He had to get out of there.

He waited until both of them walked inside, Vance still demanding answers from Tranquil. He took three long breaths, then wriggled out from under the bush, making as little sound as he could, and sprinted for the fence behind him. Up and over. On the other side, he stumbled through the scrubby dogwood and gumtrees of the neighbouring block, scrambled down a hill and onto the beach, and only then stopped to catch his breath.

Chips was dead.

Blackbeard will pay.

CHAPTER 32

MACKEREL

Mackerel, Shelby and Fiona sat on plush cushions on the built-in benches of the rooftop garden, the vertices illuminated with soft strip lighting, fairy lights draped from grape trellises and citronella torches keeping the bugs away. It was a sticky summer night and Mackerel had shed his shirt, enjoying the hotel feel of the garden. He was drinking his third glass of a whisky he would never have been able to afford himself. Davey’s liquor cabinet was well stocked, and Shelby was still pouring him generous shots.

Shelby and Fiona were drinking mimosas from wineglasses, but from the way they kept nervously glancing at each other, he suspected they were more orange juice than champagne.

It hit him through his fog.

They’re trying to get me drunk . . .

His mind was instantly filled with lewd scenarios. He pushed those thoughts away with a chuckle.

‘What are you laughing at?’ said Shelby.

‘Just thought of something funny,’ he said, letting his words slur. He’d let them think they’d succeeded and see what happened.

Fiona put her glass down. ‘Tell me more about this Dread Pirate Blackbeard. Shelby says you’re quite the authority.’

Whatever she’d been about to say, Mackerel had not expected that. He choked on his drink, spitting it back into his glass.

‘Fiona knows,’ said Shelby. ‘Everything. About Davey, what he used to do, why he left.’

‘What are you doing?’ said Mackerel. ‘You can’t tell anyone!’

‘Too bad, and too late,’ said Shelby, sipping her mimosa.

‘If Blackbeard is such a bad guy, then shouldn’t someone like you step up and stop him coming in?’ continued Fiona. ‘Weren’t you trained up the same way as Davey?’

‘Shelby . . .’ moaned Mackerel.

‘I deserve to understand,’ said Shelby.

‘She does,’ agreed Fiona. ‘So please, explain it to us. How do we stop the Dread Pirate Blackbeard?’

Listen to them, casually asking how to kill the Devil. He needed time to think. And he needed to sober up. He raised his glass. ‘I’ll need another drink.’

Shelby made to pour him more whisky, but he stopped her. ‘I’ll go find my own. Who knows what you’ve been dosing me with.’

He was only half joking.