Page 16 of The King's Boy

Yeah, that would do it.

"Does he need money?" I asked.

"Wouldn't hurt."

"He's not working construction anymore?"

"I think he was hired on just to do this job. He quit as soon as it was over, and Barry says Harry hasn't worked since. I guess he's just living off the money he earned."

How? Ten thousand dollars did not go that far nowadays.

"I want him found and brought to me."

Wait.

"Did you say his name was Harry?"

"Um..." Malloy glanced at his phone. "Yeah, Harry...Harold Reed."

"Try looking for him over at the Whiskey Barrel over on Third Avenue. Look for a guy with red hair, looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days, and he tends to get really loud when he drinks."

"You don't think..."

I snorted as I nodded my head. "Yes, I do."

There were probably a thousand Harrys and Harolds in Queens, but it just seemed like too much of a coincidence to me for a guy named Harry to be selling drugs and hanging out in an Irish bar in my territory and a guy named Harry being hired by O'Donnell to plant listening devices in a rival mob faction.

"Whoever he is, I still want him brought to me." I reached for my phone and dialed a number I probably shouldn't have, but Malloy was very good at finding me information. "I need to call Petrov and warn him about the bugs."

This was sure to endear the guy to me. I just hoped he didn't shove a knife in my gut when we finally met face to face.

"Why warn him?" Malloy asked. "This could be useful to us."

"You know better than that, Malloy. I refuse to do business that way. It's unacceptable."

Malloy rolled his eyes as he turned and started out of the office. "How in the hell did you end up as the King of Queens?"

I had no idea.

Chapter Six

~ Spencer ~

I looked fantastic and I knew it. I had been a little down that last couple of weeks and needed something to boost my spirits, so I wore one of my favorite outfits.

Thick black eyeliner, black nail polish, black short sleeved half shirt over a black long sleeve mesh shirt, skin-tight faux black leather pants, knee high black boots with a three-inch heel, and the pièce de résistance, black cat ears on top of my head. I even had my favorite black canvas bag with me.

Hopefully, this would make me feel better.

Coffee could help, too.

I smiled at the barista behind the counter as he handed me what I considered the ambrosia of the gods, especially after a night of partying. Caffeine might be the only thing to get me moving. Chocolate mocha, extra sweet, with an extra shot of espresso, and whipped topping could get me running.

"Bless you," I murmured before taking a sip of the divine concoction. I was of the mind that anyone that could learn to make these little magic cups of delight needed to be sainted. Barring that, they needed to be tipped really well.

I handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill. His delight at my tip just about made my day. The coffee was a little higher up on that list.

I took my coffee and carried it over to one of the seats near the window. After settling down, I pulled out my new phone—I had lost the other one somewhere—and brought up my social media pages. I had a lot of messages from friends and acquaintances, mostly invitations to come to one party or another.