The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,116

as big a collection of classic cars as Reuben wants. A game room for Cass, replete with a fucking billiards table. Billiards, not pool, because he’s snooty like that.

There’s even a fucking dance studio with wrap around mirrors on the walls, perfect for Cass to admire himself in.

I haven’t told them about the property.

I also haven’t told them I put in an offer on the place on Saturday. I know I’ll be getting that call sometime this week—my offer was ten grand above asking.

It’s eating me alive, but I have to make sure it’s happening before I break out the champagne.

And yeah, I bought champagne. Four bottles of the most expensive brand the liquor store stocked.

“Love the new look,” I tell him, pointing at my neck. “Just give me a heads up if you’re about to start reciting bad poetry, though.”

He’s wearing a black turtle-neck shirt and dark jeans. Sullen colors which match the smudges under his eyes.

“I could have died,” he says, voice as dead as his eyes.

“I think you were dead for a few seconds.” I wish there were a power outlet down here so I could brew some coffee. The only other alternative is alcohol or weed.

I choose the whiskey, turning my back to pour out a shot. Fuck the fact that’s it quarter past six in the morning.

“But luckily, you’ve always been a stubborn sonofabitch.” I glance at him over my shoulder when I don’t hear the rueful chuckle I was expecting.

“It worked,” I say.

Cass shifts a little, and then runs his palms down his legs. “Yeah?”

“She took the drive to Rube last night.”

“So why aren’t they here? Why aren’t they going through his shit?”

“You know Apollo has to be in the kitchen before breakfa—”

“You think I give a fuck?” Cass yells.

I set down the bottle of whiskey and turn to face him. He’s on his feet, hands bunched into fists at his side. But he’s glaring at the floor, not me, as if he can’t bear to make eye contact.

“Cass…”

“I risked my fucking life for that shit,” he says, finally looking up. Eyes the color of dirty ice stab through me. “I don’t care if you have to go drag that little cunt out of the kitchen by his fucking ball sack, you go and—”

“Christ, Cass, I’m here,” Apollo says.

We both turn to him as he sidles in through the opening to our lair. He’s wearing a baggy plaid sweater with an unraveling collar, sweatpants that have seen better decades, and a pair of tiger-striped gumboots. Judging from his rat tail hair and the damp patches on his top, it’s started raining again.

He slides a backpack from his shoulder and collapses on the couch, then glances across at me and groans when he sees the bottle in my hand. “Don’t we have coffee down here yet?”

“No power, remember? It’s this or warm beer,” I say.

“Fuck it,” he grumbles, hiking up his sweater as he shoves a hand under the fabric to scratch at his ribs. “I’ll get coffee later. Let’s get this over with.”

I take my usual seat and both me and Cass watch Apollo as he slips the drive into his new laptop.

“So what shit did you make up for Gabriel?” Apollo asks as he starts tapping the laptop’s touchpad. “He ran out of there like someone had set his grandma on fire.”

My eyes go to Cass, but he keeps his head down, using his thumbnail to push back his cuticles. “Does it matter? It worked.”

“Yeah it did,” Apollo says through a grin without looking up. “Looked real fucking spooked. That’s—”

He cuts off and starts shaking his head.

“What is it?” I sit forward. “Apollo?”

“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes flickering as he scans the screen. “There’s nothing here.”

“What do you mean there’s nothing?” Cass growls. He grabs the laptop from Apollo, stabbing the down button as a glare slowly deepens on his face. “There’s tons of shit on here.”

“Yeah, but nothing useful.” Apollo takes back the laptop, scowls at Cass, and then gets up and goes to sit in the armchair opposite us. “Just a bunch of crap.”

“You couldn’t have gone through everything so fast,” I say, wincing around my first sip of whiskey.

Apollo lets out a world-weary sigh. “I’m using keywords and search strings. Either he’s code-named the shit out of everything, or he’s encrypted the important stuff.” Apollo scratches his head and then gathers back his hair from his face. “I’ll keep looking, but I have a feeling he’s not keeping anything important