Elemental Assassin 01 - Spider's Bite

reaching into the cheap straw tote bag I’d picked up in Key West.
    Finn’s green eyes lit up. He loved presents. “What is it? Money? Expensive liquor? Long-lost pirate treasure? Doubloons?”
    I dumped a plastic bag of key limes onto his lap. Finn’s face fell faster than a lopsided cake.
    “Cheer up,” I said. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll make you a key lime pie.”
    “I’d rather have some margaritas,” he whined.
    “You’re getting a pie, so suck it up.”
    Finn stuck his lip out in a mock pout.
    I reached back into my bag and pulled out a small glass bottle shaped like a seashell. “And for you, Jo-Jo, I have this fine bottle of perfume.”
    She pulled off the stopper and sniffed. “Smells fresh and salty, like the ocean. I like it.”
    “And finally, for Sophia, there’s this lovely item.”
    I pulled a pale pink leather collar out of the bottom of the bag. Tiny, mother-of-pearl sand dollars dangled from it. The dwarf took it from me. She stared at it a moment, then shook it once. The sand dollars clacked together like wind chimes. Sophia’s lips curved up into a small smile. Happiest I’d ever seen her.
    “And there you have it,” I said. “The sum total of my vacation.”
    I didn’t tell them that I was permanently on vacation from being an assassin. That I’d retired from being the Spider. There would be time enough to do that later.
    Finn pushed his bag of limes to one side of the table. “Well, I’ve got something for you too. Several things, actually.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
    Finn cleared his throat. “Dad’s estate was settled today. The will was read. Besides a boatload of cash, he left you something else.”
    “Really? What?”
    Finn opened his hands wide and smiled. “Ta-da.”
    I wasn’t easily surprised, but my mouth dropped open. All thought fled. It took me a moment to form coherent words. “Fletcher left me the Pork Pit? Why would he do that? It’s not like I need the money—or the headache.”
    “Because he knew how much you love the restaurant,” Jo-Jo said.
    “Love it,” Sophia rasped her agreement.
    My eyes traced over the booths, the tables, the cash register, the bloody book sitting beside it. I did love the restaurant, just as much as I’d loved the old man. They’d always been one and the same in my mind. And now it was mine. A comforting warmth filled my chest that I hadn’t felt since before the night Fletcher died.
    “Dad also wanted you to have this.” Finn handed me a small envelope.
    Gin . My name was scrawled across the front in Fletcher’s tight, controlled handwriting. Fletcher. I missed the old man.
    But that didn’t keep me from tearing open the envelope. An index card lay inside. On the front was a note that read: Don’t ever think it was your fault. Whatever it was, however it happened, you couldn’t have stopped it. Do us both a favor and don’t stay in the business too long. Live in the daylight, kid. Love, Fletcher.
    My eyes misted over just a bit, but I turned the card over and read the rest of the writing. It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did, I shook my head and smiled.
    “Cumin. That’s the secret ingredient in his barbecue sauce. Of course. Cumin.” I waved the index card at Finn. “Fletcher finally told me his secret ingredient. After he died. The old bastard.”
    Finn smiled and raised his coffee in a silent toast to his father. The bright green of his eyes reminded me of the old man.
    “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked. “Me taking over the restaurant? Fletcher should have left it to you. He was your father.”
    “Are you kidding?” Finn asked. “Barbecue stains are hell on silk shirts. Believe me, I’m okay with you having the restaurant. Besides, he was your father, too.”
    Once again, I thought of the night Fletcher had taken me in. How he’d saved me from selling my body on the streets. How he’d taught me to be strong and to always survive. Fletcher Lane might be gone, but I’d never forget what he’d given me.
    “Yeah,” I said. “I guess he was.”
    The party broke up soon after that. But right before she left, Jo-Jo Deveraux pulled me aside and handed me a thick manila folder.
    “Here,” she said. “Fletcher wanted you to have this too. It was something he’d been working on for a long time. What you do with it is completely up to you.”
    I hefted the folder. It was heavy, with at least an inch of paper stuffed inside it.