My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Twenty-Two - After Hours

i.

More than half an hour passed as Mrs. Jones and Latin strategized what to do next. The whisky made a grand return from the desk drawer in celebration of their planning. No longer bothering with glasses, Latin and Mrs. Jones had taken to passing the bottle back and forth. Valyntine, relegated to being a piece of furniture occupying another piece of furniture, sat and listened.

They spoke at length about the Compass Families as Latin scribbled in his notebook. The two of them listed names and business associates and connections to other major players around Porter City. Over the decades, the Nest had amassed volumes of compromising information on the Elites. Valyntine didn't recognize most of the names being bandied about and discussed. She tried to follow along, but they spoke too fast, and in the kind of conversational shorthand only those with history can fully understand. She sat back in her chair, folded her arms, and waited for them to include her.

Deciding on their next move proved problematic with the number of players and pieces moving around the city complicating matters. Mrs. Jones thinks they should concentrate on the Monk family of the West and trying to find out who had the title of 'handler' for Lament and Exodus. Latin believes their attention should shift to the North. He can't explain why, but says he thinks this long and bloody road ends with the last name, 'Ellyngton.'

"What about Valyntine?" Mrs. Jones asks. Valyntine sits up, thinking she is about to be asked a question.

Without looking in her direction, Latin says, "There's no more hiding she's here. The Vamps and Olivers are likely camped out in every alley and rooftop within a ten-block radius. Exodus and Lament could be here any minute," he points to the bone on his desk. "We don't know anything about the one called Equinox, so we add him to the list of unknown variables. That list, by the way, is getting longer. And now that Shaw has hinted he knows who she is-"

"Shaw?!" Mrs. Jones slams the bottle down on the desk. Her eyes have a fire in them Valyntine has not yet seen.

"I thought we'd covered that," Latin says, rubbing his tired, bloodshot eyes. He gives a great, irritated groan as he continues, "Yes, two nights ago. We were heading to the Saints. He and Brubeck were waiting behind my place in Oriole when we came out of the lift."

Mrs. Jones, her mouth hanging open, her eyes equally wide, gapes at him.

"What?" Latin asks, taking the bottle off the desk.

"He works for Charleston Monk!" Mrs. Jones bellows at him, incredulous.

Valyntine's eyes snap to look at him, sending a jolt of pain through the back of her head. He told her they were freelance.

"Doesn't muster," Latin says, one side of his lip curling.

"The fuck does that mean?" Valyntine demands, no longer able to hold back her frustration. Due to their shared outrage, she and Mrs. Jones appear united against Latin's omission.

"Shaw Nuff is on the Duke's payroll, and Monk thinks he's still loyal. But Shaw has been taking his orders from someone else for months."

"How do you-" Mrs. Jones begins, but Latin cuts her off.

"Really?" he asks her, with pure smugness.

"Fine," Mrs. Jones rolls her eyes. "Who is he working for now?"

A flash of irritation shoots through Valyntine at his cryptic answer being enough for his boss.

"The bird hasn't gotten that worm just yet," Latin says, tapping his pen on the top of his notebook. "Him working with Brubeck doesn't muster, either. Brubeck's never had one employer for long. He's been freelancing for the past couple of years, doing the legwork for some families up North. But, when they confronted us, Shaw treated him as less than a subordinate. He demeaned him, assaulted him, and threatened to send him South."