Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

the range of inviting dishes on display under the glass counter. Porcelain bowls of huge, shiny olives, cubes of Manchego cheese and unctuous tortilla, still moist in the centre, as it should be. Her eyes settled on a tray of massive pink prawns swimming in garlic oil. Sold.

“Those gambas look amazing,” she said. “And some bread?”

“No hay problema. And to drink?”

“Cerveza, please. Grande.” The words had left her lips before she even had a chance to ask herself whether she should. Screw it. She had to stay sharp, but one wouldn’t hurt.

The owner gestured for her to sit and she moved over to the side of the room, choosing a high stool next to a shelf that ran around the side of the taberna. Once settled, she pulled out her phone and swiped through her contacts to find The Dullahan’s secure line. He answered in two rings.

“It’s me,” she told him. “I’m in Spain.”

“Good lass.”

“How’s the kid?” She tensed, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

“She’s doing fine. She’ll live.”

“You sure?”

“Aye, I told you yer man was the best in the business. She’s awake. Sitting up. Making shite jokes. Song Shi wants to observe her a few more days but then she’ll be home.” He trailed off and an awkward silence fell over the line. Acid wiped the smile off her face, she knew what was coming. “And then he’ll want payment, of course.”

“I know. I’m working on it. Can you help, until…”

“I told you I would. Did you meet with Sonny?”

“Yes. Got a decent piece but not much info other than what we already know. The guy who ordered the job, Delgado, he’s bad news. I still don’t understand why he outsourced the hit though. Some guy steals from you, you get a couple of goons to sort it. Not someone like Magpie.” She shifted on the stool, scoping out the taberna, but there was no one sitting nearby, no one paying any interest to her.

“I’m still wondering what the full story is myself,” The Dullahan said, and sighed. “I’ve touched base with the boy over the internet, and he rang me on this line a few minutes ago. Says he’s fine, for now, though he had a narrow escape from a mad nun carrying two large knives, who I assume was Stiletto. I didn’t want him on the line long, but I told him you’d meet him at six tonight. By the carousel in Alderdi Eder Park. Will ya find it all right?”

“I’m nearby,” she told him. Then, as the barman appeared by her table. “Thank you, just there.”

She shifted back as he placed a sizzling bowl of prawns in front of her, followed by a basket of thick white bread and a chilled bottle of San Miguel with droplets of condensation running down its neck.

“Who ya talking to?” The Dullahan snapped.

“Relax,” Acid told him, slugging back a mouthful of beer. “I’m in a bar, having some food. That okay with you?”

“All right, but don’t get complacent, Acid. You know what can happen.”

“Yes, I do know, and I won’t. Six tonight, at the carousel. Got it. Shit—” She snapped her attention to the door, one hand on the gun under her t-shirt as a loud crack echoed through the taberna. “What the fuck?”

A few metres away, the bar owner was smiling as he wiped down a table. “Don’t worry, Miss Italy,” he sang. “Is not someone trying to kill you. Is the cannon fire from Alderdi Eder. It is a good thing. Signals the start of the Semana Grande. Our summer festival.”

Acid chewed her bottom lip. “A festival? I thought as much.”

“Yes. You eat, you drink, you dance. We have fireworks and music and of course the gigantes y cabezudos parade. How is it… umm… Giants and fat-heads. You will love it. Is very much fun. All over the city. Today it starts in the park. Lots of people.”

“I see. How long does it last?”

Another big grin. “Is all week.”

“All week,” she said. “Lots of people. You hear that, Dullahan?”

“Aye, is it going to be a problem?”

“Not one I can’t handle.”

“Okay. Ring me when you get a chance. But for now, focus on finding Danny and then the two of you getting the hell out of there. Speak to you soon.”

He hung up and she stuffed the phone back in her bag before turning her attention to her food, grabbing up a fat prawn, pulling its head off and slurping the garlicky tail into her mouth. It tasted so damn good. Exactly what she needed. For now at least the bats were at bay, but she wasn’t stupid. These moments of relative calm were fleeting. Another three hours and she’d meet Danny. Whether it was as easy as The Dullahan had made it sound, she wasn’t sure. But it felt good to be busy again, to have purpose. And whatever happened next, she was ready.

Sixteen

Three minutes to six.

Danny had checked the time on his new burner phone twenty times in as many minutes. But he was nearly there. Safety. Soon this hell would be over. That hadn’t quenched his urge to call his uncle back in every one of those twenty minutes – get some more information on whoever was coming to meet him – but he’d refrained, stayed strong as told. In their last conversation the old man had expressly told him to get off the burner phone and stop talking so fecking much. The less information passed over communication networks – even seemingly secure ones – the better. All he knew was a woman, someone his uncle vouched for, was about to deliver to him a new passport and then help him get out of the country.

Easy as pie, right?

But despite his reservations and trepidations, Danny wasn’t about to go against his uncle’s authority or experience on these matters. Growing up, he’d always admired his uncle Jimmy – who’d been a father figure to him, of sorts, after his old man was killed when