School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,128

claim to have no idea what the ‘badass motorcycle guy’ looks like without his helmet. So there’s that.”

“What a shame,” Jackson said, obviously trying not to bounce on his toes. “Isn’t that a shame, Ellery?”

“I’m wrecked,” Ellery said and then let a giggle escape. “Get it? Wrecked?”

Christie aimed a level look at both of them. “Hang tight, guys. Four more minutes to go.”

“Continue,” Jackson said. He attempted a bow and then pulled up with a grimace and made an elaborate hand gesture instead.

“So, no leather-clad badass, and no knife, which apparently made a rather large divot in would-be social climber one Ziggy Ivanov, who is currently in surgery but who may not survive.”

“I’m all broken up about that,” Sean Kryzynski breathed.

“Devastated, destroyed,” Jackson seconded.

“Wrecked!” Ellery giggled some more.

“No more oxy for you,” Jade said sourly, and Ellery beamed at her until she booped him on the nose.

“You’re so pretty,” he said. “Why aren’t you a lawyer?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Dear God, no. Not in a million. I’d kill someone. Christie, he’s flying. You need to hurry.”

“Who was left?” Jackson asked.

“A nearly seven-foot bystander with no eyebrows and first-degree burns on his face and hands who happened to speak Russian and who helped the ADA contact the children’s parents and then disappeared,” Christie said sourly.

“That was nice of him,” Jackson said. “Don’t you think that was nice of him, Ellery?”

“Jai’s a peach,” Ellery said. “I mean he. He’s a peach.”

“Yes, he’s a peach,” Jackson echoed. “Go on.”

“There is no sign of the driver,” Christie continued, “although there was a considerable amount of blood in the driver’s seat, so I hope he’s gone somewhere to get medical attention.”

“God, so do I,” Jackson muttered. “Anything else? Any word on the street about Dima Siderov? The swiss cheese apartments? The state of the gangs in the area?”

“Dima Siderov remains at large,” Christie told him soberly, “although his gang is much diminished. Besides the split due to Ziggy trying to get his lieutenants to join Alexei Kovacs’s gang, there were the arrests made last night and”—Christie’s face went very grim—“the number of deaths this morning. Apparently Siderov is terrified of whoever killed all of Ziggy’s men, and Siderov’s men are too. I think if… people wanted to, say, move out of state with a little bit of government assistance, then Siderov would be fine with that. He’s got other cats to skin and fish to fry.”

“Erk!”

They all looked at Jackson in alarm as his face washed almost green.

“Detective, you need to up your metaphor game,” Dave said crossly. “Now, is that everything we need to know? Can Jackson and Ellery go home now?”

“One more thing,” Christie said, standing up and extending his hand. “Thank you.”

Jackson took his hand and shook it, and then Christie moved to Ellery, who said, “You really want to thank us?”

Christie nodded. “I do.”

“There’s a kid named Ty Townsend who got busted because Ziggy set up a scam and who would really love to have all his charges dropped.”

Christie frowned. “Wait. What scam?”

Jackson wobbled on his feet. “We could never figure it out. Fetzer and Hardison thought there were a couple of abandoned big-box stores on Lindstrom and Craft’s beat that were supposed to be patrolled. Ziggy gave them Ty as an easy bust to keep them away from the big-box stores, but we still don’t know why.”

“They also picked Ty because Ziggy was running odds on the team he’s supposed to play for—if he doesn’t get his scholarship revoked because of bullshit charges,” Ellery added. “He’s supposed to leave for school tomorrow, Detective.”

Christie nodded. “Understood. You guys go home. I’ll call you in a couple of hours. I have the feeling there are a few more loose ends here.”

There were, but Christie was right. They were done.

Jackson leaned over Kryzynski’s bed and locked hands with him, gently bumping foreheads. “Get better. Call us when you can give us a ration of shit again.”

“I saw the video. Count on it,” Sean breathed, sounding stronger than he had the day before but by no means full strength.

Jackson gave him a weak smile, and then Dave and Alex literally turned him around and escorted them all out. Mike had pulled Ellery’s Lexus to the front and pumped up the air-conditioning, and the trip home was made in blissful silence.

Tails, Scales, and Epic Fails

THEY GOT home and went to bed.

For nine hours.

Jackson rolled over at around eight o’clock at night keenly aware that Billy Bob was licking at the salt from his hairline.