Page 7 of Nobody's Hero
‘We’ll take care of the cheque,’ she said.
‘Do you have a prepaid credit card?’ Koenig said. ‘This is a cashless business. Post-COVID thing. Try to pay with cash in here and you’re going to stand out. Which I’m guessing none of you want.’
Cunningham frowned.
‘I’m also guessing that none of you want your Amex getting pinged in the last place I was seen.’
She didn’t reply.
‘Tell you what,’ Koenig sighed. ‘How about I pay? But next time you guys are picking up the tab. Deal?’
‘What’s fucking wrong with you?’ Cunningham said.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Sure you do. All this crazy “I’m not scared” bullshit. Offering to pay the tab. Sending that email. You got a screw loose or something?’
‘I’m in a good mood,’ Koenig said.
‘Whatever. Pay the tab then. But try anything funny and—’
‘Yeah, yeah. I get a bullet in the hip and She-Hulk gets one in the head. Did you have enough coffee this morning? You seem cranky.’
Koenig picked up his wallet from the computer desk. He removed his credit card. It was an untraceable card from an IBC, an international business corporation. IBCs were like offshore companies, and that was where Koenig kept most of his assets. Meant he could confidentially access his money. Even the Supreme Court couldn’t find out which ATM he’d used. He clicked the end-session button.Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunterwas a ninety-minute film, and he’d been talking to his potential abductors for almost ten. He owed eight bucks. He swiped his credit card against the reader and settled the tab.
He stood. Quickly. Cunningham jerked back. The two men reached for their weapons. Koenig smiled.
‘Outside,’ Cunningham hissed. ‘Slowly. Hands where we can see them.’
Koenig did exactly that. He showed them his hands. There was nothing in them.
Which was odd. He should have been holding his credit card.
Chapter 5
‘I want you to know, this isn’t personal,’ Beetle-Brow said when they were in the parking lot. Koenig had been bustled to the rear of a cream Ford Taurus. A tall, rangy beanpole of a man was waiting for them. He unlocked the trunk. It opened slowly, like it understood the gravity of the situation. Walks-Like-a-Duck threw in Koenig’s backpack.
‘I thought you guys were an urban myth,’ Koenig said. ‘I’d heard rumours when I was in the Special Operations Group, of course, but this is quite the surprise. And not a nice surprise. Not like finding a nickel. This is more like finding blood in your urine.’
Walks-Like-a-Duck said, ‘Jesus, does this asshole never shut up?’
‘Oh, you do talk?’ Koenig said. ‘I assumed you’d only be able to quack.’
Walks-Like-a-Duck scowled. His nostrils flared. He bared his teeth.
‘Easy, Ken,’ Beetle-Brow said.
‘So, he’s Ken and she’s Cunningham,’ Koenig said. ‘The driver’s seat is pushed all the way back, so that means it’s Beanpole’s car. That makes you the guy in charge. And collectively you’re part of the East Coast Sweeney.’
An uneasy silence. Then, ‘And what might that be?’
‘It’s a cabal of corrupt cops. Supposed to be active in the big East Coast cities. Boston, Philly, Baltimore. New York, obviously. They get paid to take down rival drug kingpins. The occasional hit. Safe passage for felons and high-value packages. It’s named after the Flying Squad, the unit responsible for investigating robberies in London. In the seventies they were exposed as having close ties to the criminal fraternity. A lot of them were sent down for corruption.’
‘That a fact?’
‘It is,’ Koenig said. ‘Like I said, until now the East Coast Sweeney was a rumour. Oh, and in case you don’t understand the provenance of your name, in cockney rhyming slang, “Flying Squad” is “Sweeney Todd”. The villains shortened “Sweeney Todd” to “Sweeney”. They made a film and a TV series about them.’ He paused a beat. ‘None of you know what “provenance” means, do you?’
‘Let’s get this asshole in the trunk so we can go and get paid,’ Cunningham said.