The Falling Away by Hines Page B

want, Andrew?”
    â€œOh, it’s not what I want. I’m calling about something you might want.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œDylan.”
    Andrew noted a brief hesitation before Krunk answered. “What about him?”
    â€œIt seems Dylan and his buddy, whatever his name is, ran into a bit of trouble this morning. Think they might be . . . ah, what should I say? . . . a little scarce. They were working for you, I believe.”
    â€œAnd what makes you say that?” Krunk asked.
    Andrew felt his smile falter a bit. He’d expected an expletiveladen reaction from Krunk, not a quick game of Twenty Questions.
    â€œPlease,” he said, recovering. “A magician tells you how he does the trick, it kills all the magic.”
    â€œNot interested.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œReally. Dylan’s not going anywhere. He knows better than to double back on me.”
    â€œWell,” Andrew said, leaning back in his chair. “Your faith in Dylan is admirable.”
    â€œGood-bye, Andrew.”
    Andrew sat for a moment, listening to the connection drop after Krunk hung up.
    Well. He’d miscalculated. Obviously, Krunk didn’t value the information he’d been given. Bad move on Krunk’s part.
    Andrew scratched absently at his face for a few moments. Dylan was claiming he’d run into a bit of trouble. Obviously, a deal gone bad. Nature of the business; it happened sometimes. People decided they wanted to go into business on their own.
    If Dylan and his buddy had walked away—even though his buddy had a gunshot wound—that meant whoever they’d met had not walked away. Dylan Runs Ahead, getting all entrepreneurial, decided to take the cash and drugs and disappear with them. Krunk didn’t want to believe that, well, that was Krunk’s own downfall. He’d always felt Krunk was a little too soft anyway. Someday that softness would kill him.
    Well. His information was still just as valuable. Maybe even more valuable, whispered into other ears. Neither Dylan nor Krunk knew just how deep Andrew’s network of information ran; no one really knew. For instance, though he didn’t know the specifics of this morning’s drop—other than the scattered bits Dylan had shared—he had a very good idea who had been on the other side.
    Fine. He might be a red-skinned Indian, but he was also a red-blooded American. He’d given Krunk first crack, but he was an equal-opportunity broker. Time to make a call north of the border, see if the Canadians wanted to pay to play.
    He punched in his call code again, dialed a new number from his memory. This time a rough, cracking voice answered.
    â€œPrince Edward,” Andrew said through a smile.
    Everyone in the trade called him Prince Edward, because he’d originally grown up on Prince Edward Island before relocating to British Columbia. Few people knew Prince Edward’s real name, Andrew himself being one of those few.
    â€œWhat’s on your mind, Andrew?”
    â€œWell, I’ve just seen a Very Bad Thing, and I feel a need to make a confession. I’m Catholic, you know. Most of us Indians are.”
    â€œWhat sort of confession?”
    â€œI must confess I heard that you had a delivery that was supposed to go south this morning. Trouble is, it really went south.”
    â€œI ship a lot of merchandise, Andrew. You know that.”
    â€œYeah, well, this merchandise was scheduled for delivery over Port of Turner way. Let’s just say your delivery service didn’t absolutely, positively get the packages there. Shoulda used FedEx.”
    The line was quiet for a few seconds. “Let me call you back.”
    â€œSure, sure. I’m not on my mobile right now, though. Let me give you the number.” He read the number off the faceplate of the phone, and Prince Edward hung up.
    He considered another cigarette, then decided against it. Especially not out here in