CHAPTER VII

Back when Luke and Albert Kidd's fork said, or not exactly Kidd's, older than that,

16 actually, he broke off as he sensed a swell of movement at the other end of the bar.

The place had filled up without fork noticing, and when he looked up now more than one familiar

face glanced away, fork felt the ripple of disruption a moment before he saw it.

Drinkers lowered their eyes and shuffled aside without complaint as a group moved through

the crowd.

At the head was a meaty bloke with sludge brown hair topped by sunglasses.

fork felt a cold, trickle seep through his guts.

He may not have recognised ground down at the headless funeral, but there was no mistaking

him now.

Elise Cousin.

They had the same eyes, but fork knew there was absolutely nothing of her in him.

Dao stopped in front of their table, his flabby frame blocking their view.

His t-shirt advertised a Barlinese beer brand.

His features were piggy, small and cramped together in the middle of his face, while his

beard struggled across a thick chin.

He was wearing the same look of defiance he'd used to stare down the mourners at the wake.

Dao raced his glass towards fork in a moxelute, and flashed a smile that went nowhere near his

eyes.

You got balls turning up here, he said.

I'll give you that much.

...