Black As Night (Quentin Black Mystery #2) (12 page)

“My, my, Mr. Bouros. I’d heard your kind could be possessive,” he grinned. “I guess the stories were right.”

I stiffened, fighting not to turn and stare at Black.

These people knew what he was? How was that possible?

I must have misheard. I
had
to have misheard...or misunderstood what I heard, maybe.

“His kind?” the American said, puffing on his cigar as he looked between the Englishman and Black. “What ‘kind’ would that be exactly? What are you again, Bouros? Greek? Lithuanian? I never can remember.”

I saw Black turn deliberately, giving the Englishman a harder stare. I couldn’t interpret the exact meaning of that stare, but I definitely got the sense he didn’t appreciate the Englishman’s comment much. The look there wasn’t surprise exactly, but more an acknowledgment of whatever subtext the Englishman had been aiming at him.

Black definitely seemed to read more than one meaning in the other’s words.

I was still looking between faces, feeling like a prop of some longer-running movie, when another white-uniformed waiter appeared out of a door behind us, holding a tray covered in glasses. He walked silently up to our table and placed one in front of me and another in front of Black––both rocks’ glasses splashed with an amber-colored liquid.

Just as silently, he put a martini glass down in front of the Indian man and another in front of the Englishman. He placed a beer in front of “Frank” and what might have been a soda in front of the one with the boyish smile. Then he replaced the ashtray with a fresh one, collected all of the used glasses, and disappeared back through the door in the wall behind us.

“So?” Black said, leaning an arm on the table at the door’s click. “You have something for me? Or are you just going to sit here and annoy me with your dick envy?”

The other three men looked at Frank, who looked at the Englishman.

The Englishman cleared his throat, tapping his cigar against the ashtray once more, even though little ash had accumulated since the last time he’d done it.

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat again. “I’m afraid your request has been denied, Bouros.”

“Denied?” Black glanced around at all of them, giving the Englishman a particularly hard stare. “Why the fuck was it denied? By who?”

“That merchandise is...” The Englishman hesitated, his gray eyes pausing on me. “...Perhaps the details should wait for another time?”

“It’s fine,” Black said, dismissive. “You can talk in front of her.”

The Englishman glanced at Frank, an eyebrow cocked.

“Perhaps we don’t agree?” Frank said, before the Englishman could speak.

“Then you’re an idiot,” Black said. I flinched as he said it, even as it occurred to me again that he was deliberately disarming them by acting like a jackass. “Maybe you weren’t hearing me before. This one’s mine until she’s not anyone’s. So you can trust her, or else you can’t trust me.”

I kept my face carefully blank at that too, not sure I wanted to know what he meant.

“What if that question has arisen as well?” Frank said, his eyes still fixed on Black.

Black turned, staring back at him with his gold, flecked eyes. Then he looked back at the Englishman, his expression hard.

“Does it really matter what you think...Frank?” he said in a silky-soft voice, that European accent still audible. “Since Anders is here, and I never approached him about this, and he’s the one who just told me that my request is ‘denied,’ I’m thinking he’s the only one here I’m really talking to right now...am I right?”

Dead silence fell at his words.

At Frank’s murderous look, Black turned, focusing directly on the Englishman.

“And really, you’re just a stooge too...aren’t you, Anders?” Black leveled that predatory stare on him. “If you’re here, I’ve got to assume Mr. Lucky is involved. And if Mr. Lucky is involved, then really, all that matters is what Mr. Lucky thinks. Not what you think. Not what I think.” He motioned around the table at the other three. “...Certainly not what any of these morons think. And since I’m pretty sure I have things to offer him that you don’t...things worth a hell of a lot more than one missing kid...why don’t you just cut to the chase and just tell me what the fuck he wants from me?”

I felt my hands tighten into fists on my lap.

Black’s fingers closed over mine under the table, squeezing gently. I wasn’t sure if I should take it as reassurance or a warning. Either way, I smoothed my expression before I gripped his fingers with my own.

I pretended to look out over the view of the snaking, sunlight-kissed river below the hotel, keeping my expression as blank as possible. I wanted to look stupid––disinterested at least. Luckily, the view was stunning enough to genuinely hold some part of my attention. Giant barges ran down the river as I watched, sliding between high-rise hotels on either side and chased by small, ornate shuttle boats shaped like traditional Thai vessels. Other boats and ferries jetted along faster, darting among the bigger, commercial vessels like colorful fish.

My mind worked rapidly as I gazed over all of it, chewing through everything I’d heard.

Black told me once that another seer like him operated out of Russia.

He’d called him “Mr. Lucky.”

I’d thought it was a joke at the time...an obviously fake name at the very least.

Whoever that individual was, Black claimed he had access to “real” resources.

By that, he presumably meant resources that went beyond the ridiculous amounts of wealth Black accumulated for himself over the years. Manpower, money, connections to politics and industry––I don’t know what Black was alluding to exactly, but he’d seemed nervous of the other seer, if not out-and-out afraid of him. He told me “Mr. Lucky” was driven more by ideology than by material wealth or even power in the conventional sense.

Anti-human ideology, unless I’d misunderstood him.

Which was pretty much how Ian sounded, while he’d been attempting to choke the life out of me. Ian said something about being part of a larger “movement” as well, what sounded like a cult or a religion of some kind, with racial purity at its core. He’d mentioned having a boss, too...a boss who didn’t want me dead for some reason.

Of course, Ian decided to disobey that boss by killing me anyway.

Black’s gold eyes returned to the Englishman.

“Well?” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Does Mr. Lucky have a proposal for me? Or is this merely a punishment of some kind? A way to slap my wrists and tell me I’ve been a very very naughty boy...?”

“A punishment?” The Englishman looked amused. “Quite the contrary. Mr. Lucky is looking to establish a more, ah...mutually-
accommodating
... relationship with you.” He paused deliberately. “...Mr.
Bouros.”

The way he said the name made it clear he was aware it was fake.

The Englishman smiled, still studying Black’s face as he set down his cigar in the ashtray, clasping his fingers on the surface of the table as he leaned closer.

“...He thought he would take this opportunity to have a little talk with you about that. While he had reason and means by which to hold your undivided attention.”

The Englishman leveled his stare at me, his gaze sharp enough to make me wonder if he knew I wasn’t who Black pretended, either.

His eyes returned to Black before I finished the thought.

“I suggest you take a few days to think about the offer, Mr. Bouros,” he said politely, leaning back in his chair and giving me another penetrating stare. “In the meantime, I’m afraid that the specific merchandise that interests you is simply not available. We might be able to change that for you, of course, if you could find it in your heart to pursue a significantly more
friendly
relationship with Mr. Lucky in the future. In Asia and elsewhere.”

Black stiffened against me.

I felt another plume of...something...off him.

“You couldn’t have told me that on the fucking phone?” he said, glancing around at the other three seated at the table. “Why do this here?”

I again got the sense that only the Englishman and Black really knew what they were talking about. In fact, the Englishman seemed to be taunting Black with that very fact, as well as subtly threatening to expose him to the other three. I could also tell that the American, “Frank,” didn’t like how much he’d been cut out of the conversation already.

If the Englishman noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

“I was told to convey this message in person,” he said, clearing his throat as he folded his hands on his chest.

“Why?” Black said.

“It’s really not relevant to your request,” he said, shrugging with indifference in his eyes. “Suffice it to say, if you’re...particular. About the identity of your requested acquisition...then you’ll have to wait for a second meeting with our sponsor.”

“Your boss, you mean,” Black said coldly.

“If you prefer,” the Englishman said, undaunted. “We all have masters, Mr. Bouros. You should understand that better than just about anyone...from what I’ve been told.”

I felt another cloud of anger off Black at that, but he didn’t respond to the comment specifically.

“How long?” he said, still looking only at the Englishman. “When will this second meeting take place?”

“It was suggested one week from today.”

“Why so fucking long?” Black growled.

“Two weeks then,” the Englishman said, his voice holding more steel.
 

Black’s fingers tightened over mine, but that time, he didn’t speak.

When the silence stretched, the Englishman smiled, his gray eyes cold as he glanced at me, smiling wider before he returned his gaze to Black.

“I am glad to see that you are a fast learner, Mr. Bouros. It bodes well for you and your friends...and I sincerely apologize if the conditions seem overly harsh to you. Mr. Lucky would very much like this situation to impress upon you, Mr. Bouros,” he explained gravely. “He would like it to impress upon you very deeply. In the meantime, while you await the return of your cherished merchandise, I would strongly advise you to enjoy your time in Thailand...”

The Englishman glanced at me, but not long enough for me to get a read on his expression.

He added, “I would
also
advise you, I hope entirely unnecessarily, to take a great deal of care in terms of any, well...extra-curricular activities you may otherwise have planned. In the interests of maintaining goodwill between you and our host, you understand. This is quite crucial. Really, establishing trust at the beginning of
any
new relationship is such a delicate and potentially breakable thing. Do you not agree?”

I fought with a harder knot forming in my chest.

I didn’t understand a lot of what they were talking about.

But I understood enough.

From the puzzled looks between the East Indian and the American, I could tell I wasn’t the only one trying to read meaning through the gaps.

“What is the purpose of this acquisition anyway, Bouros?” Frank asked, when the Englishman fell silent. “Is he a bastard child of yours or something?” Chuckling, the American grinned at me, glancing at the Indian man with a knowing smile. “Why so attached to
this
one, when there are so many like it in the world?”

When I turned, I found his watery blue eyes once more focused on my chest.

“...After all, you’ve made a point of parading your...friend...in front of us. Usually the intended uses for this type of merchandise are more straightforward.” He gave Black another reptilian smile. “Or does she like to watch? Is that it, Bouros?”

Black leveled a harder look at him. “It’s for a client.”

“A client?” Frank said. He glanced at the Englishman, as if figuring out for the first time that he might not have all the information on Black himself. “What kind of client? I thought you weren’t in that kind of import-export business.”

“He’s not,” the Englishman said.

Black looked back at the Englishman, ignoring Frank’s puzzled look.

“Is he hurt?” Black said, his voice lower. “Has he been damaged in any way?”

“Not so far.” The Englishman smiled wanly, his gray eyes measuring Black’s. “You know how easily accidents can happen in this part of the world though, Mr. Bouros. How...
unexpected
they can be. I would not test our mutual friend’s resolve in this. He is quite adamant that you reach an agreement at the end of these two weeks, whatever the cost. In his words expressed to me, ‘enough is enough,’ as it were.”