He let himself through the battered old door behind the bar and creaked his way up the back stairs to Van’s office. His weight on the steps squeezed thestink of stale booze and old blood out of the carpet and soured the air. He stopped on the landing. There was no door, so he rapped his knuckles on the old wallpaper instead.
It wasn’t much of an office. A leather sofa and a wide-screen TV took up most of the space, with a scarred old Formica table stuck in the corner of the room to do double duty as a desk. The desk was covered with paperwork,and Van was slouched out on the sofa as he watchedEastEnders.He looked up at the knock and mugged surprise, as though he hadn’t expected anyone.
“Caught me slacking,” he joked as he swung his bare feet off the cushions and stood up. Honey-brown hair, gray smudged back from his temples, stuck up messily behind his ears, and his shirt was wrinkled. He spread his arms out wide and grinned. “Cal.Damn, I’ve missed you, man.”
There’d been a time….
Cal ignored the “bring it in” spread arms and instead leaned against the raw plaster where the doorframe used to be. He studied Van and waited for the old twinge, the “hell, maybe” that you couldn’t quite beat to death with a rock.
Unlike the rest of the old gang, Van hadn’t grown up around there. He was a rich kid with the sort of bad habitsyou can’t indulge on a part-time basis. For a while, when they’d been stupid kids, one of those habits had been Cal. He hadn’t been Cal’s first time or his first love, but it had been the first time he’d played the bit of rough to scandalize the parents.
It hadn’t lasted, and that had been mostly down to Van. They’d stayed friends, but that had been mostly down to Cal. Not that he picked thatup until it was too late. It turned out a year in jail was a good tool to kill the maybes.
“I need a favor,” Cal said.
Van dropped his arms and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. He hung on to the smile.
“From me?” he said. “Now see, I heard you turned over a new leaf. At least that’s what your brother said. Apparently you didn’t need the likes of me dragging you down. I shouldput that on my Christmas cards this year, give my parents a giggle.”
“They taking your calls again, after you stole your sister’s wedding fund?”
The quick flash of anger painted red over Van’s cheekbones. He liked to play the gangster, not the strung-out junkie who’d steal from his own family. The truth was somewhere in the middle, but it was still an easy hook to catch him on.
“Like your parentswant to hear from you,” he said.
“Yeah,” Cal admitted as he held the beer out. “But that doesn’t bother me.”
The chilled bottle dangled from his fingers. After a second, Van faked a laugh and took it from him. He used one of his rings as a makeshift bottle opener to pop the cap off the beer, and froth spilled over his fingers.
“What do you want?” he asked as he licked his fingers clean.
Calglanced away and scratched his jaw. Over it didn’t mean entirely past it, apparently. Old memories poked at him until his cock twitched. It had beenfunwith Van. Everything had back then… until it had all gone wrong.
“I need to find a kid,” he said.
“Yours?” Van asked. He sat back down on the sofa and slung his arms over the back of the couch. The base of the bottle tapped against the cushionand left a wet stain on the leather. “Prison changed you, man.”
Cal reached into his pocket and pulled out the flick knife the kid had dropped before he ran. The flash of metal between his fingers made Van stiffen with sudden wariness. He shifted his weight and licked his lips.
“Now, Cal,” he said. “Let’s not—”
“Grow up,” Cal said as he tossed the knife to Van, who snatched it out of the airwith one hand. “Some little thug tried to jump one of El’s clients at the city graveyard yesterday. Tried to stab me when I jumped in. He’s about five eight, wears a Slipknot hoodie and a skull bandana, and there’s a good chance I broke his wrist. That’s the knife.”
Van took a swig of beer and then put the bottle down by his feet so he could turn the knife over in his hand. He hooked his fingerinto the hole and tugged the blade out. It was hardly an antique, handed down from father to son, but it was a nice bit of kit. The blade was short and curved, with the logo etched into the blade, and the handle had been roughly etched with symbols and latticework—better than the knock-off ninja shit that most kids started out with. Someone would have envied it.
“What makes you think I’ll findhim?” he said.
A slow, humorless smile curled Cal’s lips. His mouth was so dry he could feel his lips stick to his teeth. “Everyone has a mate that’ll sell them out,” he said. “Once word gets out you’re looking, someone will dob him in.”
Van stood up and prowled over to Cal. He stretched up as he did so, to prove the half inch in height he’d always claimed to have on Cal. His smile was pointedand challenging as he poked the point of the knife against Cal’s collarbone. The scrape of it was cold as it scratched at the skin as though it were looking for an itch.
“Naw,” he said. “I meant why would I fucking bother? What’s in it for me, now you’re Mr. Right Side of the Law?”
Cal grabbed Van’s wrist and pulled it to the side. “You owe me.”
“Your brother broke my nose when he came round,”Van spat. He relaxed his fingers under Cal’s grip and let the knife drop to the ground. “I let it go. When you got out, I stayed away. I could have talked you round. I always could, but I didn’t. So anything I owe you, I figure I paid off.”
He wasn’t wrong. If he’d come round with a good idea for a heist and a bottle of Jack to plot it over…. Well, it wasn’t as though Cal was good at being anupstanding citizen. His first instinct was always to take what he wanted and make himself scarce before anyone could complain.
