It all started that night in the speakeasy when she’d punched him. Not that this had been in her plans at the time, but…well, she certainly wasn’t complaining now. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d managed to keep her from getting bored so far.
They never had a regular meeting time. He knew where to find her when she wasn’t working and she could track him down just as easily. The only thing ‘regular’ about their relationship was the pattern they always seemed to follow. Alcohol, sex, and then more alcohol. In the end they always parted ways once they hit the street again. And neither ever looked back.
Caley climbed out of the bed with a sigh, grabbing his shirt off a chair as she passed and pulling it on. She didn’t bother with the buttons as she made her way across the room to where the bottle of whiskey had been abandoned earlier. It wasn’t like he was going to see anything new anyway. She found his cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket and lit one before pouring herself a generous shot. “I need you to take me to your boss.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to do that?” Kovacs asked from the bed. He rolled his shoulders as he turned to watch her, smiling as he felt the skin pull across the scratches she’d left there. It wasn’t the first time she’d left marks on him, and more than likely it wouldn’t be the last.
“Because…” she said, walking back over to the bed and straddling his legs. “…if you don’t I’ll have to turn you over as a spy. And you really don’t want to meet my boss.”
Kovacs reached up and took the glass out of her hand, swallowing what was left of the whiskey before putting it on the bedside table. Next went her cigarette, which he left lying forgotten in the ashtray as his hands began to slowly slide up her thighs. “I think you can find a nicer way to ask than that.”
Two days later she was standing in front of McCloy’s ‘Little Bitch’ offering up the number one reason for not being killed. “I can hand you McCloy.”