“Okay,” he said. “What?”
“Well, I’m sorry to cut it short,” El said. “But I need you to come in. One of our legacy clients. How much have you drank?”
“A beer.” Cal nudged his chair back from the table. “Where do you need me?”
“Hold on.”
There was a beep as El shifted to the other line. While he dealt with the client, Cal glanced over the table at Doc.
“Sorry, I gotta go and make nice with a client,” he said as he stood up. “Can’t be helped.”
Doc frowned. “A limo emergency?” he said skeptically.
Cal plucked his leather jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged it on. The leather settled over his shoulders likean old friend. “Yeah, if I wanted to leave, I’d not bother with an excuse.”
“Well,” Doc said reluctantly as he stood up. He blinked nervously behind his glasses. “Maybe another time.”
“Sure,” Cal said. “Call me.”
He tucked the phone back against his ear as he wove his way through the clutter of small overpopulated tables. The door jingled as he nudged it open and stepped out into the chillyevening air. His breath smoked as he headed down the road to where he parked his bike.
“Renaissance at St. Pancras,” El’s voice broke the silence on the phone. “Don’t be a dick. Do your job. Make an effort.”
He hung up before Cal could growl at him. Cal clenched his fist around the phone until it bit into his fingers and then shoved it into his pocket. This was what he’d asked for—a chance toclean up his act, even if it did mean that his brother constantly reminded him to get to it.
With that in mind, Cal supposed he should have learned what Doc’s name was. Too late now.
RAY WASalready at the hotel when Cal got there, parked on the gray swoop of drive outside the gothic fairy-tale castle of the Renaissance. The doorman on duty watched suspiciously from under his bowler asthe squat middle-aged man in the expensive suit handed over a folder on the client—Cal didn’t know why El bothered; he knew Cal would never read them—and keys to the Bentley in exchange for Cal’s bike.
“El said he was legacy,” Cal said as he tugged his helmet off and tossed it to Ray. “You know him?”
Ray shrugged as he slung a leg over the bike. “El just said to keep him happy,” he said. “Don’tthink he’s been around since the old man’s time.”
Evade Inc. had been their grandad’s business. Not that it had a name back then—it had been a rotation of cars far too fancy to be parked outside their council house and pocket money for El and Cal if they detailed the smell of cigar, whiskey, and sometimes blood out of the leather. Grandad wasn’t a crook. He was an incurious man with a lead footand two kids to feed after his son was sent to jail.
“Coulda been anything,” he’d told Cal once after Cal found a tooth in the boot. “Some novelty shite. Bastard didn’t eat enough fruit. I don’t know, because I didn’t see anything.”
He’d flicked the tooth into the drain and then cuffed Cal around the back of the head. “Neither did you.”
After Grandad died, El had taken the company legit. Theyhad a website. Invoices. The back seat still reeked after a job, but it was weed and champagne instead of fear and the occasional puddle of piss.
Well, usually.
They still owed the old guard, though. Or the old bastards thought they did, and that was basically the same thing. Most of them were out of the business now, retired to Spain, full of complaints about gangs, Russians, and kids withno fucking respect. But they liked to be squired around in style when they came home.
“Oh,” Ray added as he thumped the helmet down over his ears. He stretched over and gave the corner of Cal’s collar a sharp tug. “El said to keep the tie on. Make a good impression.”
He revved the bike and pulled off before Cal could give him a message to take back to El. Probably for the best.
“Fucker,” Calmuttered under his breath.
He fished the crumpled tie out of his pocket and strung it around his neck as he headed into the hotel. Inside, it was all gentle music, glass ceilings, and artfully scattered leather chairs. A few people had wandered out of the bar to sit and chat in the lobby over glasses of wine and expensively crossed legs. Their pointed relaxation contrasted to the nervous businessmanhunched over his tablet in a corner as he pecked out a presentation. The watery whiskey on the table at his elbow had obviously had a few refills.
Behind reception one of the clerks popped up like a meerkat to give him a dubious look. Life wasn’t as simple as it had been in his grandad’s day. Back then a guy who looked like Cal, from the close-cropped head to the neck tattoo, could be assumednot to belong in a nice place like this. Now she had her suspicions, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Can I help you, sir?” She hedged her bets. “Do you need a room?”
Cal gave her his best bad-boy grin as he walked over to the polished wooden counter and leaned on it. It didn’t soothe her suspicions any, but it did make her cheeks go pinker under the blush.
