The larger of Heino’s men had followed them in, and now clicked the door closed. The cramped office was lit only by a single dim dangling bulb illuminating everything in a subdued glow. Stacks of boxes labelled with ambiguous codes surrounded a weathered mahogany desk cluttered with ledgers. Was this a regular meeting spot for Richter?
Cinn exchanged a quick glance with Elliot, who, despite his bravado earlier, seemed slightly rattled as they awaited Richter’s greeting.
Richter didn’t smile, didn’t nod, only leaned back in his leather chair, fingers plucking a cigar from a metal box on the desk, whilst maintaining complete eye contact with Cinn.
Cinn swallowed, but met his gaze unwaveringly.Don’t give them an inch, Cinn.It was Tyler’s mantra that had got him through that year in prison and some of the hard times after. And now he was here to save his best friend, hopefully for the last time.
With a flick of his gold-plated lighter, Richter brought the flame to life, casting an amber glow on his face as he took a contemplative puff, fragrant smoke curling around him.
“So,” he began, and Cinn wanted to cry in relief. “Here we are again, young Cinnamon Saunders. Our last transaction didn’t exactly unfold as anticipated, did it? A stumble in the dance of business, my friend.”
Cinn remained silent. Elliot, almost imperceptibly, moved closer to him.
“I didn’t get my funds, and two of my finest associates met an untimely end,” Richter stated cooly, his gaze piercing through the smoke-filled room.
Cinn snorted. “Ronnie and Spiky? Yourbestmen? Anyway, I got the money to you, just a few days later.”
“Yes, yes. Your diligence was certainly appreciated. But what I truly want to know.” Richter leaned forwards, eyes drilling into Cinn’s. “Is what exactly transpired that night at Rosewood Parlour? Four corpses, you tagged with murder, and then, poof!” Richter blew a plume of smoke at him. “You’re released, scot-free.”
“There was a miscommunication.” Cinn set his jaw in a hard line.
“And has this miscommunication anything to do with your fancy new friends, Cinnamon?”
Cinn stepped forward. “I’m not interested in idle chit-chat. I’ve got the money in a bag. This is the deal: we hand it over, and Tyler never works for you again. None of your dealers will sell to him, even. He goes free, has a proper chance at getting clean this time.”
Richter chuckled, a hollow, unpleasant sound. “You’re aware he’s the one pleading at my door every time, aren’t you? It’s not my fault he has the unfortunate habit of screwing up his line of credit repeatedly. I promise nothing. This is business, Cinnamon, supply and demand. There are always those that will win, and those that will lose. Loyalty is rewarded, and stupidity is punished.”
A surge of fury consumed Cinn. “Like that kid, George, who you’ve got dealing for you? How did he get those bruises on his arms? Stupidity? And that girl Sally? What about her?”
Richter’s laugh was unbearably loud. “Do you fancy yourself the saviour of every fuck-up in North London now, Cinnamon? And I thought you saved all of your hero complex for your faggot boyfriend.”
If Cinn had harboured any small doubts about their plan, they vanished like mist.
He hadn’t done much good for the world in his short life so far, but he could stop Richter from ruining any more lives.
A soft, strangled sound from Elliot, then, “You’re a real piece of shit.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” said Cinn, before Elliot decided to derail the scheme by exploding Richter’s brain. He nodded at the door. “The money’s outside. Let’s make the exchange.”
twenty-seven
Julien
Julien studied the scrawny man tied to the crate.
The one he’d just witnessed Cinn fawn over, despite being the one to endanger them all. Tyler had assumed Cinn would come to his rescue, and he had. The guy hadn’t even seemed that grateful, when Cinn wasrisking his lifefor him. When he and Elliot had dropped everything—including his dead sister’s possible reincarnation into a demon cat—to help him, a stranger to them.
Julien clenched his jaw.
They hadn’t said much to each other in the minutes since Cinn and Elliot had gone through the door. That was okay. Julien had very little to say to him.
Tyler’s tangled dark blond hair hung over a pale face that was resting on one knee. He lifted his head up to say, “You’re the one that wired over that money.”
Is that… supposed to be a thank you?
Play the game, Julien, play the game.
Julien smiled.“Oui.”
