Since all the evidence was on three thumb drives, no paper, I was going to hand them over to someone Sal was sending to keep them safe.
That was my plan for the night.
I was also going to cuddle with my man, play with my puppy, look forward to the time when that was my life but in Chicago, and try to forget about all this crap.
Until tomorrow.
I was at my car when my phone in my purse binged with a text. I got in the car, settled, dug out my phone, and looked at the display.
When I saw what was on it, I forced myself to act normally, seeing as they had cameras in the parking garage. And when the text faded to a dark screen, I went to my texts to read it again.
McCaffrey’s. Now. Come by yourself.
It was from Heath.
One thing I knew, I was going to McCaffrey’s.
The other thing I knew, I was not going alone.
I put my Bluetooth in, made the call, and pulled out of my spot as it rang.
“You headed home?” was Benny’s greeting.
“No, I’m meeting you at a place called McCaffrey’s where I’m giving a command performance for Heath, my colleague who disappeared at lunch after a first-thing-in-the-morning meeting with me followed immediately by one with Bierman.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Where is it?”
I gave him directions and he sounded like he was walking when he said, “Got it. Be there in a few. But do not go in without me. Do not even park in the parking lot without me. I had shit to do with Sal’s boys today, so one of them took your ass on the way to work and was gonna trail you home. He can clock out when I get there, but you’re not goin’ in without someone at your back. Take a drive. Circle it. I’ll text you when I’m there.”
Seemed Ben was good at cloak-and-dagger shit.
I found that interesting.
And hot.
“Right, capo.”
“Whatever,” he said with a smile in his voice, then, “Later.”
He disconnected and I did as told, though it wasn’t for a few since Brownsburg was half an hour drive on a good day from McCaffrey’s and it was rush hour. Since 86th Street and its environs, where McCaffrey’s was located, was crazy busy, I also did it wanting to murder somebody. And I did it until my phone binged and I saw the text that said Ben was there.
That’s when I went to McCaffrey’s, which was a pub restaurant off 86th where a lot of folks from Wyler went after work for a couple of drinks and a plate of appetizers. I’d been there twice, always with folks from Wyler.
I parked, and when I got out, Benny was at my door.
“Got the shit on you, babe?” he asked and there it was again. He was good at this cloak-and-dagger shit. I’d left it in my computer bag on my passenger seat. It probably wasn’t such a hot idea to leave evidence of all that Tandy’s crew had been doing in a decades-old Z outside a pub frequented by Wyler staff.
“Right,” I muttered, leaned into my car, nabbed my bag, pulled it out, and when I did, Benny took it.
I locked up. He grabbed my hand and led me into the bar.
We found Heath away from the having-a-few-and-attempting-to-hook-up crowd around the bar. Side booth, out of the way.
Obviously, he didn’t want to have a beer (or in his case, by the cocktail glass in front of him, I was again guessing a martini) and share about our day among the heaving throng.
I led Benny to Heath, and when we got to his booth, Ben guided me in first.
We barely stopped sliding our asses in when Heath asked, “Who’s this f**king guy?”
“My boyfriend,” I answered.
He leveled his eyes on me. “I thought I told you to come alone.”
“She’s not alone. Get over it or not. Call it now. We leavin’ or we stayin’?” Ben declared, and Heath glared at him.
Then he shrugged. “What the f**k, doesn’t matter. It’s gonna be all over the Internet soon anyway so everyone can see it,” he muttered bizarrely, then turned, picked something up out of the seat beside him, and tossed it across the table our way.
It was a manila envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked, reaching for it.
“Proof Randy Bierman is a total dick,” Heath answered.
“Need more to go on there, man,” Benny said.
Heath looked at me but jerked his head toward Benny. “Again, why is this guy here?”
“He’s Italian. He’s protective. He tends not to like me having a drink on command alone with guys who don’t like me much, so he’s here. Like he said, get over it,” I replied, having grabbed the envelope during that exchange. I flipped open the flap and started to pull out what was inside.
I shoved it back in and I didn’t even get a full look.
This was because what I saw was Heath sitting in a nice armchair, fully clothed, head thrown back, and Sandy was between his legs doing something that could not be mistaken, completely naked.
I barely got the photo shoved back in before Benny ripped the envelope out of my hand and sent it sailing back to Heath.
“You wanna explain why you’re givin’ my woman shit like that to look at?” he demanded to know, his voice not smooth, not easy, but rumbling and irate.
Obviously, he got a look too.
“Thought she should know she’s right,” Heath answered like it was all the same to him. I looked at his martini glass, which was drained, and wondered how many he’d had.
When he spoke again, I looked back to him.
“Bierman. Like you guessed. Told me to tell Sandy to keep her shit together or her consequence would be everyone across the globe knowing she has a birthmark on her ass. Also told me to end it with her. And last, he told me if my resignation wasn’t on Lloyd’s desk by Monday, that picture”—he jerked his head to the envelope—“was going to be all over the Internet.”
I did not get this.
So I asked, “Why does he want you to resign?”
“Because he’s a dick,” Heath answered.
The way he opened our discussion came back to me.
“Are you resigning?”
“Fuck no,” he clipped, and I blinked.
He was swinging Sandy out there.
What a jerk!
“You’re gonna put your woman out there?” Benny stated my thoughts, but he did it incredulously, like that idea was so foreign to him he couldn’t process it, and I remembered (not that I’d ever forget) how much I love Benny Bianchi.
Benny Bianchi had a lot of my love, but he would earn more in the coming exchange.
“I’m not lettin’ some twat strong-arm me into quitting my f**king job,” Heath declared. “And she’s not my woman.”