Arm linked with the Prophet Kid, Val escorted him to where Eddy waited in a parked car behind the warehouse. Val opened the back door and nudged the kid inside.
“Eddy, meet the Prophet Kid. Prophet Kid, Eddy.”
Eddy Capello was a big, barrel-chested man who’d worked for Val’s family since before she’d been born. Despite having sat in the comfy air-conditioning all this time, he’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a huge tattoo of a skull on his forearm. (Val had always thought it was tacky but didn’t have the heart to tell him.) Oh, and without his jacket, you could see his shoulder holster with two Brownings. That was probably more noticeable than the tattoo.
“Hey, Kid,” he said, putting the car into drive.
“My name is Jean-Baptiste Dupree,” the kid muttered.
“You sure you’d rather go by that?” Val asked. “It’s kind of a mouthful. And that’s coming from Valentina Mariangela Belmonte.”
“Can you believe this kid, Eddy?” Val asked. “The Black Valentine breaks him out of police custody—something that I’m sure is the start of a fantasy for lots of teenage boys—and all he can say is ‘whatever.’ Not even a thank you.”
“Kids these days.” Eddy shook his head as he drove five miles under the speed limit. “No manners at all.”
Val watched the Prophet Kid’s reaction. He was slouched over and scowling, ignoring their banter. Oh, well. She would have preferred a thank you and a profession of undying devotion, but she didn’t strictly need it. This was a job, after all.
“So do you really go by Jean-Baptiste, or do you have a nickname?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, so she read his mind.
“JB, huh? I like that better.”
“Only my friends call me that.”
“And we’re not friends? After I risked life and limb to keep you out of prison? JB, I’m hurt.”
“Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to get broken out?” Continue reading “Tick, Tick, Boom!” – Part 3