Chapter 10

"Thought we were going to the docks?" Michael said over Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks," pulling the SUV off Broening Highway and into Sal and Pepper's diner parking lot like I directed.

A defunct car ferry, permanently moored, housed the diner, though how it got the permits to sit in the waterway, I couldn't say. Perfect place to catch up with friends and hear the latest gossip. No way they wouldn't be talking about missing containers.

We'd already dropped Kennedy, Ike, and Jagger in front of what had been the LittlePinta though it now looked more like floating Swiss cheese. Since Kennedy had a strong preference for full-sized luxury BMW SUVs, our ride was about three pay grades above the average vehicle you saw at the diner. Not to mention the Oleander stenciled on the hood. Kennedy didn't step quietly.

Michael hadn't changed into something more casual, sticking to his silk shirts, tailored trousers, and handmade shoes. He'd even thrown on a camel hair trench costing more than most of these guys made in a month. I'd yet to see him in a pair of jeans.

When I'd mentioned he'd stand out—and not in a good way—he'd shrugged and said he'd roll up his sleeves, like that made any difference. Couldn't even see them under his coat. Damn fool. Seemed to think it was funny.

In contrast, I'd thrown a waffle shirt over a long-sleeved tee, switched my boots out for steel-toed ones and added a Carhart knock-off and a beanie. Another reason Michael and I wouldn't work. But the way he eyed me, you'd think I only wore a stripper's tear-away thong . . . in pure gold. Shook my head internally.

I nodded toward what could generously be called a parking space. "You should stay in the car. They'll be more likely to talk with one of their own."

He parked, killing the engine and the music before turning to me.

"I have faith in your abilities to loosen tongues." He smirked and exited the car into the chilly night.

Nice way of complimenting me while still not doing what I wanted. I took a deep breath and climbed out after him. "Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. They don't like strangers."

"I can handle myself."

I snorted. "Whatever, man. Just keep quiet, you feel me?"

He looked me up and down, a wolfish grin making me shiver. "Not lately. I promise I'd like to if you'd let me. Feel you, that is."

Gasoline and a match couldn't make me combust so fast. I failed to hide a hitch in my breath, before choking out, "Never gonna happen."

"Shame. Let me know if you change your mind."

It took a moment to break eye contact, but I pulled myself away and raced up the port side gangplank that needed a fresh coat of paint with Michael close on my heels. At least the railings were stable, since a dunk in the harbor would be miserable this time of year.

We headed inside the main deck. The car ferry's interior had been gutted. Now long tables and red, yellow, and blue booths lined the area from bow to stern. In the middle of what had once been the crew area, an enormous hippo shifter with a long black beard flipped greasy sausages behind a grill. A tiny woman manned the bar next to it.

I led Michael toward the bar.

"Pepper?" he asked as we approached.

"Nah, that's Sal," I said. "Pepper's the big guy."

When Sal looked up, she grinned, a sizeable gap between her front teeth. "Look who the dog dragged in. Literally. How you doing, Abe? Missed your ugly face round here. You didn't cause no trouble. Unlike most these guys." She winked.

Michael frowned. "He's not ugly—"

I elbowed him. "Good to see you, too, Sal. Don't suppose you've got a Natty Boh on tap just for me?" I leaned against the bar.

"Yeah, sure. What's your big, scowling friend havin'?"

"Same," I said before Michael could answer. I waited for her to get our beers, scanning the room for a good source of news. There. Walter. A shift manager. Once I'd paid for our beers, I slipped a twenty into a tip jar.

"You always was a good one." Sal blew me a kiss, and Michael growled low. That earned him another elbow.

"Cool it, wolf. You don't want to get into it with Pepper. He'll kick your ass."

Michael scoffed. "I'd like to see him try."

I didn't bother to tell him Pepper didn't play fair. He wielded a mean bat with a steel core and wasn't afraid to use it. Plus, had brass knuckles plated in silver. Did a lot of damage to supernaturals. I'd watched him break up more than one brawl. Wasn't pretty.

I ambled toward Walter, Michael in tow, calling greetings to different tables. Some of these guys I'd known for over fifteen years. Walter sat with several guys I'd worked with before, but I couldn't remember their names. A walrus shifter, Walter was a big guy in all ways. He had a thick mustache, drink-reddened cheeks, and a receding hairline. He also liked to gossip. I tipped my beer in his direction when we made eye contact, and he waved me over.

"Who's the giant?" Walter called, as his friends turned to watch us approach.

"Just a guy," I said, earning a scowl from Michael.

They all looked him up and down.

"Fancy duds for a place like this. No wonder you haven't been hangin' with us stiffs."

"Fuck off," I said good-naturedly. "Who says I ever wanted to hang with you assholes?"

Walter chuckled and pushed out a chair with his foot. I waved Michael to another one. I took off my coat and slung it on the chairback before sinking into the plastic seat.

"You coming back, Williams? We could use you on the line. Even give you some lighter work. I mean, looks like you're getting soft living the high life."

I flipped him off to snickers from the other guys, even flexed my bicep when I did it. "Nah, not in the cards. My roost alpha's keeping me too busy these days."

Walruses had similar social organization to ravens, so he'd get it.

"Alphas, man. What can you do?" He shook his head in mock sympathy as he side-eyed Michael.

I knocked my knee against Michael's under the table in warning. Didn't need him to start a fight. I could talk shit with these guys, but they'd be quick to take offense from a stranger. He pressed his thigh against mine and didn't move. It burned where we touched, and my pulse sped up.

Michael grinned, all fang, his arm draping casually over the back of an empty chair beside him. "I don't know. We have our uses."

Walter and the guys burst out laughing and raised their glasses in a salute. "That you do, that you do."

We finished our beers, good-natured insults flying, and then Michael ordered a couple more pitchers. He paid for the table, which instantly made him everyone's favorite guy. He occasionally joined the conversation but mostly kept quiet, even as he placed less space between us. Not quite a possessive display, but the guys wouldn't fail to notice his interest. Amazed they didn't say shit about it though.

Two rounds later—also paid for by Michael—I felt pretty good. I'd missed these assholes.

"So, if you aren't coming back, Williams, why are you slummin' down here?" Walter asked, licking the foam on his mustache.

"Wanted to get the word on those misplaced containers for Domino Sugar. Roger Fergason is pissed. Don't know if you met her yet, but she's not one to fuck with."

Michael snorted. "Bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"You working for her?" Walter asked, sitting forward and leaning on the table, his meaty arms resembling flippers even in his human-like form.

"For the moment." Michael kept his voice relaxed, like it wasn't a big deal.

Walter snapped his thick fingers. "That's why you look so familiar. You're that guy who's always with Tommy Tittoti. A bodyguard, right?"

"So they tell me." Michael waved down a waitress and ordered another round for the table.

"Shit, man. This ain't good," one of the other guys said, his gaze gone wary.

"Keep your shirt on, McBride. Williams wouldn't bring him here if he was gonna bust heads. Right, Williams?"

"Nah, we're just looking for information. Want to know what happened."

Walter rolled his eyes. "What happened is some dumbass took a bribe and wound up dead."

"Oh, yeah?" Now, I leaned forward, too. "Who'd that be?"

"You 'member Jimmy Kolakowski?"

"Yeah, 'course. He got himself dead?" I poured Walter another glass of beer, my hand a little unsteady.

"Walt, you don't know he did nothin'," one of the others said.

"Sure I do." Walter downed his beer in one go. "Seal shifters sure as shit don't drown in the harbor."

The floater Sally DeSantos had mentioned on the news the other day.Shit. Michael and I shared a look. He gave me the barest nod.

"What makes you think he took a bribe?" I took a swig of my beer, a nice buzz settling around me.

Walter looked around like someone else might overhear. It was all for show. He loved spouting off. Some of it was bullshit, though sometimes he produced a diamond.

"He operated one of the cranes. Several guys on that job been complaining of threats to them and their families. Lots of call-ins lately. Guys are scared. Heard from one that big money was being offered. Most weren't dumb enough to take it."

"Jimmy was?" Michael asked.

Walter shrugged. "Kolakowski was a dumb kid. Always hustling. My bet, he gave them what they wanted, and they eliminated the evidence."

"Any idea who these guys are and why they'd want the containers?" I doubted he'd know but always worth asking.

"Nah, they weren't exactly advertising. Humans, seems like. Throwing around cash and threats."

Michael and I exchanged a loaded glance. Humans? Or shades?

"It's fucked up my roster," Walter continued. "Sure you don't wanna come back?"

"Can't, man. But I appreciate the intel."

"Sure, sure. Put in a good word for the working stiffs with that new Roger. Now," he glanced at Michael, "how about ordering one more round before you go?"