Tiff in Time (The Fae Killers Book 1) by Reed Jaxon

Author:Reed, Jaxon [Reed, Jaxon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

7

The truck pulled to a halt, brakes lightly squealing in protest. Headlights cut through the gloom, dimly illuminating an old farmhouse sitting in the darkness, its shutters keeping out the night.

The driver exited and made his way to the back of the vehicle. He rapped on the side, then lifted up the cargo door. The humble van’s exterior disguised a luxurious inner passenger compartment. Inside, Ralph and Al Capone sat in leather seats, an empty bottle of scotch between them. Two henchmen stood in the corners, smoking cigarettes.

Booker hunched down in the third seat, his tie loosened, with a sour look on his face directed at the smokers.

The driver pulled out a collapsible set of steps attached to the undercarriage, then moved out of the way. The goons exited first, glancing to the right and left before giving quick nods to the Capone brothers.

“Wait’ll you see Ralphie’s new venture, Book. Yer gonna be impressed.”

Booker cleared his throat while standing up, grimacing at the sting from the smoke in his throat and nostrils.

“Thank you, Mr. Capone. But like I said back at the office, I’m a deskman. I don’t need to see the operations, I just need to know their numbers.”

Ralph, who stood taller and thinner than Al, slapped the accountant on the back.

He said, “You’re ‘family,’ Book. You should see this. C’mon, you’ll enjoy it. It’s Friday and the night’s on us!”

Booker’s shoulders sagged, and he silently acquiesced. The brothers had waylaid him when he headed for the elevator at five o’clock. They insisted he accompany them. Reluctantly he had agreed, and followed them out a back door and into the rolling office hidden inside the van.

“I didn’t know we owned anything like this,” he said, glancing back in awe at the cargo bay’s interior. The space was decked out in expensive carpeting, leather chairs, a small campaign desk, and a fully stocked bar.

“Sure,” Al said. “It’s listed as a truck for the dairy.”

Booker shook his head, partly in wonder, partly in curiosity about how many other items in the budget were not labeled correctly.

He had been looking forward to another delightful evening with Ms. Tiffany Valor, who reappeared in his tiny apartment every night after work to discuss the day’s events. There had not been a lot to talk about, so far as the Outfit’s business, and there had been no sign of Sleaghan in the two weeks since she had fought him. Often their conversation turned to other things.

Her life, or afterlife as he now understood, had been far more fascinating than his humdrum existence. He cajoled her to share stories. She had over 800 years of adventures stored up, and he eagerly listened to all her tales.

Mostly, she confessed, she enjoyed going back “home,” to the headquarters he knew lay beyond the small hill in that field of wildflowers. She spoke of it with longing, although he suspected she enjoyed the people there more than the location itself. She shared quite a bit about Jason, their leader, and Booker felt the stirrings of what might be a touch of jealousy.

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