James Callahan thrust his hands deep into his pockets and braced against the cold. It was ninety-two degrees outside but only thirty-eight in the freezer. When he’d set up a time to meet a man named Sully the Butcher, James hadn’t thought the place would be in a meat locker at the back of a restaurant downtown. It was a little too clichéd for his tastes. But he was nothing if not flexible.
“You wait here, old man. Or should I say, Padre. I’ll go get ’em.”
The young man—and that was being generous—was standing so close that the heavy scent of cheap aftershave invaded James’s senses. Not in a good way. Whoever this kid was, James bet his dad would be coming home that night to a nearly empty bottle of the stuff. Assuming he had a dad who was around. Usually people who nicknamed themselves Queso and worked for a man called Butcher didn’t have a normal home situation.
“I can see now why you have to make a reservation for this place,” James quipped. He tilted his head to the hunk of meat hanging off a hook right behind them. “It’s pretty crowded in here.”
James busted out a wide grin at his own joke, but Queso wasn’t amused. His exit was accompanied by an eye roll. The man guarding the door—with no nicknames that James knew of—kept his post without moving a muscle. Not that he needed to. Those muscles were thick and tattooed until there was more ink than bare skin. He didn’t need a nickname. His purpose was to intimidate without saying a word.
James bet he was great at that. Sully might not be world famous, but he did a good job of keeping his name in the minds of the criminal underworld throughout the state. His network wasn’t as big as that of the locals running the city of Kipsy a half hour away, but he didn’t let that stop him from dipping his toes into the rest of the county’s affairs. Still, regardless of Sully’s lack of infamy, if anybody found themselves in his freezer with muscle guarding the door, they had every right to worry.
But while James wasn’t a criminal, he wasn’t exactly a nobody, either.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the golden savior himself.” On cue, a small-statured man walked in and spread his arms wide. James was surprised for several reasons. One, the man was wearing a pink-collared shirt, khaki shorts and golf shoes. Two, he looked closer to James’s age of thirty-two than the old, weathered man he had been expecting. “Can’t say I ever thought we’d meet like this, but who am I to question fate?”
He extended his hand, and James shook it.
“I have to admit, I thought you’d make me wait a lot longer in here,” he said by way of greeting. “Make me sweat it, so to speak.”
Sully laughed the thought off.
“I’m not trying to get information out of you, Mr. Callahan. In fact, I hear it’s the other way around. And that is what interests me. As for the freezer?” He shrugged. “You know how the gossip wheel turns in this place? That doesn’t stop just because we’re not your average residents. If I don’t keep up appearances, then that might send the wrong message to some of my associates. They might start questioning me. And I don’t like questions.”
“But you agreed to meet me.”
Sully nodded. His hair, golden, thick and curly, was just another piece that didn’t seem to fit the man or his reputation. Then again, James knew that images didn’t always go hand in hand with reality.
“I don’t like questions, but I do like mysteries,” Sully informed him. “And it seems you walked into a big one.”
“Gardner Todd’s death.”
Sully nodded, and his humor dropped a few pegs.
“What happened to him is...troubling,” Sully admitted.
“That’s a nice way to put it.” James pulled a picture out of his pocket. “As is the man who presumably shot him.”
Sully took the picture and was polite enough to examine it like he’d never seen the image of the dead man before. James bet there wasn’t a cop or criminal who hadn’t already seen it. It wasn’t every day someone got the jump on the Alabama Boogeyman.
“You don’t think he was the one who shot Gardner?” That surprised the man. “I thought the sheriff’s department linked a gun he owned to the one that took out Todd.”
“They did, and I do think he shot him,” James conceded. “But what I don’t get is why.” He tapped the picture with his index finger twice. “This man’s name is Lester McGibbon—”
“An unfortunate name,” Sully interrupted to add.
“He lived in Atlanta and was suspected of corporate espionage but later cleared,” he continued. “The man drove a Prius, had a soft spot for rescue dogs and took his son on fishing trips almost every weekend during the summer. He was white-collar crime through and through. So why did he come all the way to southern Alabama to kill the infamous Gardner Todd?”
James could feel his adrenaline spiking with every new thought. Even if he’d asked himself these same questions during many sleepless nights.
“So that’s why you went looking for me,” Sully said, a grin pulling up his lips. If they had been anywhere other than inside a freezer, James would have mistaken the man for some rich tourist, getting ready for a trip down to the beach a few hours away, perpetually retired and two seconds away from pulling out a margarita and donning a visor. “Because ole Lester was white-collar crime.”
“It seems while everyone around here is still getting their hands dirty with armed robberies and drug deals, you’ve upgraded.”
Sully’s grin widened. Surprise mingled with pride lit his features, and his stomach rumbled with a laugh.
“Seems like the Bates Hill Savior is more well connected than I thought,” he said. “And here I thought you only spent that fortune of yours on good deeds and photo shoots, not collecting rumors.”
“They’re not rumors if they’re true,” James pointed out.
Sully conceded to that with a shrug.
“I suppose not.” The humor once again began to fizzle out. “Though I’d love to meet the people who provided my name and contact information to you. But I suppose you’ll keep that to yourself.”
James nodded. “You suppose correctly.”
For a moment, James thought Sully would make it a point to find out the sources James had used to track the criminal. Sully might have taken his people off the streets and put them into offices, but that didn’t undercut his abilities. Especially when he was trying to get something he wanted. You didn’t get the nickname Butcher for no reason. However, he returned the picture to James and went back to the original topic.
“After the media released Lester’s name, everyone in my line of work researched him. Not to mention, after he shot that woman cop, the entire county full of law enforcement tore through who he used to be. What makes you think I can answer questions all of those people couldn’t? And why, for that matter, do you even care about what happened to Gardner Todd?”
James lowered his voice. Not to speak more quietly, but to convey what he said next was fact.
“Because I’d owe you one, and having a favor from James Callahan is gold in your particular line of work. The rest is none of your business.”
A pregnant silence followed. It was just for show. James knew the moment the word “favor” had left his mouth that Sully was hooked. He was, at heart, a businessman first and foremost. He traded in deals and favors.
“That’s quite the offer,” he said after a moment. “No strings attached?”
James held up two fingers. “More like conditions,” he said. “No one gets hurt or killed for this information.”