“You don’t play nice with other women,” Travis continued. “However, your pouty voice reminds me of rainbow Skittles.”
Aviere’s fingertips massaged her temples as she blinked at Travis’s off-the-wall statement. “Candy? What are you talking about?”
“Your voice bears a taste. Peters too, but his is like burnt fried chicken.”
She peered above the rims and crinkled her forehead at Travis’s bewildered hazel eyes fluttering at his explanation. “What?”
“Look, my body’s acted weird since the nightclub. Jesus, I’ve never tasted food hearing people talk before.”
“Burnt chicken fits Neuro, though,” Aviere responded, overlooking the high-pitched complaint through the earpiece. “But I hate candy. At least try making my voice taste like broccoli or Brussels sprouts. You know, something to keep you on task.”
“Mold,” Peters interjected, voice rising in pitch. “Suits Mye’s personality.”
“Great, you downgraded Mye from foot fungus to mold.”
A sipping noise came through the earpiece and Aviere’s eye twitched when she squeezed her eyes shut. “Upgrade. Mold is an ingredient in penicillin and cheese. I wonder if the hellcat eats cheese, though. Hard to gauge when she prefers you identify her voice as bloody Brussels sprouts.”
“Look, anything’s better than hearing her judgmental tone. I’m not happy it stinks like burnt coffee.”
The mournful wail to Travis’s voice made Aviere snicker, despite the significance of his words. “Try decaf or flavored coffee. Might take the association away from my voice.”
“Flavored coffee’s not real coffee.” Travis straightened in the seat and his matter-of-fact demeanor returned as he adjusted his trench coat. “I love coffee, for God’s sake. I want to enjoy it, not change from dark roast to the expensive shit because your voice projects bitterness and anger.”
Aviere clasped her hands together but permitted one gloved index finger to rest against her bottom lip as she shrugged off her coworker’s accusation. Her eyes strayed to Karyn’s dented Stingray before rolling her eyes, exhaling when Karyn flounced inside the driver’s seat.
As the Stingray started, it sputtered a few times before the engine turned.
Karyn expects me to accept her using a dying Stingray? I’ll be surprised if she’s got the appropriate suspension and tires to pull off racing at Kilgore Falls. The entire course depends on drifting techniques. Speedy needs to live up to his name, Karyn.
“You’re so judgmental, Mye,” Travis teased, drawling his voice. “Such scorn behind your blue eyes. Did you always hate Greene or just the damaged Stingray she’s driving?”
“No. I’m wondering why she returned to racing after a five-year hiatus. It brings to mind another mystery.”
The Poisoner sucked on her finger and scowled as she tasted dried leather against her tongue. As the others gathered around Karyn’s car, Aviere’s heartbeat accelerated.
Why did you return, Karyn? What made you log off your online game to return to the real world? Are you hunting for answers about Reggie through us, or trying to move forward?
After a moment, Aviere flashed her headlights twice, laughing after Karyn blasted her horn when the light illuminated the Stingray’s rear-view mirror.
“Neuro, you guys questioned Karyn about Reginald Rodriguez, correct?”
“Hmph,” Travis answered before Peters. “Yeah. We found nothing useful, other than your brother’s connection and confirmation of his death.”
Aviere nibbled on the plastic earpieces adorning the end of her glasses and furrowed her eyebrows while watching Limere chat with Karyn inside the Stingray. After honking on Jet’s horn, Aviere pointed to his Ferrari and gave a flinty stare, forgetting Limere couldn’t see her expression in the dark.
“Peters, if we have another woman in the unit, Mye might poison them. You should see how she’s eying the Stingray. Any minute, she might dart through the rain and smash the Ferrari into Greene’s car.”
The Poisoner revved her engine as she flicked a strand of hair behind an ear. “No. Joe might have a coronary if Jet suffers more body damage. Besides, Karyn isn’t worth wrecking Jet for. Though, it leads into my next question.”
“Are cats always territorial?” Travis asked. “I mean, you’re eying her like a piece of meat, despite the answer you gave me.”
“I didn’t survive by sweeping things under the rug. The way she enamors my brothers is worth investigating. Every person has skeletons worth exploiting… except you.”
From the corner of her eye, Aviere caught Travis’s huff before shifting in the passenger seat.
“I don’t need a bullet lodged in my heart from a series of misplaced questions. You’re the ‘shoot first, ask questions after they’re dead’ type. Dangerous in our line of work.”
When Travis remained silent, Aviere shook her head and returned to her original train of thought before derailing again.
“Neuro, how easy it is to trace someone’s information from the computer?”
“Eh… depends.” A mouse clicked frantically in the background, accompanied by a few gulps and clanking ice cubes against metal. “What are you searching for?”
“Something pertaining to Reginald Rodriguez, but it’s through Karyn’s credit card information and that online game you both play.”
“Ah, Mye… she’s not an online gamer,” Travis interjected. “She’s a grease monkey. You’re going the wrong direction with this.”
The relaxed body language her brothers displayed around Karyn as the rain drizzled made Aviere snarl under her breath. “She works for Joe and skips work to raid in this game called Knights of Cornivea—the same game Peters played for four hours while attending to your unconscious body this afternoon. I’m tired of Joe bitching about her and watching Maurice pine for a woman who toys with his feelings.”
Silence followed her angered explanation before Aviere cleared her throat and carried on.
“Hack into the database and obtain any information about her accounts and characters. Get it off her credit cards or something. I don’t care how you do it, but I want enough to control her erratic behavior.”
“That requires a bloody subpoena, Mye.” Despite his answer, she sensed the excitement in the specialist’s voice. “I need a reason to order one, though.” More clicking ensued before Peters banged his fist. “Shit, I’m five levels too low for this area. That’s what I get for following my girlfriend into unexplored territory.”
Gloved hands gripped the steering wheel while gritting her teeth at Peters’s condescending tone. “You have a girlfriend?”
“Someone married you even though you poisoned their relatives’ ground beef at a Fourth of July cookout,” Peters said. “And yes, but she’s in Switzerland for college. Free tuition, unlike the United States.”
From the side, Aviere watched Travis hide his face with the leather hat, muttering under his breath about Peters and mail-order brides.
“However, I admire your tenacity, even if it’s for extortion,” Peters complimented. “But why should I help you? Every favor you ask for gets us in trouble.”
“Reggie liked games, but Karyn didn’t. Hard to believe now with the hours she puts in. However, six months before his death, Reggie joined the cartel for side money. He wanted to give her an extravagant wedding and one of those fancy engagement rings. Not what I’d pick as a mechanic, but—”
“Get to the point, hellcat. I’m about to raid and my woman is impatient.”
“He’s raiding while I’m watching my life flash before my eyes,” Travis grumbled. “Jesus, not even spiked coffee’s good enough tonight. But then, Mye ruined coffee for me, too. Cats and coffee… a horrible combination.”
“When Reggie and Karyn played hardcore, Limere’s profits soared.” Bitterness laced Aviere’s voice after a heavy sigh. Rain pelted harder, as if in tune with her horrid mood. “I didn’t piece it together until a few minutes ago, but I suspect Reggie pushed for Limere using t
he stupid game. That’s when the illegal drug pushing happened, but the dons and the local authorities couldn’t find pushers dealing on the streets. Yet bodies dropped like flies with no explanation other than overdoses from synthetic drugs.”
The leather seat squeaked as Travis straightened and grabbed her shoulder. “You’re kidding.”
Aviere shook her head. “No. I remember… because right after that, Limere sold to an undercover cop, unaware Reggie sold to his son and killed the guy with a botched batch of cocaine. While Limere wasn’t responsible, it pissed Trenabour off enough to force my hand before Sanderson got involved.”
“Was this when—”
“What you eavesdropped on outside Jemina’s townhouse? Yeah.” Aviere bared her upper canines before continuing again. “I can’t help Limere liked coke when heroin jumped in price. I didn’t like chasing him around the goddamn city, but it saved him from Sanderson’s wraith. Despite my efforts to smooth over the situation, the Underground usurped my position and everything we worked for. Donahue ruined everything when he got my brother into drugs.”
As she closed her eyes, the Poisoner jumped when her iPhone vibrated against her butt cheek. She adopted a stoic demeanor, but Travis’s fingers squeezed her shoulder before patting her collarbone three or four times.
The phone call remained unanswered as she twisted away, staring at the once serene darkness now clouding her memories.
Another tap on her shoulder made Aviere growl. “Stop touching me.”
“You missed Peters’s response,” he said, tapping on her earlobe. “He said it’s possible but doesn’t understand what it’ll accomplish.”
“Karyn plays on Reggie’s account since his characters are maxed out,” Aviere explained. “She never reported his death, only changed the credit card information. Leonard plays, along with Karyn’s other work buddy. Can’t remember his name, though.”
“Explain why I’m asking for the subpoena, Mye.”
“If we get his account records, we should see all his previous playtime, along with the dates his characters were online. I need to prove to Louis that Limere wasn’t pushing at that time.” Aviere’s eyes rested on the blonde scratching her chest while chatting with Maurice, snarling softly under her breath. “Also, Joe’s pissed she calls out every Friday, so he makes her work Saturdays instead.”
“Well, another missing piece.” Amusement played in Travis’s voice. “For a woman who hates Greene, you’re informed about her activities. However, the day I picked you up from Randolph’s shop, I never saw her.”
“We went on a Friday,” Aviere said. “Thank God for that.”
“Then why consider Armandi’s suggestion about her joining your team?” Travis repeated. “You’re against the idea.”
“Limere and Maurice spend time with her. Joe bitches about her behavior, but doesn’t want to fire her because she’s good at her job. But since Reggie died, she’s played nonstop, sinking her money into that god-forsaken game. She’s associated with an elite guild, earning half her money in raiding events, I think. So why return to racing at all?”
“Money,” Peters said, his voice accented with more tinking ice. “I bet Louis Armandi threatened to take your funding if you didn’t consider Greene. It’s the only logical explanation.”
“Not necessarily, Neuro. I could—”
“Hellcat, you don’t hesitate to tell us when you’re pissed off, but you’re pussyfooting around your brothers because Maurice digs this chick.”
“That’s why I’m checking into her!” she yelled. “We vet our people!”
“Keep telling yourself that, Mye. However, why can’t Greene search for answers like you?”
An eerie pause followed Peters’s statement. She mulled over her explanation and bit her lip before clutching Jet’s steering wheel underneath her palm. As leather tightened and squeaked, pain laced her stinging fingers.
She regretted voicing her concern about Karyn and triggering the thoughts plaguing her for years.
Comparing herself to a mechanic-turned-gaming-addict almost weighed Aviere down and she compelled herself to breathe, fighting the wave of depression crashing upon her.
The Poisoner cursed the drizzling rain, her coworkers, and the blonde sitting inside the damaged silver Stingray. She rolled down her window after another horn honked in the distance.
Christ, I almost cast aside my doubts until Neuro cut through the bullshit. If he can’t get any information, then I suppose visiting Joe’s in order. He’ll tell me what I want to know. But that’s after the blood results finish tomorrow, not before.
After several hand signals toward her brothers, Aviere shifted in reverse and sped through the street, stewing over Peters’s statement. Despite squealing tires, muttered objections, and a cell phone vibrating against her butt, the Poisoner focused on the dark street, blasting the radio until she swore her eardrums would explode.
Four phone calls later, she retrieved the offending device and slammed it down on Travis’s thigh before increasing her speed, blocking out the retort cutting through the band screaming lyrics through her speakers.
Even though bellowed lyrics, she caught Travis’s tone as he asked about how to handle her call.
“If it’s my father, tell him I’ll call later. If it’s Sanderson, blow him off.”
“It’s your brother. What do I tell him?”
She held out her hand before slamming against the accelerator. “Give it here. I’m sorry in advance if I’m bitchy tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Ten
The blinking cursor inside the word processing application reminded Travis why he hated paperwork and days off from his job.
After a quiet afternoon catching up on mundane chores, Travis groaned when he recognized the heinous, childish font used for his official report. He stared hard at the obnoxious oversized font, but slammed his tumbler against the desk when he noticed the step-by-step instructions Peters had obviously outlined for his own amusement.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Technologically impaired doesn’t mean I’m a moron, Shawn.
The first few steps made sense, so Travis wasn’t as irritated with his partner’s instructions. However, halfway down the first page, he banged his fist against the keyboard and grumbled under his breath.
“I draw the line at formatting and using politically correct words. No wonder office workers go insane. If they dealt with vindictive pricks messing up their reports or leaving them instructions about diplomacy, they’d go postal, too!”
Snide chuckling came from the apartment entrance before the door clicked shut, accompanied by curses as something heavy dropped on the floor.
That’s what you get for laughing at me, Peters, Travis thought, rising from his computer chair.
The agent grabbed his metal travel mug and headed into the hallway, grumbling at the hazelnut creamer inside his drink. After an entire afternoon of trying different creamers and coffee brands, Travis found two brands worth keeping at the supermarket. He recalled the cashier’s dumbfounded look after explaining why he needed to return twelve different bags of coffee.
As the hazelnut coffee washed down his throat, Travis nodded to himself, savoring the newfound taste over Aviere’s sarcastic tone, then looked pointedly at Peters. “I’m sure you thought I’d bend to your whiny demands, but I’ll give you more work if you’re bored.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Keith,” Peters declared, pointing to the numerous coffee mugs sitting on the sideboard and ignoring Travis’s statement. “You spent all afternoon tasting coffee?”
“I meant what I said yesterday. Flavored coffee isn’t real coffee, and Mye ruined Folgers for me, so I needed another brand.” Travis took another sip of his drink and relished his second taste, pleased with the creamer and sugar mixture. “Only took twelve tries, but the poor lady thought the same after refunding me $85.75 this afternoon.”
“Look, coffee shops are better for testing coffee. They have espresso and cappuccinos, too.
”
“You’re hooked on those and energy drinks, Peters. I’m fine with regular coffee, thanks.” After a longer sip, Travis frowned, the silver travel mug hiding his nose and mouth. “I’m not going to format reports for you. You’re lucky I remembered how to type a report.”
“Actually, it’s on default settings. Word crashed last time, and it pissed me off, so I reinstalled it.” The buzz-cut specialist bent to retrieve his briefcase and multi-storage laptop bag. “But I can’t finish your reports—that information Mye requested came this afternoon.”
Travis sat in his leather recliner and leaned forward as he held his warm travel mug. “Paper or electronic?”
“Digital, but it’s over a hundred pages long.”
The impatient snort from Peters made Travis snicker. “Hope you drank enough cappuccino and postponed your gaming plans, Peters.”
“Travis, I could let you search for timestamps while I write the report for Sanderson. But we might get screwed if I get colorful. Prick doesn’t deserve the time of day, let alone my cooperation.”
“I’ll finish the report, but if you type up another list of instructions or give me a list of banned words, I’ll make sure Sanderson puts you back on house arrest.” A calloused finger rubbed the rim of the metal travel mug before posing a simple question. “What’s a timestamp?”
“Bloody hell.” Exasperation laced Peters’s voice, followed by a painful sigh. “It’s literal, Keith.”
Travis groaned when Peters dropped the briefcase against his coffee table. As Peters dragged it across the glass, Travis motioned to move the nice briefcase next to the couch.
“I’m about to open the damn briefcase.”
“And I want my furniture in one piece. Stop slamming stuff because you assume I’m stupid. I never heard of timestamps, Peters.”
“Every message or action in a game, phone application, chat log, or computer program is recorded. They’re called timestamps online.” Another sigh escaped the specialist as he took over the large three-seater couch and stretched his legs. “Sometimes, I wonder how you got through life without a computer, Keith.”
Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two Page 17