Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

He’s looking around him, as if trying to find an excuse to get out of this conversation. “I don’t mean no disrespect or nothing. But I mess around with computers a little bit too.”

“Mess around with computers. That’s adorable.”

“It’s not that hard, like… Anyway, what are you gonna do? Steal my identity or whatever? Empty my bank account? Come on.”

Reggie tilts her head back, rolls her tongue around her mouth. “Stealing your identity never causes as much trouble as you think. Places like banks and government agencies know about it, so they take precautions. No, I’m not after your money. If you drive away without me and my chair in your cab, I’m going to do things to you that will take months to entangle. And there won’t be a fraud department or case officer in the world who can help you.

“For starters, I’m going to dig up your details, sign you up to every free trial on every bogus health cure website and multi-level marketing scam I can find – and I’ll tell your inbox to mark them all as priority. I could probably write a program to do it automatically, while I have a cup of tea.”

“Hey—”

“After I get done destroying your inbox, I’m going to use my corporate credit card to order as many large appliances as I can, and get them sent to your house. And not just kitchen appliances, either. I hope you like industrial water pumps, because you’re going to build up quite a collection of them. From multiple companies. All of them with different returns policies.”

He stares at her, his mouth open.

“Then, I’m going to gain access to your cab company’s system. I’m going to start sending false pickup information to your dashboard screen. Not very often – just often enough that you’ll never be quite sure if it’s a real pickup or not. Of course, you could call your dispatch to check, but how long do you think they’ll put up with that? And then—”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Oh yes. Very much so. Because understand this: I do not have time for your petty hang-ups today. I don’t care what you think about people in wheelchairs. I am not interested in your opinions on women. In the grand scheme of things, little man, your opinions mean zip. What I have to do is far more important. So let me be absolutely clear on this. Let me put it in words of one syllable, so you can get it through your head. On this night, right now, do not fuck with me.”

The curse word is a jolt, like a zap of static to a finger, a not-quite-unpleasant sensation. Overdramatic? Perhaps. But what the hell – Reggie always did enjoy chewing up the scenery a little.

It’s the same dramatic streak that led her to bring a knife.

Reggie has a set of modified cutlery – forks and knives and spoons with rings on the handles, so she can slip them over her fingers and eat without having to grip them. She even has a serrated steak knife, because there’s nothing quite like a medium rare rib-eye – she doesn’t eat it often, it’s heavy on her stomach, but when she does she likes a sharp knife.

It’s this she has in her pocket. No point kidding herself – if she’s in a situation where she has to use it, she’ll probably be dead before she can get it out. But it makes her feel better having it, a little more secure.

The cab driver bites his lip, looking sullen. But he doesn’t move.

“Fine.” Reggie spins her chair around. “I’ll get started on those emails, while I wait for another cab.” But she can barely muster enough venom to get the words out. Damnit, she needed this ride. By the time another one bumbles its way to her, Teagan might be—

“Wait.”

She stops, doesn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry. I’ll… We can try load the chair in the back. I just meant… It wasn’t like I was saying…”

“Well then.” Reggie can’t stop herself beaming. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later, she is in the back of the cab with her chair in the rear trunk space. The driver had to wrestle with it to get it in there – it is, Reggie will admit, pretty damn heavy. She even felt a little bad for him. Only a little though – his feelings probably hurt worse than his back does. And in the scheme of things, she has much bigger things to worry about. Like what she’s going to say to Teagan if (when) she finds her. How she’s going to defuse Africa. And what on earth they’re going to do about the boy.

All the same, as they head up South Wilmington Avenue, Reggie can’t help but feel a lightness. For the first time in an age, she’s away from the China Shop offices. She’s out in the field. Sure, it’s not under the best of circumstances, but she’ll take it.

And she can pull this off. She can be the peacemaker, get everybody – Teagan, Africa, Moira Tanner – on the same side. She can bring China Shop – the organisation she’s devoted years to – back together.

And wouldn’t that be sweet? To pull off a win at the last second? To not have what might be her final China Shop job end in disaster? To show Moira and Teagan and everybody else why they need her, and to do it in the field, not parked behind a desk.

And when – if – she decides to leave, it’ll be on her own terms. If she actually does decide to pull the ripcord, then she’ll go out under blue skies, floating free. She can move onto the next phase of her life, knowing she gave this everything she had.

Or are you just looking for an excuse to stay? For Moira to fall at your feet and tell you how much she needs you?

Reggie forces herself away from the thought, watching LA slip by out the window.