Theycouldn’t.
In any capacity.
Benito didn’t reach for his other phone. He tucked the Universal Credit forms under his arm and leaned harder against the wall. “How do I make the payments for the plan you’re setting up?”
“Your mum has a payment card. I can arrange for another one to be sent to you if she requests it, or you can do it online.”
“The card is better.”
Of course it was. With the payment card, Benito could take cash into any shop with pay-point facilities, no questions asked.
Mickey’s gut churned, every instinct he had screaming at him to get as far from this case as possible so he wouldn’t need to know where Benito’s money was coming from. But his conscience and... something else had him nodding and making a note to order the payment card. “I’m leaving,” he said.
Benito didn’t blink. Or speak.
Mickey zeroed in on his lips, then his set, unshaven jaw and sharp cheekbones—anywhere but his quicksand gaze—but wherever he looked, there were no answers to be found. He had to go. “You need to lose my number.”
Benito nodded. “I know.”
“After this is sorted, I mean.”
“Whatever, man.”
“I’m not the fucking enemy here.”
Benito laughed, no humour, just a brittle sound that scraped Mickey’s soul.
Nothing else.
Mickey had left after that. And now here he was, alone in his kitchen, rehashing every moment, all the while eyeing the microwave where he’d hidden Benito’s cash until he could take it to the bank in the morning.Genius.
Tea in hand, Mickey flicked the TV on. Netflix filled the screen with the synopsis forTop Boy. The irony was fucking biblical, though Mickey couldn’t put his finger on the specifics. How could he when he knew nothingspecificabout Benito except how to make him come and that his mother hadn’t left her flat for six months?
Stop thinking about him.
Nope. Wasn’t happening.
Mickey lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, digging deep for the tools he’d learned over the years to force his muscles to relax, joint by joint, nerve by nerve. At some point, he’d have to go to the gym and punish his body into submission, but not tonight. Leaving the house right now was a risk too heavy to bear.Just breathe, man. If you can do that, you can do anything.
Wise words Mickey had almost forgotten, but they still meant something.
Eventually, the itch in his veins died down to the low simmer he could happily ignore. He drank his tea, then switched to water as he read through Isha’s replies to his emails. Without Benito scowling over his shoulder, constructing an intelligent response felt impossible, so he took a chance and made a call.
Isha answered on the third ring, breathless.
“Sorry it’s late,” Mickey said. “Am I interrupting you?”
Isha laughed. “Rescuing me, more like. My daughter wants me to watchThe Next Stepwith her.”
“The what?”
“If you don’t know, you lead a blessed life. What do you need, Mickey?”
“I just wanted to talk about the De Luca case, and I figured it would be quicker to do it over the phone than bombard you with emails all weekend.”
“It’s only bombarding me if I chose to look, and that’s my decision.”
“Yeah, but—”