Page 18 of Poisoned Pawn
“Shit. I should have given this to the cops.”
Zak glances over at the suit bag resting in my lap. “How come you have it?”
“I take it to the dry cleaners on my way home every Friday, but this week the place was shut. Cops all over it. Do you think…”
“I think we need to get home and have a look at exactly what’s in the bag.”
Back at the house, Zak and I quickly get the bag laid out on the table and unzip it. At first, it just looks like a simple suit, but I am surprised there is only one inside given the weight of the bag. I’d always assumed there were several. The answer becomes clear as I unbutton the jacket, revealing the neatly folded trousers beneath and something neither of us were expecting.
The inside of the jacket is lined with small flat pouches, a couple of centimetres thick, of cash; twenties to be exact. And when we check the trousers, they’re the same. There must be almost fifty thousand pounds hidden inside this suit.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Guess that explains why your boss ended up dead.”
“And why the dry cleaners was raided.” Zak nods, pulling out his phone and typing on it for a moment before turning it toward me.
It’s a news report about Mr Graham’s death stating that he was murdered in his home on Saturday night. I am immediately reminded of the shooting at Neon Flux, but I don’t get a chance to voice my thoughts as Zak beats me to it.
“I doubt the shooting at the club was a coincidence, Star. And I’d bet my life you were the target.”
“Yeah, thanks for that cheery deduction, Sherlock.” He gives me a shrug. “It’s not like the thought hadn’t already crossed my mind. Let’s be honest, I’m the most obvious target.” I hand him his phone back and pull out a chair, dropping down into it with a heavy sigh. I point to the suit and all the cash. “You think this is the reason why?”
“I’d say yes…”
“But?” I ask as he pauses.
“But it’s flimsy. Presumptuous at the least to assume you’re involved based solely on you being the one who delivers to the dry cleaners. Anything happened recently, you seen or heard anything that someone might think means you’re more involved?”
I’m shaking my head before he’s finished asking the question. “No, nothing.” As I say the words, a thought pops into my head about the club I methimat. Is it suspicious that for the last five years there’s never been a threat and then I visit a club and hook up with a guy, who is clearly not just your average bloke on the street, and now two weeks later there’s not one but two attempts on my life in the space of twenty-four hours? When you factor in that it was also him who saved me, it’s not hard to see there might be a link between the two.
Zak watches me for a moment, and I’m sure he doesn’t believe me. “Get this packed back inside. I need to make a call,” he says, putting his phone to his ear as he leaves the room.
I do what he asked, then make a strong cup of coffee. I can hear Zak’s muffled voice as I sit with my hands wrapped around the cup and think about last night. I think abouthimand how the fuck he found me. Did he know me when we hooked up? Was that the plan all along?
My phones rings making me jump. I’ve barely got it to my ear before Toni’s panicked voice hollers down the line.
“Oh my fucking god have you seen the news?”
“Jesus, Toni, I quite like the ability to hear. And to answer your question, yes, I’ve seen the news.”
“Are you okay? Do you know what happened? Do you think it was a jilted mistress? He’s married, right?”
I have to hold back a laugh at her rapid-fire questions. She’s such a gossip whore. I don’t think I want to imagine what she would say if she knew what went down here last night.
“Yes. No. No idea. Yes. I think that covers all your questions,” I say with a small smile playing on my lips because I know it will confuse her.
“Wait, what? One question at a time, Star.”
“You should take your own advice.”
This time she gives me an exaggerated laugh. “Hilarious. Now, start again from the top and tell me everything you know.”
“I don’t know anything. I didn’t even know he was dead until I turned up at work this morning and was greeted by cops and reporters. Why aren’t you at work?” I ask trying to steer the conversation away from all the crazy, none of which she needs to know about.
“Pulled a sickie.” She huffs down the phone, and I sense something is bothering her, but she doesn’t elaborate or give me the chance to ask. “Besides, I’ve been getting my Bridgerton fix. Queen Charlotte just released, and it is top notch. Heartbreaking but in the best possible way.” She suddenly bursts out laughing. “Dicked in the nob,” she blurts.
“What the fuck is that?”