Page 140 of Slack Tide Kill

"No threat," Liam said, circling casually toward the generator. "Just a fact. I've seen it happen. All this water coming down, it's conductive. That generator fries a little, say your tarp blows off and the rain gets right in, it won't be the storm taking you down. It'll be an electric arc right into this disgusting tub." Liam slapped his hand down on the edge, louder, and Spate flinched. "You'll fucking cook, mate."

"I'll take my chances."

Liam grunted and squatted beside the generator, out of Spate's sight. "Older model, this," he called over his shoulder. "I've used them. My dad was big into the outdoors, but with all the mod cons. Spark plugs are dicey. You've not replaced these ever, have you?"

Sally watched Liam intently. He abruptly yanked something, and there was a sharp cough from the generator.

"The fuck are you doing over there?" Spate asked, craning to get a better look.

Sally didn't say anything. This was a new side of Liam, and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

"See, without new spark plugs–" Liam wrenched on something else, causing the generator to speed up, sounding maddened, "you're at greater risk of electrocution."

He stood and turned, two pieces of plastic from the generator in his hands. Both Spate and Sally were staring.

"Here you go," Liam said, and dropped the pieces into the hot tub.

"You just ripped pieces off my machinery, you cocky twat!" Spate blurted, starting around the tub toward Liam.

Sally intercepted him, her hands touching his lank, greasy shoulders. He was heavy but weak, his feet slipping on the wet fake grass. "Easy now," she said.

"You should be thanking me," Liam said. "If anything, I just saved your life."

Spate shook his head and stepped back from Sally. "Your partner's gone mental. I'm going to sue for criminal damage."

"Pigs are filth, aren't we," Liam mused, coming around the tub's other side. "Worst of the worst, to scum like you. Because you are scum, Spate. Your whole life you've been a parasite. We come around and treat you like a real person, because that's our job, but you're not a real person, are you? You're a leech, and I'm done with bloodsucking shits trying to bleed out everything good."

"You done, you little bleeding psycho?" Spate snapped.

"Not yet. Into the hot tub with you, Gerald. Time to face the storm down like a man."

He circled Sally and pushed Spate toward the tub.

"Give over!" Spate bellowed, throwing a wild punch.

"Just a quick bath," Liam insisted, pushing the older man again.

Sally watched only a moment longer. This was obscene. Comical, bizarre, terrifying even. But it was getting them no closer to an answer.

Unless…

She put one hand on Liam's arm, the other on Spate's shoulder, and pressed them apart. "Enough. Liam, cool it." She turned to Spate. "Gerald, my partner wants you in the tub. I see no witnesses here, and I honestly don't care what happens to you. I just want answers. So start talking now, or I leave you to parboil like a rat in your own foul stew."

Spate glared at her, nostrils flaring, then he hawked deep and spat noisily into the rain. "Fine. You want to talk? I'll tell you everything I know. About Reg, Cagen, whatever you want. Just, get this muppet to stop vandalizing my home!"

Liam glared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Deal."

"Inside," Spate barked, turning. "It's freezing out here."

"So much for braving the storm," Liam muttered at his back.

61 REAL BELTERS

In moments they were in the caravan again. All soaked through, with Spate wrapped in a dressing gown, his thin hair plastered to his face, ensconced back in the stained embrace of his armchair. He poured himself a large measure of cheap whisky and downed it.

"The fifth Rook," Liam barked, and Spate flinched. "Spill it."

Spate poured another shot, knocked it back then began. "Honestly, I have no clue."