Something feels off the moment I pull up. Too quiet. No birds, no street noise, nothing. The kind of silence that has a texture to it.
I push inside. Raul is already on the couch, cigarette burning between his lips, ash dropped directly onto the carpet like the floor owes him something.
"Morning." He doesn't look up.
"Morning." I stay near the door a second longer than necessary. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." He takes a drag. "You remember senior year? That job we almost pulled but walked back at the last minute?"
I go still.
By job, he means a hit. An actual hit. We were eighteen, stupid, and convinced we were harder than we were. We got cold feet two days before and I've never decided whether that was cowardice or survival instinct. Both, maybe.
"Yeah," I say carefully. "Why?"
"We have another one."
He doesn't blink when he says it. Doesn't shift, doesn't soften it. Just lets it sit between us in the cigarette smoke.
"On who?"
"Hotshot attorney. Apparently pissed off the wrong people in a significant way."
The air goes out of the room. I run a hand through my hair and feel the cold sweat already forming at my palms. When Raul said job last night I'd assumed drugs, a large shipment maybe, or security for someone with enough enemies to pay well. Something in the realm of what we know. Not this.
"I already told them yes," Raul says, with a shrug that carries approximately zero weight. "So it's either you or me."
I look at him. Really look. Raul has a record. He's bold in ways that don't always account for consequences, and bold without discipline gets people caught. I've done two prior that even he doesn't know about. Ernie knows. They were clean, quiet, and they stayed that way because I was careful and because I don't panic.
"I'll do it," I say. Keep my voice flat, chest out. Don't give him the nerves.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I need everything. Schedule, address, home and office, known associates, regular clients, all of it. The target being an attorney makes it complicated. He's probably got law enforcement relationships, which means I scope him out first and we don't move until I know exactly when he's alone and where."
Raul stubs out the cigarette on the arm of the couch and leans forward. "Alright. Let's get into it."
We spend the next several hours going through everything they've pulled together. Name, home address, office location, routine, known contacts, parking habits. By the time we're done I have a clear enough picture to start building the real one.
I'll drive past his house tonight. Get a feel for the rhythms. How long the lights stay on, whether there's security, whether he lives alone or brings people back with him.
This shouldn't take long. Everyone has a pattern. Everyone has a moment when they think they're safe.
I just have to find his.
CHAPTER 8
HARVEE
Walking into the office this morning takes everything I have.
Everyone is celebrating. Smiles, handshakes, someone's brought in a tray of pastries. I fix an expression onto my face that approximates happiness and make it to my desk without saying anything I'll regret. I just need to get through today. One day, then the weekend, then enough distance to figure out how to keep doing this job without losing something I won't be able to name until it's already gone.
I'm not naive enough to think this is the last time a winning case will feel like a loss. I just need to stay busy.
I glance to my left. The outgoing mail pile has reached architectural ambitions. Two hours until pickup, but killing time is the point. I gather the stack, stop by Donna's desk on the way out.
She peers up over her glasses, tucks a wave of brown hair behind her ear. "Can you grab me a smoothie from the café downstairs?"