Page 21 of Bad Attitude
This many hours cooped up means I’m in a bad mood by the time six rolls around. I take another quick shower, pull my leathers back on, lever the bag from under my bed and work it onto my back.
Then I’m on my Ducati, riding the twenty miles through LA to reach the address Kurt has given me.
His new place is an upgrade on the old, on a slightly smarter street, a chic boutique coffee shop opposite. His building still has a ‘Creative Office To Lease’ sign strapped to the brickwork outside, but within, it’s almost homely. We’re on the second floor, the main space open plan with a couple of rooms at the back, and the moldy couches have been replaced with two shiny ones, cheap but with deep seats, and an enormous fuckingbeanbag. Like who’s going to sit on that?
Kurt’s Chesterfield has survived the move, of course, and he gets up from it as I walk in, closing a book he was reading and stuffing it down the side of the chair. He has paint on his hands, out with his graffiti cans again. I hope none of it goes on that book.
“Well done, Genesis. Good work.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, out of reflex, and not with any civility.
He helps me with my backpack, taking the weight as I undo the straps. Then I turn on him.
“The hell was that clusterfuck with Pablo?”
He raises a mocking eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re upset he’s dead.”
“Not for a minute. But you got lucky. What happens if they took him alive?”
Kurt sets my bag down on one of the couches before he answers. “I didn’t think that was likely.” He undoes the flap. “Did you look in here?”
“That’s not an answer,” I retort, warmingto my theme. “Even you can’t predict everything. What happens if he came off in the desert, knocked himself out, woke up in a cell?” I glare at him. “Too many ways that could’ve gone wrong.” I jerk my chin at the bag. “And of course I didn’t open it. You know me better than that.”
“And if it had gone wrong?” he asks, voice far too calm for my liking.
“Then we’d have the cops raiding your unit—”
“—Which I’ve left.”
“—And pictures of our faces on the news—”
“—If he talked.”
I put my hands on my hips and stare at him. “Whywouldn’the have fucking talked? Didn’t you hear the way he spoke to me? He had avendetta. For me, if not for the whole damn crew.”
Kurt looks amused. “Because you made him look prettier?”
“He deserved it,” I grind out.
“So I gathered. Still, he wouldn’t have talked.”
“How do youknow?” I stare at him, incredulous. “How can youclaimthat?”
“Because I arranged it with Briggs,” he says, nonplussed. “There was insurance in place.”
Of course there was. Kurt wouldn’t have left anything to chance. I let out a breath, trying to calm down. “Do I even want to know what that means?”
“His momma.” Kurt shrugs one shoulder. “Everyone has a weakness.”
“Yeah?” I shoot back. “What’s mine?”
Kurt nearly smiles. “Almosteveryonehas a weakness.”
That’s bullshit. I’ve got plenty of weaknesses. Just because he won’t name them doesn’t make it not true. “So what, you set Kawasaki up to take the fall?”
“Kawasaki?” Kurt echoes, amused.
“Pablo.” I correct myself, irritation rising. “You knew he’d go off noisy, didn’t you?”
