Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [66]
“Okay …”
“And I’m only telling you this much because I don’t want you to think I’m bailing on you to chase down cash from another source. I’m not putting this client’s needs above yours, my felonious pimp. I’m simply trying to sort out something that affects him quite deeply, yes—but it affects me, too. In a very concrete and unpleasant way,” I added under my breath, but not so quietly that he didn’t hear me.
“Old boyfriend?”
“What?”
“Is your client an old—”
“No, no. Christ, no. It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?”
“It’s like …” He wasn’t going to let it go. I knew he wasn’t going to let it go, so I fished for something to throw him off the track, but meaty enough to keep him from digging further. “It’s … we have something in common,” I said. “A medical condition.” Which was sort of true, wasn’t it?
“A medical condition?”
“Yes, a medical condition. It’s rather personal and I don’t care to explain, but suffice it to say, my client and I share a medical condition and his … erm … health is, in its way, related to mine.” In more ways than one, I nearly added.
“Okay, fine. You’re both sick, you’re both—”
“I didn’t say we were sick. I only said we shared a medical condition. For all you know, we both have green eyes, or we both pee a little when we cough.”
“And you’re the one who didn’t want to share!”
“Oh shut up, Horace.” I shifted my grip on the phone and settled down into my couch. I’d be lying if I’d said I wasn’t enjoying the conversation. I only just then realized that it’d been days since I’d simply talked to anyone apart from a salesclerk or a tollbooth operator. “The thing is, I can’t drop this guy’s case—not even if I wanted to. So your weirdo will have to take a backseat.”
“When do you think you’ll be back on the pony?” he asked, every vowel oozing impatience.
“Later,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “Give me another couple of weeks here, and then you can start bothering me.”
“I don’t know if she’ll wait a couple of weeks.”
“Then go find someone else to put a smile on her face, because I won’t make bargains any sooner than that.” I’d be lucky to take a new gig even that soon, all things considered.
“A couple of weeks,” he said, but he said it funny, like he was only repeating what I’d said—and like he had a pen in his mouth. He was probably looking for a calendar, circling the day on which he could begin to harass me without fear of reprisal. “All right, a couple of weeks. You’re a hard negotiator, Ray-Baby.”
“I’m going to get a lot harder if you call me that again.”
“Give me a minute. Less than a minute. I’m almost certain I can make a filthy joke in response to that.”
“No,” I told him. “No, for the love of God, don’t.”
“Oh fine. But I’ve got you down for two more weeks of peace and quiet, and then … then I’ll come calling again. I recognize this area code, don’t I? Where’s it from …,” he asked, not really asking me, but asking his memory.
“Don’t do that, Horace. I’ll come to you, or I’ll call you.” He’d figure it out soon enough, but let him. Atlanta’s a huge place, filled with millions of people spread out over dozens of square miles. If he could track me down by an area code, I deserved to be tracked down and berated by a fierce and pissy little man who wanted me to steal things.
An awkward silence passed between us before he broke it by saying, “So everything’s all right, then?” He wasn’t accustomed to pretending to care, and it came out stilted.
“Everything’s all right,” I said, whether it was true or not. “I’m going to go ahead and hang up, but if something crazy or pressing comes across your plate, go ahead and give me a call.”
“Works for me,” he said, and closed his cell phone before I could close mine.
I stared at the other phone for a few seconds, willing it to ring in the wake of Horace’s forced interest, but Cal didn’t reply and neither did Ian. I considered trying to