A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,11

Jake asked me for… a favor. And I’m trying to figure out what that was… if it’s related to his death.”

Sam studied the apartment again, more slowly this time. The evidence of a search, if any, was minimal. If Rufus was telling the truth, he was either a better burglar than Sam expected, or smarter than he seemed—or both.

“You didn’t find anything here? Nothing else that might help?”

Rufus waved a hand at the open closet. “Just finished looking when I heard you on the stairs. Nothing’s here. Except the chips.”

At the mention of food, Sam’s stomach rumbled; he thought, although he wasn’t sure, that Rufus’s stomach did some grumbling too.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sam said. “We need to talk. Somewhere public, plenty of exits, where I can get something to eat without picking up a case of hepatitis.” Then, to himself, “If that’s possible in this hellhole.”

CHAPTER FIVE

BlueMoon Diner was a safe spot.

A habitual spot for Rufus, since it was only six blocks uptown from Jake’s studio. It was public, of course, had one door that acted as both ingress and egress, which was actually preferable because Rufus was only one man and too many exits became problematic to watch with any sort of long-term success, and they served food. Not great food, but decent food. And he’d yet to pick up an infectious disease from the 24-7 establishment, although the busboys could certainly afford to wipe the damn tables down more than once a week.

So it’d work for Sam, he figured.

Speaking of, Rufus hadn’t said a word since Sam—no last name, which was rude—had followed him out of Jake’s apartment building. Rufus had put his sunglasses on, shoved his hands into his jean jacket pockets, and started north. And he didn’t have to look over his shoulder to assure himself that Sam was following. He could feel it. Feel the other man’s eyes on the back of his head, between his shoulder blades, watching his every movement. Sam’s presence was like a punch to the face.

Aggressive.

Relentless.

Powerful—too powerful. Sam was so tightly wound, he gave off the sensation that his own skin could barely contain him.

Rufus had no doubt Sam was ex-Army. Even without the photographic proof, the way he’d entered the apartment, gun at the ready, no fear in his eyes, he’d have suspected Sam had some sort of formal training.

Rufus hated dealing with those sorts.

He’d heard Sam at the studio door, of course. But there’d been no safe escape from the third-story window, leaving him trapped. So Rufus did the only thing he could when cornered: act harmless until a getaway presented itself. It’d been a good decision, too, because even if Sam hadn’t had a Beretta trained on Rufus, he wouldn’t have had a chance in a one-on-one scuffle. It would have come down to fighting dirty. Very dirty.

Of course, Rufus hadn’t expected Sam to have known Jake either. So that’d thrown him for a hell of a spin. The media had lamented the tragic suicide of a decorated officer since Jake’s body had been discovered by the landlord at 619 West Thirty-Eighth Street, and this guy—Sam—was calling the gospel bullshit. He’d hopped a bus for—what’d he say? A day and a half?—and made a beeline for Jake’s place.

Looking for what?

Answers, most likely.

Just like Rufus was.

Because Jake had been murdered.

Rufus knew it. He didn’t understand why the cops, with all their forensics experts and medical examiners, thought otherwise. He’d been there. He’d seen Jake’s body. He’d been shot at, for fuck’s sake. But Rufus’s life straddled a line—one that blurred sometimes, like he’d had too much cheap gin and never enough food in his gut—and the side of that line where the cops existed? They dealt with him, but they didn’t like him. Hell, sometimes they didn’t believe him.

Except for Jake.

And Jake deserved justice.

He deserved to be properly mourned.

So if Sam was here to find out what really happened, report it, and get the cops to see their mistake, then ok. Rufus owed it to Jake to sit and talk with this old friend. He owed it to Jake to offer what little information he could bear to part with, to at least put Sam on the right path.

Jake and I fucked around together, back in the day....

Rufus had sensed that from Jake. It wasn’t horniness, per se. He had had Natalie, a girlfriend who Jake was, in theory, sexually involved with. It had been a certain restlessness in his energy that Rufus picked up on.