He had more money than God and more secrets than the devil. He was a tough nut to crack even if you brought down the hammer. Stickier than toffee and slicker than silk. A guy like that was made to make trouble for a guy like me, and damned if I didn't like it.

The chain cord of my desk lamp was teasing me like a feather does a cat: I just had to tug it. The office was dark, damp, and starting to smell. Just like everything in this city. If I could afford a better place, I still wouldn't, though. What can I say: I'm a sucker for black mould.

The dark helped me think. Not that I'm not a fan of that beautiful buzz of fluorescent lights, but if I had to see one more word on my pages about that man then it would just blind me. Something about not seeing the wood for the trees, you know how it goes. Nah, I had to know him better than that. Better than a file, better than my supervisors, and better than his fucking wife. I'd eat, breathe, and sleep with this man, if I could just pin him.

Opportunities come like taxis, so long as you alight them properly. I was actually waiting for a taxi when I got my first real lead on him.

Rain was coming down in sheets, and the little umbrella I stole from a coworker weeks ago finally breathed its last under the weight of it. I tossed the crumpled mess of aluminium and nylon into the gutter, and turned up my drenched collar as if that would make any difference. I could've just gone back to the office: it's not like I haven't slept there before. But something stubborn in me kept holding out my hand to the street, waiting and waiting until I would've gotten in any car that so much as slowed down near me. The yellow streetlights always flickered when there was a downpour like this, and it made my shadow jump out and retreat back against the pavement. Something I'd never do. Once I have my sights on something, I cross the word "retreat" out of my dictionary.

And then the car came. Cadillac, I thought. Not the taxi I was after, but sure as hell the ride I was looking for.

"Detective Cohen, the weather's quite poor today. I must insist on giving you a lift."

"How considerate: I'm of the mind that you should let street dogs drown, but I'm not complaining."

"Even dogs wouldn't be out in this. Get in."

"Woof-woof."

I climbed in the car, all urgency and no grace, and shamelessly let myself soak the seats as I shook the water out of my hair, playing the part of the pup. "Business must be slow these days, is the minister still giving you a hard time?" I asked. He turned from the passenger seat to look back at me with a raised eyebrow. "Just figured things must be tight if you're having to pick up shifts as a cabbie."

"Well, my meter runs faster than your mouth: I'll make the money back with one job. Where to?"

"Your place?"

"I don't have pets on the estate, I'm afraid. Stop barking and I'll consider it."

I shrugged into a laugh. "Meow?"

He turned away from me and gave his driver a simple wave of the hand, telling him to go. The rearview mirror didn't show his lips, but I saw a smile in those eyes.

I'd been at his heels for months, a dog indeed, though we'd never spoken much before this. The waters were tested: hell, I'd just been soaked in them. Now I just had to figure out how to push further.

I kept my face neutral, but the fact that he actually took me back to his place was enough to get my hackles rising. I staked this place out enough, to no effect. And bribed enough of his guards, to the effect of my empty wallet. But I never set foot in it. I already knew pretty well how many people that went in there were found with cement shoes later on. Never anything actually connecting the incidents, of course, but just enough to catch my interest. Enough to be feeling a cold sweat mix with the rain down my back when I got out of the car. At least my face is already so wet that he won't notice if I start to cry, I thought pleasantly.

"You're dripping everywhere," he complained, handing his overcoat to a subordinate who waited, bent at the waist, for the order to come. "Bring detective Cohen a towel."

"You're gonna wrap me in a towel?"

"What else would I wrap you in?" His eyes were daring.

"A rug." My eyes were about the only daring part of me left, so I had to match him with them.

He laughed then. God, what a laugh. "You read too many horror stories. Why waste the rug?"

"I'm not worth a rug?"

"You were hardly worth the drive."

My turn to laugh. Just being polite. I had a gun in my belt and a knife in my boot, but he had everyone in the damned building. I didn't have enough security to play nice, so I thought about playing nasty. "My feet are too big for cement shoes: they'd never fit. But the ones we found on Eric Longwood were so nice I was almost jealous. Wasn't he your business partner? Heard your sister was gonna marry the bastard next spring. What, not worth the dowry?"

"Eric was a good man," he said flatly. I started to notice how all the people milling around the place had vanished, leaving us alone. If it was one-on-one, I fancied my chances, but I'd still have to get out of the place afterwards. "I thought detectives were supposed to investigate these things, but this is the first I'm hearing about it. From the official channels, at least." He waved a hand towards me. "It's not even been in the news yet. How nice of you to tell me personally."

"You're admitting you already knew," I pointed out.

"It wouldn't have been a good threat if I didn't know about it."

I blinked at him, outwardly dumbfounded but inwardly letting my gears turn. "Richardson?" was all I asked.

"If I knew you could think that far ahead on your own, I wouldn't have invited you over." He sighed, and waved a hand again, this time summoning back the lackey with a towel for me. "Let's talk over tea: I wouldn't want you to catch a chill."

We talked through most of the night, and I got the jist of it. If I hadn't already spent all my waking moments and most of my sleeping ones trying to decipher this man then I would’ve been led in circles just listening to him, but as it was I was decent enough at mind games myself. He was very good at keeping secrets, so he wasn't going to start happily revealing them all to me even though he was asking for a favour. What's more, for every secret I learned, I found ten more under it.

His was an empire built on blood, and it kept raking in the money. Sure enough, I wasn't the only lowlife in the city trying to take him down, but I was the one he turned to for help that day. For all he could offer me, I'd have done it for free. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"I'm just a dog, right? Throw me a bone and I'll chew on it."

"No need to chew Richardson," he cautioned.

"Not in my business to let other guys take my quarry. If you're putting me on him then he's mine."

I watched him spin his glass. We'd gone from tea to wine to scotch in the time we talked, and cigar smoke mingled with the alcohol in the air.

"You must leave a string of jilted lovers behind you on every case."

"I don't mean to boast." I drained the last of my scotch. "But what's that got to do with this?"

"You've had your eyes on me for months, but just the hint of another man and you're leaving me behind."

"You couldn't pay me to leave you alone, even after Richardson. Don't get too lonely: some of the boys from the brass will keep watching you."

"But they aren't as easy on the eyes."

"Well, they're all married: they let themselves go. I see your wife isn't around tonight."

"Oh, was I married?"

"Last I heard."

"Louise is in France."

I could've asked why, but I already knew. As if there was anything I didn't know about him. Still, if he wouldn't show his hand then I was gonna keep mine just as close to the vest. "So the cat's away? Is that why we're getting to play tonight?"

"I thought you were the cat." He gave me a meaningful glance. "We can play whenever you want, detective. What's my wife got to do with it?"

"Wow, my jilted lovers must have nothing on yours."

"We can compare numbers if you'd like."

"Don't tease me too much, mister Gillingham, or I'll get jealous."

"Why so formal? Call me Bruce."

"Fine. Bruce it is."

I crashed on his chaise lounge with some documents I was thumbing through as a blanket, and one eye open. I knew better than anyone that I was in the belly of the beast that night, and didn't intend to give him indigestion. I made sure to politely decline his offer to drive me to the office in the morning, and was careful about being followed.

Richardson was a more or less upstanding citizen, squeaky clean by all accounts. No one was looking into him before this, and no one would help me with it now. He wasn't like Gillingham, who stood out so much he glowed, and had crime and law alike looking at him. Nah, Richardson wasn't anything like that, which was why he could pull off even worse shit than we were accusing Gillingham of. The only reason I guessed it was him who was threatening my man was because they were competitors for oil rights a while back, and Richardson was the only one rich enough to look at Gillingham without bowing his head.

The more I dug into Richardson, the more I learned about Gillingham, and that was all the motivation I needed. It was just a matter of de-clawing the tiger before slaying the dragon, or so I thought.

No one on my side knew what I was looking into, so I'd discuss findings and theories with Bruce. Yeah, always “Bruce” when we met after that night. I don't remember when I stopped being “detective” and started being “Paul” but he sure was smooth about the transition. Getting all this face time with the guy I’d been obsessing over was just kindling to the flames, and damn if I didn't blaze when it came to Bruce.

You learn a lot of unimportant details about someone when you’re keeping company like that. I even learned how he liked his toast in the morning. If he knew I was watching: plain. If he didn't: drizzled with honey.

The man was even keeping his breakfast preferences secret, how could I resist?

“I’ve got physical ties to Richardson for the first five bodies, but nothing for Longwood. Yet.”

“Five’s plenty. You could’ve taken it to the chief with one.” Bruce warmed his hands with the cup of coffee his staff gave him, and watched me pour myself one from the pot.

“Already told you that I don't like to share. If I don't get them all and make the call, there’s no way I’d get credit.”

“And here I thought you did this work out of the goodness of your heart. You’re shattering my opinion of you.”

“Heart’s well and good, but a man’s gotta pay the bills. It’s not like you’re footing me for the overtime on this. But don't let your opinion of me fall to pieces just yet: I already know how I’ll get him to slip up.”

“And how’s that?”

“Not telling.” I swiped a slice of dry toast from his plate and devoured half of it in two bites. Turning my back on him, I continued, “you oughta think about how you’ll reward me when I bring him down.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Get a bad attorney when I take you to court.”

“How could I put Mr Campbell out of work like that? He’s been with me longer than Louise. Think of something else.”

“Something else, huh?” I pretended to mull it over, but this was exactly what I was aiming for. “How about throwing me a bone of yours to chew on when this is over? Richardson’s all meat and no marrow. I’m after a sweeter meal.” I tossed the half-eaten slice of toast, now covered in honey, back onto his plate and strutted away.

He laughed as he called after me, “I thought you didn't share?” but I had no intention of replying.

I couldn't tell him my plan for finding a solid link to Longwood because it was fairly fucking reckless, even for me. I was too close to stop, and too keen to show off. The only odd thing about Longwood’s body was his missing engagement ring: the going theory in my department was that Bruce took the ring before sending Eric to sleep with the fishes because he didn't approve of the relationship with his sister. Since I knew that wasn't the case, I’d already chased up every pawn shop or possible buyer before concluding that Richardson kept it. But if I wanted to find it, I had to go searching through his stuff.

A few days later I was staking out one of Richardson’s boats by the dock, and that’s when it all went south. The waters were so turbulent that night, I should've known I was in for it. Afterall, I knew better than anyone how the people close enough to Bruce to enter the estate all got those cement shoes, and here I was as the guy who knew him best, just offering myself up to the chopping board. Richardson’s goons got me. I was trussed up and half-pummeled before I even knew what hit me, but they made one fatal mistake: forgetting to shut my mouth.

“Detective, I’m sure I don't know what this is about,” Richardson drawled. One thing I got to know about him during the investigation: the guy loved to drawl.

“Check tomorrow's paper and you’ll hear all about it,” I bluffed. “I sent over my findings a few hours ago. Backup’s on the way for me.”

“If that were true, why would you come alone in the first place?”

“I live close by.”

“Bruce’s estate is on the other side of the city: I’d hardly call that close.”

“Since when do we live together?”

“Oh? You spend enough time with him I was sure he would put you up. Better than the flat on the high street that you scrape by for rent each month.”

I grinned at him, not letting any panic show, but I couldn't bullshit him forever.

“Oh, Paul, you could’ve told me if you were struggling,” an overly familiar voice floated over, and the way it calmed me is something I’ll take to the grave. “Move in anytime: I’d be a very fair landlord.”

“I couldn't afford you,” I found myself saying, barely registering the bullets flying over my head.

The goons were down, the moonlight making the blood look black against the ground. Now there was just me, on my knees, and Bruce, on his feet. Ain't that typical.

“I don't need your money,” he was saying, speaking to me like he always did, as if there wasn't an ongoing struggle around us while his men detained Richardson.

“Want me to pay with my body, then?”

“You’ve practically paid for yourself tonight.”

“Finally worth a rug?”

“For you? The whole carpet.”

I hung my head and let a sigh escape into the wind. Bumping me off now would’ve been a smart move: I couldn't even be mad about it. I already found all the evidence he needed, and now I’d seen his people in a gunfight. But rather than a barrel and a bullet on my brow, I got his hand instead. Petting me like the dog I was.

“‘Hero detective bravely uncovers Richardson’s dirty dealings and takes down would-be captors’.”

“You come up with that yourself?” I asked, not raising my head yet because there wasn't any rain that night to hide my tears.

“I’ve got someone drafting the article as we speak. The boys used a service revolver, so the bullets should match yours close enough.” He crouched down then, and made me face him. “I said “practically” paid for yourself: I’m not done with you yet. Get that body of yours moving already, I think I deserve a tip for tonight's expenses.”

I knew him. God, how I knew him. But he could still surprise me. My turn to surprise him, then.

He was already so close, it only took me moving an inch and I’d finally capture him. Capture my real aim, for who knows how long: those lips.