strike him in the middle of the street if he didn’t obey the order, disguised as an offering. He nodded and walked next the detective into a small half-empty bar.
So they sat down at a table, and the conversation was delayed until Cutfield's salad was served.
"Still having contacts in Chinatown, red?" he asked, while chewing the salad.
"Now I don’t have many, boss. I've changed my ways. I’m reformed."
"Bullshit you're reformed! I hope at least you have risen the average age of the girls. Or do you prefer anything else now?" he said mocking, winking.
"If you tell me what you want, I'll tell if I can find it out." Alec had no desire to keep conversing with him. "I have things to do."
The vehemence of that sentence bothered the detective. He spat on the floor a piece of salad and dropped the cutlery while facing the Irish gaze.
"Look, shithead, you better don't be cocky. Can't wait for popping a few heads, and you don’t want to be first."
Cutfield thought better of it, and kept talking more calmly.
"What do you know of motel Diamond?"
"I only know yesterday they killed that guy at the reception. Roger, I think his bloody name was."
"Who did it?" Cutfield asked interested in finding out that. Alec shrugged.
"He was killed late yesterday, with a pocketknife. I haven’t neither an idea of who did it, nor why."
Police usually don't use knives to kill, so he had two logical options: either were the murderers to prevent him talking, or the fucking blonde and her association to avenge his role in the deaths. A track ruined. Shit.
"What about the girls?" He kept asking. "Do you know anything of an association?"
"An association?” Alec made a face of not understanding what he was talking about, and it looked sincere. "What kind of association?"
(I have no fucking idea.)
"Cortlandt Alley, near Walker. I'll be there at about quarter to eight, don’t be late."
It had been hard to decide whether or not to use the help of the Irish on his upcoming night journey. He hadn’t many more options, actually. Landers would carry the money and then go; Cutfield would be responsible for monitoring the courier, but experience told him it was always better to have some extra support. The blackmailers were often not stupid, and in this case were also extremely dangerous. If someone should die, better if was that pedophile reddish rat.
The Payment
It was twenty past six, and Landers had not yet arrived. Cutfield even thought that the motherfucker had played with him until, nearly half past six, he opened the door of the cafe.
"Sucking the cock of the Mayor, Landers? Do you know what time it is?” he said while the other was sitting next to him.
"I have come as fast as I could!” Landers exclaimed mixing an apology with another more unpleasant tone. "What is your plan?"
"To steal that briefcase, shoot you and retire myself," said the detective with a seriousness that frightened the assistant to the mayor. "Fuck me, Landers; until I find out how they'll act, I won't know what I'll do. I'll be watching the transaction, don't worry."
Although it seemed Cutfield’s words didn’t sooth him, he started to get up. Cutfield stopped him and spoke again.
"The most important thing is that you keep calm. Those people didn’t hesitate to torture and kill nine girls, and cost them nothing to do the same to you."
The truth was Cutfield wouldn't hesitate to torture and kill that brown noser of Landers too, but that was another matter.
"Don't blow it, Cutfield. I might lose my job."
"Easy, man. I don't want Hylan to have finding another pimp," he replied sarcastically. He just said it for bothering Landers, but an idea flashed through his mind. "Hey, Landers, did you introduce Christine to him?"
"Focus on this, will you? There's less than an hour for the appointment, and we have to walk a few blocks."
He avoided the detective and walked out quickly, followed closely by Cutfield. Couldn’t get information out of the obese, but now he was opening another door and sooner or later he would cross it.
They walked without speaking until their destination was less than ten minutes away. It wasn't appropriate to continue doing so, as it wouldn't be strange that someone was guarding the area. The detective said goodbye to Landers with few words, and turned left. He should quicken the pace to arrive at the time he had said before to the Irish.
Alec was leaning against the wall, smoking a small cigar. He looked nervous, which was not surprising considering with whom he had to meet.
"Was there something strange, red?" That was the greeting from Cutfield. The other replied shaking his head before giving an answer.
"It would be easier if I knew why I'm here," he said resignedly, "and if this has anything to do with that bloody Diamond thing."
In the light of the forced naturalness with which the Irish spoke, Cutfield was sure he had found out something new since their previous encounter. Something was scaring him. He thought once again that having him as an assistant in that case had been a really bad idea.
"What the fuck have you heard?" He held tight the flap of his shabby overcoat. The Irish dropped the cigar and put his hands in front of Cutfield without daring to touch him.
"Nothing, I swear!" He said. "I was only curious!"
"You know what they say about curiosity, Irish kitten. Shut the fuck up and open your eyes wide."
He took a couple of hard slaps on Alec's back and started walking way to the nearby place where Landers would encounter the extortionist. They walked a few streets down Cortlandt, and at one point Cutfield raised his right hand.
"Do not do the slightest noise, redhead." Despite whispering it, the threatening tone of his words was clear. Lander was there, clutching his briefcase as if it was his lover and looking suspiciously in all directions. The surrounding darkness, however, made impossible to find out if someone was closer. In fact, just Landers was inside an illuminated zone.
A whistling. Someone whistled from one of the side streets. The assistant to the mayor turned, peering into the darkness without being able to discover who did it. He didn’t move until it sounds a second time.
"Moron..." Cutfield muttered. "You should have let them come near you."
Avoiding lights, the detective and Alec walked slowly in pursuit of Landers. When they ceased hearing his footsteps, also stopped walking. Along with Landers, recognizable by the briefcase, there was another man. He was a tiny man with a reedy voice. To understand his words they didn't have any choice but to come closer to them.
"How do I know after this payment you won't use the information?" Landers coyly asked the other guy, while moving away the briefcase from himself.
"We have nothing against him, nor are we interested in all the money he has pocketed with his illegal business. If it is all the money and this issue leaves no trace behind, you will never hear of us again."
They were near enough to avoid errors shooting, if he decided to do it. But no, it was better to follow him to his lair and kill all the bastards who were involved. In a couple of minutes that guy would have the briefcase in his hands and would go back home confident he had succeeded. Then, he would die with the rest.
All went to hell when the Irish took a step backward. A shard of glass or a piece of metal (it was hard to know what it was, and did not matter either) was thrown against the wall breaking with its sound the silence in the street. The man with the reedy voice pulled something out of his jacket and immediately a loud bang was heard.
"Crap!" Cutfield turned the corner, covering of the shots that could go in his direction, as he took out his gun. The transaction had gone to hell in a flash and now there was only one option left: to capture that guy and obtain all the information he had, one way or another. He took a deep breath before do the shooting too.
He emptied the magazine without being sure where the bullets would go, but trying to reach his legs. If the man died, he would be a
s before. He reloaded the weapon while scanning the darkness, looking for any signs of movement. He hoped he'd not hit Landers, although more for the questions he wanted to ask than because it was really annoying he died in that alley. When he felt a hand on his back, nearly punched the unexpected intruder.
"Sorry, with the darkness, I ..." Alec's voice was shaky.
"Shut up!" The detective pushed him. A movement among the shadows alerted him "Your hands on your head, motherfucker, or I'll blow your balls!"
"It's me," cried Landers. "What the fuck happened, Cutfield? I knew this wasn’t going to work out!"
Holy shit. He had to come and see if the other man was still alive or not. Of course, if he hadn't escaped. Walked slowly back to Landers, ready to fire at any sudden movements happening around them. Just a couple of steps and he could realize the outcome of that debacle.
"Are you okay?" The detective asked, without too much interest. The tiny man was lying on the ground, his left arm under the body in an awkward position to say the least. Or it would be awkward if he had continued alive. Gave a couple of hard kicks to the fallen's kidneys, just to be sure he wasn't pretending.
Definitively, that jerk was with the Saints.
"Bullshit I’m okay, son of a bitch! Do you realize what you've done?"
Without thinking twice, Cutfield struck him with the butt of his gun, breaking the nose of the mayor's assistant and making his ass ended up in the cold ground of the alley. He was very upset with the whole thing. He was bothered with the Irish, with Landers, with the