children visited with her parents, he and his wife would enjoy the Napa Valley tour she’d always dreamed of. They’d already flown out from Louis Armstrong. He’d follow in the morning. After he’d concluded other matters.
One of those matters demanded attention after he clocked out, leaving his desk, his workload and finally his aspirations . . . for the moment.
He’d gotten little resistance as he floated his promotion request for Charlotte Caissie. Powers That Be agreed with his assessment of her as a qualified team player who would quiet the clamor for gender equality in the higher ranks. Having her off the streets and away from direct investigations would give him leeway to continue his plans, with minor adjustments.
Detective Alain Babineau was a problem. He’d been impossible to shake from the Brady investigation for reasons that could bite Atcliff in the ass. Precipitating his request for a meet with someone who could make that problem go away.
He’d bury all his dirty laundry while Charlotte headed toward the promotion that would bind her with obligation. Then, when he returned to work, instead of putting in for retirement, he’d be sitting back, fat, rested and sassy in his own desk chair, two fewer problems to worry about. He had it on good authority that another would disappear tonight.
Tomorrow was going to be a bright new day.
After putting his final stamp on the Brady matter with a shake of his head and a muttered, “Warren, you greedy fool,” Atcliff tidied his desk and turned out his light, anxious for the meeting to come. Then he could set his troubles aside and enjoy his family. Something Tommy Caissie should have done.
An expensive black car with impenetrable windows was discretely waiting for him on a shadowed side street. He stepped into the large backseat and settled next to a smiling Carmen Blutafino who took up most of the space with his double-breasted, maroon-clad bulk. Two of the thug’s men filled the front seat with expensively garbed muscle.
As the vehicle glided away from the curb, Manny got to business. “You look smug, Byron, for someone desperate enough to ask me for a date.”
“There’s a matter that needs your usual finesse.”
A chuckle. “If it’s the ever-bothersome Detective Cassie, I’ll have to decline. I’ve no desire to tangle with her beast of a husband or any of his particularly brutal companions.”
“Not her,” Atcliff specified rather tightly. “Her partner.”
“Detective Babineau? Almost as satisfying after his little charade under my nose. What’s he done to twist your panties in a knot?”
“The Brady matter. He’s not going to let it go so, unfortunately, I’ll have to let him go.”
Carmen nodded. “Sometimes you gotta cut ties to even the most beneficial associations once they become a liability. We can’t afford to be sentimental in our business. It’s not personal. Trust. That’s the only thing that holds relationships together.” A pause then a regretful sigh. “You really shouldn’t have stolen my file from Savoie’s office, Byron.”
As Blutafino turned away to look out the side window, the passenger in front leveled his silenced gun over the seat back.
A soft blatt of sound cut off Atcliff’s surprised gasp as Manny concluded, “Just business.”
– – –
The Terriots met mid-morning, before Cheveux du Chien opened for business, gathering at a cluster of tables with their mates, all but Turow and Sylvia, and Kendra who’d been under the weather, to get out and do something normal together as a family. Jacques supplied a hardy brunch of eggs, boudin, and grits with chicory coffee strong enough to permanently affix eyes wide.
Kip Terriot had come alone, supporting Ophelia’s decision to spend time with the children at the Babineau’s to escape the eyes of the press. Though no one here blamed her, she’d felt her absence would free up conversation. How he loved her for that thoughtful sacrifice. When had belonging to their family begun to exact such a devastating cost?
The news of Lee’s death by his own cowardly hand had put the young prince’s heart and mind at odds. Lee had been weak, easily led toward darkness, but there were his mate and daughters to consider. He’d already channeled funds from the windfall they’d recovered into an account that would see them comfortably taken care of, but that didn’t ease the heaviness of conscience. He still brooded over it as a female voice intruded.
“Need something stronger than that coffee?”
Kip glanced up at the curvaceous waitress with dyed blonde dreads who’d just begun her early shift to see to their group.