Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [87]
“Yeah. It’s a real delight.” I shifted the phone to the other ear.
“In our … shall we say, ‘unmoored’ condition, I don’t have a fax machine or computer handy, but I can change that if you can send me copies, or emails, or … or however you can most easily transmit the documents. Though, heavens. Pardon my manners—we still haven’t had that money conversation yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. Not yet. I don’t have the paperwork in my hot little hands, but that’s about to change, isn’t it?” Again, I addressed the last two words to Adrian, who nodded some more. I liked him. Cooperative gent, once you got through to him. “Will I be able to consistently reach you at this number?”
“Absolutely. I’ve commandeered the phone from Cal, who has been most gracious about the situation.”
“You’re awesome. And tell Cal I said that he’s awesome, too,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it. Ian was awesome, yes. Cal was respectably competent. But he had yet to earn any serious feelings of awe on my part.
“I’ll do so,” Ian said, and I could hear him smiling. “How long do you think it’ll be before we can have a chat about this information?”
I said, “Hmm,” and I held the phone down against my chest. “Adrian, how long will it take us to retrieve the paperwork you stole?”
“Depends on what you’re planning to do with it.”
Ooh, stubborn all of a sudden.
I gave him the answer I thought he’d swallow best. It was mostly true, anyway. “I’m going to use it for two purposes—one, to help my client possibly repair some of the damage that was done to him; and two, I’m going to do my damndest to make sure that the program is utterly disbanded, unfunded, and burned down—and then I’m going to salt the earth where it stood. Will that work for you?”
He said, “That’ll work for me.”
I lifted the phone back to my ear. “Ian?” I returned my attention to my client.
“Still here.”
“Excellent. I’m standing here with the … well, let’s call him a gentleman. I’m standing here with the gentleman who pilfered the papers you require.”
“A gentleman?”
“Well, a drag queen who’s not in drag, so, yeah. The important bit is that he has your papers.”
“Is that so?”
“A true fact.” I bobbed my head. “And he’s willing to assist with our little predicament. Adrian,” I asked again, leaving the phone up near my ear so that Ian could presumably hear any response the sometimes-drag-queen might offer. “How long will it take us to recover the paperwork?”
“Not long.”
“Could I trouble you to be more precise, darling?”
The shift of his eyebrows suggested he didn’t really care to have me calling him “darling,” but I didn’t retract it. He sighed and said, “I stashed them years ago. They’re on the other side of town, but it wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to get them.”
I was right. Ian heard him. He said eagerly, “Then you can fax them, or email them?”
“Okay Ian, give us through tomorrow morning to retrieve them. It’s close enough to dawn that I don’t want to give it a go tonight.”
“Understood.” Oh, he understood all right. But impatience simmered under that one word, making it tight enough to bounce a quarter. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Absolutely. I’ll call you when the files are secured, and we’ll proceed from there. I don’t want to put the cart in front of the horse or anything.”
“Understood,” he said again.
“Great. I’ll be in touch. Hang tight,” I added. Then I hung up before I could say anything dumber.
“Hey Adrian?” I called, suddenly noticing he wasn’t standing there watching me anymore. He leaned his head out so he could see around the archway entrance.
“What?”
“You’re not shitting me, are you? You really do know where these files are? Because let me be crystal clear—this client of mine, I’m rather fond of him and I honestly want to help him. If you give me any runaround, you’re going to answer for it.”
Somehow, that came out less menacing than I intended. Maybe it was the size of him, half a head taller than me and bulky as … well, as an old Navy SEAL.