School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,16
out a breath. “That this is related to something you two are doing? I’d take that bet. So what are you doing?”
At that point Henry’s stomach made a loud, obnoxious, unmistakable sound.
Jackson chuckled and Ellery said, “I think we’re going to lunch. You all want in?”
Henry nodded and then grimaced. “Is it okay if I go get Galen? If we’re having a powwow, it feels rude to leave him alone at the office.”
“Text him first and make sure he’s not busy,” Jackson said. “But yeah.”
“Tell him to grab the Townsend file from the top of my desk,” Ellery prompted. “I want Sean to see that one too.”
“Uh-oh,” Kryzynski said, eyes growing sober. “Am I going to like this?”
“I hope not,” Ellery said briskly. “’Cause if you do, you’re not the person I thought you were.”
Kryzynski groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “You guys. You guys are like the cherry on the shit sundae, you know that?”
“Bad day already, K-Ski?” Jackson asked sympathetically.
Kryzynski shook his head and glowered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Love life’s fine, thank you. Absolutely peachy.”
Jackson and Ellery exchanged looks, but Jackson was the one who said it.
“How’s the fireman?”
“Older than I am,” Kryzynski said sourly. “And he won’t let me forget it.”
Someone called Kryzynski’s name, and he nodded to another detective down by the curb. “Look, guys, give me a restaurant not too far away and I’ll meet you there. Make it cheap and make it… franchisey, okay? If I have to eat kale today I might kill someone.”
“Understood,” Jackson said. “You go talk to whoever, we’ll go pick up Galen, and we’ll meet you at the Mongolian barbecue place a few blocks from here.”
Kryzynski’s eyes went to half-mast, and he damn near drooled. “That guy by the car is my partner—I may have to drop him off at Mercy San Juan so he can check in on our wild man in the stairwell.”
“He get tasered pretty good?” Jackson asked, his eyes lighting up like this would not disappoint him at all.
“Twice,” Kryzynski said with satisfaction. “I think he bit the tip of his tongue off and wet himself. Asshole. I feel no pity.”
“Meet in an hour, then,” Jackson told him, taking charge effortlessly like he did. He looked at Jade and Ellery. “Good news is, Henry brought Galen’s car. It’s got air-conditioning like a boss.”
Ellery became aware of the sweat trickling down his back and the absolute airless thickness of the heat around them.
“I may forgive you yet.”
Jackson grinned. “Like I said, it was not my fault.”
They turned and started walking for the parking lot, and Ellery let his hand brush Jackson’s as they went.
“That,” he said grimly, “remains to be seen.”
Fish in a School
GALEN ACTUALLY declined lunch, asking instead for Henry to bring him something when they were done. It was just as well—parking was fiercely competitive in front of Ellery’s office. At this rate, Henry would be able to take Galen home before the most miserable part of the day, and Ellery didn’t have to move his car so they could all go out, which meant nobody had to die when they all got back.
They hit the place right after the rush, so they didn’t have to wait in line to pile their bowls with frozen slices of meat and raw vegetables. By the time Kryzynski got there, everybody was eating, and Henry and Jackson were giving the details about what had happened earlier in the day.
“This story again?” Kryzynski drawled as he slid into the booth next to Henry.
“This is only the first time they’ve heard it!” Henry defended before resuming the narrative. “So, Jenny Probst and I were hiding behind the copier, and Jackson’s like, ‘Hey, what’s the name on that file anyway?’ And Jenny sort of blanked out for a second before going, ‘Uh, Dostoyevsky?’ And Jackson says, ‘Like the writer?’ and Jenny goes, ‘Uh….’ And Jackson disappears.”
“I did not disappear,” Jackson told him, rolling his eyes. He gave Ellery a furtive glance. He seemed to be taking this whole thing in stride so far, but Ellery had seemed to be okay on other occasions regarding Jackson’s safety when he really had been on the verge of losing his shit. “Look, remember that the bad guy—”
“We have no idea who he is,” Kryzynski supplied. “We’re trying to get his fingerprints because he doesn’t have any ID on him, but so far no luck.”
“And is Mr. No Luck still unconscious?” Jackson asked.