she hasn't seen Legault in a week, and neither has anyone else. Either something went wrong in this stupid plan of his, or he's holed up in his apartment, waiting for me to..."
He trailed off. Waiting for what? For Matthew to catch him in the act? What would the point of that be? Furthermore, Legault was the one that told him about the kidnapping to begin with. If he didn't want anyone poking into things, he'd sure picked a rotten way to go about it.
"To what?" Guy wheezed.
"...Beats the hell out of me. That's as far as I got."
"Give him...hell, then."
The door swung open, and Matthew's head snapped up. For the third time that day, he found himself facing down the barrel of a gun.
"Head Detective Tialys," Guy said, lifting his hand in a half salute before passing out cold.
"Freeze," the man said, and Matthew was all too happy to oblige. The detective's no-nonsense crew cut and neatly-ironed uniform brooked no room for trouble. The badge at his lapel, emblazoned with the Lycian lion, said 'Kent Tialys' in bold letters. A thickset bald officer and a freckled young cop flanked him.
"Drop the gun and back away from Mr. Kitsai," he continued.
Matthew slowly stood up, hands out where they could see them, and shuffled away from his friend. The big officer made a beeline for Death Kite's corpse, snapping on a pair of gloves and peeling back his bloody clothing. A pair of clerics hurried in at Kent's word and begin to bandage up Guy.
"Who are you?" Kent asked.
"I'm Matthew...uh, Guy's flatmate. I'm a cabbie."
"So you're Matthew," he murmured. "You're under arrest."
"Hey, what? You've got it all wrong. I wasn't the one who shot Guy. That would be Death Kite."
"You're under arrest for Black Fang involvement and suspicion in the murder of Officer Sain Bertilek," Kent replied, unable to wholly keep his voice level at the end.
"Oh," Matthew said simply, fear spiking through him. "Am I going to jail?"
The bald officer snorted.
"Questioning, for you, but it's up to the detective on the case if you're getting locked up."
Matthew's eyes flickered to Kent.
"Gwahahaha! Tialys here isn't running this one! No, this one's Beckett's."
His breath caught for a second, but he didn't say anything. Guy had already told him about Leila. And, really, was she any more a traitor than he himself? Matthew had killed Death Kite and consorted with the police. He was working for Legault, who might be a traitor, but Leila went into the Fang with the intent to betray them. The whole idea hurt his head. Who the hell was he even supposed to trust anymore?
He shook his head and put on his best smile.
"All right. I'll cooperate as much as I'm able to."
"Lowen, take him back to the patrol car. Put him in cuffs," Kent said.
"Hey, no need! I said I'd come easy!"
"Just give him to Beckett," the bald man said.
The other officer clapped an iron hand on his shoulder and urged him forward. Matthew glanced back once more at Guy's unconscious form, wished him luck, and walked out the door. Lowen, to his credit, didn't unduly push him around or rough him up. He did keep a good grip on Matthew, but he would be a fool not to. Matthew didn't intend on trying to make a break for it yet, anyway. Harken's house was swarming with council cops, and if he tried to cut and run, he'd probably have a dozen bullets in him before he made it ten yards.
Lowen opened the car's back door and gestured inside. Matthew slid in, then the officer shut the door and locked it. Leila turned and stared at him through the grate separating the back seats from the front. For a moment, her face betrayed nothing of her thoughts.
Matthew forced a grin.
"Funny seeing you here," he said.
"I could say the same," she replied. She didn't seem happy to see him, or glad that she'd tricked him into buying her ruse. Her face was still drawn and haggard, bruises and scratches poking over the collar of her shirt, shadows under her eyes. She didn't look much better than she had in the parking lot the day before.
"So, you're really a cop? Best detective on the force, I hear. You must be pretty pleased with yourself."
Leila sighed.
"Don't do this. You're not going to accomplish anything. I don't feel guilt for what I am or what I did, so don't waste your time."
"You misunderstand me. Remember, my flatmate's a detective, or at least he fancies himself to be one. That's not important, though. I just want to know if you meant that whole spiel in the parking lot, the part about trusting me, and…"
He trailed off, feeling too foolish to continue. If he brought up their kiss, he'd only sound like a bad romance actor, or a teenager with a crush. Instead, he shrugged, leaving it up to Leila to bring up what she wanted to.
"I should be the one asking the questions," she said, cheeks flushing. "What the hell happened in there?"
"You already know pretty much everything I can tell you. I had no reason to lie to you every other time I've talked about this."
"So, you have reason to lie now?" she asked.
"Reason, sure. But will I? I guess you can decide that for yourself. Do you trust me?"
Leila couldn't quite keep herself from laughing.
"Slippery as always, Matthew. For what it's worth, though, yes. I do. I know you didn't kill Sain, or anyone else. You're really just trying to do the same thing I am and save this city."
He shifted awkwardly.
"I'm not exactly clean-handed anymore. I ran into Death Kite. He tried to murder Guy and me, and, well, I killed him. That's the gist of what happened in there," Matthew said.
"I can't believe it. There's been a bounty on him for over a year, and you're the one who finally brought him down? Another Fang member?"
"I don't regret it. I'd do the same to Ephidel if I had the chance," he replied fiercely.
Leila fell quiet for a moment.
"…The police aren't supposed to kill, but he sorely tempts me," she confessed. "I didn't know what he would do when I volunteered to go undercover in the Black Fang. I never would have if I'd known. It just…"
She gritted her teeth and pressed her forehead against the grate.
"It makes me so mad. Wallace hugged me when I came back and I actually felt myself panicking a little. It's…I can touch people just fine, but as soon as a man goes to touch me? I feel so…pathetic."
Matthew wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he realized that her words applied to him, too, and there was a grate between them besides.
"I wouldn't have joined the Black Fang if I'd known what would happen to you," he settled. "That isn't what we've stood for. We were supposed to be a family, revolutionaries…"
"Does that mean you quit?" she asked, surprised.
"Maybe. Yes. I don't know," he replied. "I know there are some people who disagree with Nergal and Ephidel and the lot. They're good people, they're my friends. The Reeds, Igor, Blue Crow…Soaring Hawk, too. I trust them. I know they're still hanging on to the old Fang. The others, though? I can't very well say they're my mates anymore, no. If they think they're helping out this city, they're fucking deluding themselves. The Fang's been compromised. Hell, so have I."
Leila arched a delicate eyebrow.
"Ah, well. Nothing to it," he said, cutting off his own musings.
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing. Though there was something else important I forgot to mention, though. I may have just found your missing police chief."
She jerked back, eyes widening for a second, before she leaned in closer.
"What? Where is he?"
"You're going to kill me for this, but I can't quite say. If you blokes go in, guns blazing, shouting for an arrest, he'll disappear and you'll be left with empty hands. It's got to be me."
Her eyebrows lowered, and she stared intently at a spot next to Matthew's head. He was surprised the seat didn't burst into flames from the intensity of that stare. He could see her jaw working, as if she was chewing the inside of her cheek.
"I can't," she said at last. "They would have my badge so quickly your head would spin."
"Together, then! You're still in plainclothes—want to go undercover one more time?"
A thin line of worry appeared between Leila's brows. She stayed silent another minute before nodding.
"…All right. Tell me where we're going."
"171 Fifth Street, Candler, Ilia. We're going to see the Hurricane."
Leila hesitated, hand hovering over the stick shift.
"The cleaner?"
"Cripes, Leila, this isn't a trap. He did it. Legault's got Harken and left us holding the snipe bag. He's as much of a turncoat as us."
She nodded and put her foot to the pedal.
Matthew sat quietly, his thoughts chasing each other round and round. What was he going to find at Legault's place? Harken's body, stuffed in the coat closet? Legault, bleeding out on the floor and Harken nowhere to be seen? He still hadn't figured out the why. Why would Legault hatch such a foolish plan? Why would he ask Matthew to look into it? Would Legault attack them? Attack Leila? A week ago, Matthew would have laughed at the idea, but then, a week ago, Matthew would have stupidly stood in place and done anything the Fang asked of him.
"We're here," Leila said. She left the car and circled around to unlock his door. To her credit, her voice didn't shake, and her gaze was warlike and determined. Matthew grinned and came to stand beside her.
"Great. Let me do the talking."
She followed him as he walked up the stairs to the flat. She still walked a little stiffly, and it sent anger needling through him. Good. He would need that anger.
He slammed his fist on the door.
"Legault!"
Matthew waited a minute, two, and knocked again.
"I'm not in the mood for your jokes. Get out here!"
"Move over," said Leila, and then she kicked the door once, twice, and then the hinge gave out and it limply swung open.
For the fourth time that day, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun…an old, tarnished revolver, like the one he'd seen in the magazine at Murphy and Huey's.
"...Hey, Legault," he said.