Page 73 of By Any Means

“Wait a minute,” Laurie interrupted. “We’ve been led here? The bastard cop used me as bait? Me and Chary? Seriously? That’s why he told me where they’d be?”

“We have reason to believe Raberding’s having Mr. Wright watched.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Chary demanded, perturbed. “Mr. Wright is right here, by the by.”

“Why’s your nose in this, Hiram?” Laurie asked. “How d’you know August, much less know he’s alive? And suddenly, you want me to trust a cop?”

Chary said, “Brasher’s not police⁠—”

“My connections to August are personal,” Sumner said.

“Oh, geez. You could’ve said. You know I don’t like being manipulated, H.”

“Not emotionally, anyway,” Sumner clarified—to Chary. He had gray eyes that, behind the cold mask, flashed with mischief.

Laurie cursed, ran his hands through his hair. “This is why Sam didn’t ask you to take this from the start.”

Sumner nodded. “Rather a conflict of interest. Not that you don’t seem to have developed one of your own.” His smile was slow and sly.

To Chary’s surprise, Laurie didn’t deny it. He just continued to look mulish. Betrayed.

Chary finally felt more confident about standing, so he did.

“If Mr. Raberding thinks we will lead him straight to August, Mr. Sumner,” he said, “what will he do once he’s been made aware we’re here without him?”

“Ah. Thus we arrive at the reason I’ve interrupted you at such an at unfortunate crux, Mr. Wright. At the moment, you find yourselves in rather a lot of danger. I recommend leaving at once.”

Without you, August has no one.

Chary swallowed. Gooseflesh ran across him, up and down. The shampooing alcove suddenly felt too tight and close around them, echoing, like they were the only persons in the whole place. “He wouldn’t try murder. Not in a public place, surely. Even the gangs wouldn’t dare.”

Sumner raised one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t they?”

Laurie scowled. “H, stop being dramatic. He’s not going to try open murder, not when every other death had plausibly natural circumstances. He wants August, doesn’t he? So, he’s going to have his men follow us out, that’s all. What else can he do, bring the whole place down around our ears?”

“Every other death?” Sumner said curiously—which had fascinating implications; Laurie hadn’t shared the gaffer deaths with his fellow reporter? “And yes, that is in fact what I’m afraid he’ll do. With or without August, actually. He won’t wait to know he isn’t here.”

“Which is why we’re bait,” Laurie growled. “I don’t owe you a damn thing after this, H. Got it?”

“Let’s revisit after I’ve gotten you out of here.” He added, reluctant, “Not even Sidney thought Raberding would go this far. If he could take back leading you here, he would. We didn’t realize ourselves until we saw the undercovers being a little too observant.”

There was a whistle signal from the hallway, short and sharp. Sumner glanced sideways. “Ah. Leave at once, meaning right now.”

“Damn,” Laurie said. “Damn, damn. That bastard. He really does only care for himself.” He closed his eyes briefly, blew out a breath. “All right. Let’s go.” He took Chary’s hand and pulled him into the warm, steamy hallway.

“I don’t understand,” Chary whispered.

“Police raid,” Laurie whispered back. He took in Chary’s widening eyes and tightened his grip. “It’ll be fine.”

“But—don’t they need witnesses? Testimonies? ‘Erected members’ and some such?”

Laurie nodded. “Supposedly. But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sumner led the way to the end of hall, where the steam thinned and separated enough to show Brasher leaning arms-crossed at the corner, near some frescoes. He wore very tiny masseur’s shorts in black and nothing else.

“‘Raid coming; get the fuck out now,’ would’ve worked great,” Brasher muttered, and then grudgingly added, “Sir.”

Chary—who had certainly told Brasher on numerous occasions not to call him Sir, for goodness’ sakes; he hadn’t been knighted—opened his mouth.