Before the man could even knock, the door creaked open. A strong, pale, masculine face appeared in the crack. It looked drawn, as though he hadn't slept in days, fueled by coffee, but still strong and determined.
Almost psychotically determined.
"What do you want?" growled the man in the door. His eyes shot from side to side, as though trying to see if there were other people on his tiny stoop.
"Are you Jeremy Tunnock?" the man asked, unfazed by the crazy look in his subject's eyes. After a long pause, the face in the door nodded, and the eyes settled on the man, examining him up and down. The man tipped his hat, trying to hide a sardonic smile. Guys like Jeremy were suckers for signs of respect.
"My name is Silas, and I know where your wife is," the man said simply, flatly. The face in the door shifted; the eyes grew wide, the chin trembled a bit before setting in a firm grimace, the sunken-looking cheeks puffed out slightly, turned reddish.
"Where is she?" Jeremy demanded, his voice rough as sandpaper.
"I rather think we have some things to discuss," Silas said, taking a step closer. Jeremy, in turn, stepped back slightly, but made quick work of opening the door all the way. He stepped to the side to let Silas pass and stuck his head out, looking both ways, before closing the door once more.
The living area was as cute as the outside, but seemed dark and dim. None of the lights were on, and the curtains were drawn. Throw pillows, tea cozies, framed photographs. Evidence of a happy wife, happy home. Trust not too much appearances, Silas thought.
"How do you know where my wife is? Who are you?" Jeremy demanded, arms crossed, boring holes into the back of Silas' head as he turned around in the living room, taking note of all the little details. When he was satisfied about committing the important things in the room to memory, he finally met Jeremy's gaze, the benign smile on his lips a stark contrast to Jeremy's deadly scowl.
"I'm a man who finds things, does things, for other people, when they can't do it themselves. And I happened upon your lovely little Gabriella on a job. I thought you might be interested in her whereabouts, and what exactly she's been up to there," Silas said patiently. "Shall we discuss this over a drink? Like gentlemen?"
"Just tell me where she is," Jeremy demanded, his voice so cop-like it almost made Silas laugh. Authority hadn't scared Silas since he was still eating cereal with a Kermit the Frog spoon. As he'd expected, Jeremy was the type to throw all his punches at the first bell. If Silas didn't manage to get this guy to understand exactly who was in charge of the situation, he'd likely pull out his Colorado PD-issued gun, and then Silas would have to wrestle it from him and shoot the poor sap. Silas didn't want anything as messy as all that.
"Well now, I don't blame you for being impatient, but I really think we ought to try and discuss this in a civilized manner. I'm willing to tell you everything I know – for a small sum, which we can work out over a nice cold beer," Silas said, clasping his hands around his back and standing up tall and straight. He felt a thrill as Jeremy automatically mimicked his actions, straightening his spine and dropping his arms, clasping them in front of his waist. But Jeremy didn't verbally respond to the offer, and after a long pause Silas decided he would need to crank the engine a bit.
"I can't say I pegged you as a teetotaler, but no matter. It doesn't have to be a beer. A nice cold lemonade would … "
"Shut up," Jeremy snapped, losing the cool he was trying very hard to maintain. Men with quick tempers hated nothing more than when their anger was met with placidity. It made them feel foolish. "I don't negotiate with … with … with whatever you are."
"There's a first time for everything, my good man. But, if you want, I'll leave right now and leave you to your own devices. Best of luck to you, friend, in finding your precious wife," Silas said, unclasping his hands and heading to the door.
"Wait," Jeremy said, his voice cutting through the room quickly, as though the idea of Silas leaving without giving up the goods incited panic in his heart. Or, more likely, his dignity, Silas thought, smiling as he paused with his hand on the doorknob.
"Whiskey," Jeremy said, sounding deflated, which was exactly how Silas wanted him to sound. "On the rocks or neat?"
"Neat, if you would be so kind," Silas said, turning back to face his newest client.
Part III
18
Silas looked over. Pale, red-haired, lanky Jeremy sat white-knuckling the door handle with one hand, his other hand clenched in a fist. He'd been sitting just like that since they'd left Summit County. He looked ready to do some serious business: a total overhaul of his wife's pretty face.
Silas smiled. He felt a sort of wicked pity for men like Jeremy, middle-school bullies who grew up to be twenty-something bullies, who would just turn into middle-aged bullies, until their train came into the station at a nursing home, all alone, bullying the nurses who had the unfortunate job of giving them sponge baths and wiping the shit from their asses.
Jeremy would experience a few blissful minutes of blind rage while he was unloading onto his wife, then he'd feel as empty and angry and unsatisfied and small as always. Guys like him were a dime a dozen; Silas had come across many an incarnation of Jeremy in his line of work. A few women, too. People who needed Silas' skills to find their favorite punching bag, or who wanted to be tough but were too damn stupid and weak to get the job done themselves.
After Silas had managed to calm Jeremy down over two glasses of whiskey, the cop had started in with the bullish questions. Silas had answered them as vaguely as he could, which was very vague, indeed.
Who was he? Just a man with a knack for finding people.
What was he doing at Jeremy's house? Well, they'd already gone over that, hadn't they?
How did Silas know about Gabriella? He'd come across her on a separate job and wanted to save Jeremy the trouble of finding her himself.
How had he found out where Jeremy lived? A knack for finding people meant finding any people. Even cops. Even people who didn't know they were being looked for.
When it finally came down to talk business, Jeremy had been cagey, suspicious. Hell, he was still cagey and suspicious. But who cared? At the end of the day, he'd taken the deal Silas had laid on the table. A hefty sum, for sure, just to track down a wife who'd had some good reasons for leaving in the first place.
What had really sealed the deal, though, when Jeremy had been on the fence, his face wavering from pure desire to find Gabriella and frustration at needing Silas' help in the first place, was Silas' admission that Gabriella wasn't just hiding from Jeremy; she was recruiting for his replacement. A hint at what she'd been up to in the few days she'd been gone had been enough to push humpty-dumpty off the wall.
And all the king's men wouldn't keep Jeremy from emptying his bank account to get his hands on the man who'd been plowing his wife. Making her smile. Putting some life into those sad, dead eyes of hers. Kissing away all the cuts and scrapes Jeremy had left on her little heart. Doing for her what Jeremy could never do in a million years, even if he'd wanted to. Which, maybe, he did.
Silas had a lot of time to think on the ride, since Jeremy wasn't much for talking. He was thinking about what made the cop tick. Maybe, just maybe, the poor kid was in such sorry shape because he wanted Gabriella to love him – but didn't know how to make her. That almost – emphasis on the almost – made him sorry for the sack of shit. Whatever.
Silas didn't feel bad for Jeremy, not really. Just like he didn't feel bad for the girl they were on the road to catch. He didn't feel bad for anyone, except for himself when things weren't going his way. Which, fortunately, was a rare happening. For example, the way he was playing it now, he was going to be able to get whatever he wanted for a few years to come.
His thoughts drifted away from Jeremy and returned to his new favorite hobby: counting up the amount of money he'd be driving away with in a few days. And where he'd go with it. And what he'd do. Maybe buy himself a nice little thing to entertain for the night, take her to some fancy dinner, then give her his special brand of tough love in a five-star hotel.
Maybe he'd skip the girl and go straight for the border by way of the Florida Keys, hop on a ship to Turks and Caicos and get properly toasted on primo Caribbean hash and rum on the rocks. He smiled, forgetting all about the man fuming beside him. Silas never indulged until he finished the job at hand; he'd go months without a drop of alcohol (unless the job called for it, as this one had), a toke, a snort of white lightning, a warm pussy on his lap, or any other indulgence.