and over again until the thing was somewhat level on its legs.
“There,” he said as he parked his ass. “Fixed it.”
The fact that he was sitting off-kilter and had made holes in the floor seemed petty to point out.
“Good job,” Butch said.
“I could do the other two?”
“I think we’re okay. But thanks for the offer.”
Vishous nodded and got out his papers and his tobacco pouch. As he rolled one up, Butch watched those strong hands, the one that was gloved and the one that wasn’t.
“So what are you thinking?” the brother said as he licked down the edge of the paper and smoothed the flap in place.
Butch shook his head and refocused on the pictures of Mai. “Autopsy came back.”
“Any surprises?”
“Nope.” Butch rubbed his shoulder and rolled it around in its socket. “Toxicology will take a while, but what’s going to come from it? That she had drugs in her system? That maybe he drugged her before he slit her throat? Even if that was the case, I’ve been in Syn’s room. He doesn’t keep anything in it other than weapons and not enough clothes to get me through an afternoon. There were no drugs or paraphernalia.”
“He could have tossed it all.” V exhaled away from Butch even though they were in an enclosed space. “Gotten rid of the leathers and the jacket. And any drugs.”
Butch shrugged. “When it comes to his leathers, the count is right. I went to the supply closet. His backups, the ones Fritz ordered for him, match the receipt. The laundry count is also pristine. Everything is accounted for.”
“There are all kinds of way to explain that. He could order the leathers himself.”
“Doesn’t have a credit card. I got all his bank information—or shall I say the lack of it—from Balthazar.”
“Maybe he has an account we don’t know of.”
Butch inclined his head. “True.”
V picked an errant flake of tobacco off his lower lip and pulled a half-empty mug of cold coffee over to ash in. “Syn fucking did it. He admitted it to me. You listened to the recording.”
“Yeah.” Butch fished into his silk shirt and took his cross in hand, rubbing the heavy gold. “I know—”
The knock on the door was sharp and a one-off.
“Come in,” V muttered.
Balthazar entered and reclosed things. The Bastard was in his field clothes, but without his jacket or his weapons, and Butch had to wonder if he’d deliberately removed the latter as a measure of respect. Known for being a thief, Balthazar was nonetheless an honorable, stand-up guy—at least to the short list he considered worth being honest with. As for the rest of the world? He was liable to rock the five-finger discount and then some.
In truth, he reminded Butch of some of the Irish mafia thugs in Southie, and oddly, it made him respect the guy.
“Hey,” the Bastard said. “You wanted to see me?”
Butch got to his feet and offered his palm. “What’s doing. Thanks for coming down.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
Vishous offered his palm over his shoulder, and the other male clapped it. “You want a cigarette?”
Balthazar squeezed his muscle-loaded body into the chair on the other side. “Wow, this is a tight squeeze. And yes, please, on the nicotine.”
“You want I fix your chair?” V offered.
“No,” Butch said. “We’re done with the redecorating. My eardrums can’t take another round of that.”
V shot him a buzzkill glare and then got to work rolling one for Balthazar.
Butch sat forward and linked his fingers around his pen. “I’m thinking you know why I’ve asked you to sit down with me.”
“My cousin Syn.”
“Yeah. I’ve kind of got issues with him.”
“I know you do.” The Bastard looked down at his own callused hands. “He’s a tough case, and it makes me sad.”
There was a quiet moment as V passed a fresh hand-rolled over as well as his lighter. While Balthazar accepted both and lit up, Butch thought about the barren rooms Syn kept himself in. “Sad” was a good word for that living space, even if you assumed he was just staying with a tradition that he felt comfortable in.
“Oh . . . this is nice tobacco,” Balthazar murmured. “So smooth.” V smiled with satisfaction, like the guy had complimented his car.
“Anytime you want one, I got you, true?”
“’Ppreciate you.” Balthazar exhaled in a long, slow stream and then looked back over at Butch. “So . . . Syn. How can I help?”
“Tell me about the shit in the Old World,” Butch said.
Balthazar turned the hand-rolled around and stared at the glowing