A Friend in the Fire by Gregory Ashe C.S. Poe

Author:Gregory Ashe, C.S. Poe [Poe, Gregory Ashe, C.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emporium Press
Published: 2021-04-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Rufus shut the front door of his apartment. He turned the deadbolt, yanked off his beanie and jacket, then said, “Charlotte Davis, aka Crystal, bought the knife found in Mac’s pad.” He dropped his attire to the floor, kicked off his shoes, then made for the fridge. “What the fuck is going on?” Rufus retrieved a slice of cold pizza from the night before and took a bite, despite being full from a dinner of junk food at the park. “Do you think she’s exacting some kind of revenge on her former pimp?” he continued around mouthfuls of bread and cheese.

“Well, we know Mac has history with those girls, including Charlotte. Beyond that, I’ve got no idea why the knife would be there. Fuck, for that matter, I’ve got no idea whose blood it might be.”

Rufus gnawed on the crust. “It could be Charlotte’s blood. Although, she didn’t appear to be favoring any kind of wound. It could be Mac’s, for that matter. Or maybe it’s pig’s blood and the knife was left there to frame him.”

“Maybe,” Sam said, already shaking his head. “Seems like it’d be easy for a lab to tell that it’s not human.” Crossing the small apartment, Sam copied Rufus and pulled a slice of pizza from the fridge. Between bites, he said, “Do you think Ophelia knows Charlotte’s history with Mac?”

Rufus grabbed the gin bottle from atop the fridge. “I doubt it. Ophelia is my age. Juliana might be her contact in the Ramble, but there’s no reason she’d be telling Ophelia juicy details of days long since passed. Do you want a glass?”

“Gin?”

“Yeah,” Rufus said, giving the contents a shake. “It’s Pauly Paul’s. As long as you don’t drink too much, you won’t want to cut your left eye out in the morning.”

Sam’s mouth twisted. “How could I say no?”

Rufus opened an overhead cupboard to fetch a mug. He poured a bit of gin into it and offered it to Sam.

Sam took a drink, coughed, and held the mug away from him. “Jesus Christ. It might as well be paint stripper.”

“Don’t waste that,” Rufus said. “Sooner or later, Pauly’s going to catch on to who’s been swiping his bottles.”

Frowning, Sam took another drink, his lips peeling back as he finished. “Yeah, well, if I have any enamel left on my teeth after this, it’ll be a miracle. So what are we supposed to do now? Talk to Charlotte? Confront her? Talk to Mac if we can track him down? Shit, I’d rather have my balls chopped off in a turnstile than get dragged to Brooklyn again.”

Rufus let out a bark of a laugh while shaking his head. “Tell me how you really feel about Brooklyn.”

“Did you forget the beards?”

Rufus rubbed his own chin and the bit of scruff he had in response. “You saying you don’t want me to grow this out?”

“Come a little closer,” Sam said, and then he threw back the rest of the gin, his pupils dilated, something—a smile? a smirk?—pulling at the corner of his mouth.

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