“Bad boys, sure,” he said. “Actual psychopaths, not so much. If I was into that, I could have stayed in LA, locked up in someone’s basement.”
“I thought you didn’t work with amateurs.”
“No spree killers or serial killers,” Grade corrected him. “As long as they do it for money, it’s not my business if they enjoy it.”
Clay snorted and pulled a bottle of water out of his pocket. He tossed it over the table. Grade caught it out of the air, the plastic slippery and cold in his hands, before it landed on his plate.
“If I tell you that you’re right,” Clay asked, “will you shut up?”
Grade twisted the cap off the water and thought about that for a second. He finally shrugged and took a long drink.
“I mean, sure.” He set the bottle back down and wiped his hands on his thighs. “Not for long, but for a while.”
Clay leaned over the table and took Grade’s chin in his hand. If Grade had meant to go back on their deal, that was out the window. His thoughts scattered at the scrape of callused skin along his jaw, his throat too dry and sticky to get any words he did come up with out over his tongue.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Clay said.
Grade blinked and cleared his throat. A couple of times.
“I don’t think that counts,” he said.
“It’s close enough,” Clay said. Then he let go of Grade’s face and stole a pickle off his plate. He crunched on it as he slouched back onto his side of the table. “And it doesn’t matter. If we can’t satisfy our, ah, amateur associate that their fat is well removed from the fire? She’s going to go to Fisher and ask him to tidy up loose ends, and you don’t want to be on Fisher’s radar.”
There was something about the way Clay said that last part that made Grade give him a curious look. It felt like it used to at school, when the teachers had been talking about him behind his back. Except he didn’t think that this was about mandatory sessions with the school counselor.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Grade said, to see Clay’s reaction. “He might throw a few more jobs my way.”
That would be a mixed blessing. Grade would take the money, but working for someone like Fisher could be restrictive. It was easy to go from “useful” to “knows too much” with just one job in an organization. Then even if they didn’t get rid of him, well, Lexington was better than Sweeny, but he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life there.
Clay thought about that for a second, then scratched his jaw. His nails scraped over a couple of days’ worth of stubble.
“That’s one outcome,” he said. “Except I don’t think you’d be able to deliver what Fisher wants from you.”
“Why not?”
A smile twitched over Clay’s mouth, and he shook his head. “Need to know,” he said. “Just trust me and keep your head down. I’ll handle Fisher, and you tell me that you did a bulletproof job and covered our associate’s ass.”
Grade spread greasy hands and then grabbed a napkin to wipe them. “I can’t do that,” he said. “I told you that, and that was before we found out that one of them was a district attorney.”
“She was fired.”
“Yeah, because of a scandal,” Grade said. “That’s pre-loaded interest in the case from the press, from the cops, from the DA’s office. It could play out in our favor—if someone decides it would be better to get that swept back under the rug—or not. I can’t predict that. The best I can do is tell your associate to keep her nerve and don’t do anything to draw attention to herself.”
Clay picked up his burger.
“It turns out she wants to retrieve the things you took from the house,” he said and then took a bite. He added, through the mouthful of food, “Apparently, she thinks you’ll get caught with your hand in the stolen cookie jar and turn her in.”
Grade pushed the plate away from him. “She can fuck off,” he said. “I’m not going to put my neck on the line like that.”
“But you could?” Clay asked. He pushed the plate back over to Grade. “You still have it?”
Grade picked off a chunk of turkey from the burger and shredded it absently as he considered that question. He finally gave in and nodded.
“I could get it,” he admitted. “But I’m not going to. I don’t expect much from the local deputies, but I’m not going to hand them evidence either. Just in case.”
“You don’t have to,” Clay said. “Just don’t get rid of it. Not yet. If our friendly neighborhood judge is really that intent on the idea you’ll flog an heirloom nipple piercing and get caught, we can tell her we’ll find a way to get rid of it all once the heat has died down.”
Grade didn’t like it. Placate a nervous client once, and they’d just wait until that hit wore off and be back for more. There were only so many compromises that could be made without undermining the job that was already signed off on.
