After another meeting with Vincent where he threatened more than last time, and a meet up with Orville that got me nowhere, I realized I was on my own. And after a simple internet search ofhow do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found?came up with a few names, I realized that I’m a fucking idiot and I’ve been doing this all wrong.
Relying on others, on those close to me who aren’t being paid, is dumb.
Money talks. Money gets shit done. I know this, and yet… I don’t know what happened.
So now I’m sitting in the dark corner of a coffee shop three towns over, waiting for Harvey St. Aubyn.
The coffee is expensive and tastes like water, but I sip it as the time passes because there’s nothing else to do.
He’s seven minutes late, and if he isn’t here in three, I’m going to leave and report the transaction so I get my money back.
When we spoke on the phone earlier, he said he had information for me and it was imperative that we meet. He sounded nervous, so I took him seriously.
I’m literally pushing up from my seat to leave when he rushes in, hat pulled down over his head, collar pulled up. He looks up once before bee-lining it toward me, and dropping into the chair across from me.
“You’re late.”
“On purpose.”
“Why?”
He clears his throat as he scoots his chair in, resting his hands on the table. I can hardly see his face.
“Your mother is caught up with a very dangerous family.”
“My family is the dangerous family,” I say in a bored tone.
“No,” he says firmly. “This family is worse.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Have you heard of the Marcellos?”
“The who?” I hiss.
He exhales, then explains, “They’ve been running the West Coast under different fronts for decades. Drugs. Arms. Debt collection that ends with people disappearing. So bad even the FBI won’t mess with them.”
I raise a brow, feeling like he’s being dramatic. He keeps going.
“Your mother didn’t just cross paths with them—she’sinwith them.”
“In?”
“Yes,” he says quietly, looking around. “And if they know I’m digging into them, I won’t be breathing for much longer. I’m sorry, but I’m done.”
“Whoa, hold on,” I say as he jerks up to his feet.
“I’m sorry, no.” He shakes his head firmly as he walks away. He stops, turns around, and quickly walks back to me. “Fionn Fitzpatrick.”
“Who the fuck is that?” I ask louder than I should, as he rushes toward the door.
The woman behind the counter is watching me with a sour look, and I’m grateful there’s no one else in here. I pick up my coffee and drop it into the trash by the pastry case.
“Your coffee tastes like shit,” I say as I walk out.
The rain is coming down hard as I make my way to my car. I sit for a minute, waiting for it to heat up before I turn it on and head home.
I thought I had the answer to my problem, but as usual, I was fucking wrong.
