He passed me the bottle of vodka and I took a swig. The liquor stung my split lip.
“No,” I admitted.
Aggressive, jet lagged, a little bit drunk, and angry as fuck.
The fighting had tempered my rage, but it in no way got rid of it completely.
“Fuck, Dimitri.” I looked at my second in command. “We’ve been working for years. It’s not just the ships, it’s the lost cargo, our contracts, our reputation. We’ve got to keep our ears to the ground to see who pops up to take advantage of the fact that we’re down and out. That’ll tell us a lot about who might have done this.”
I passed the vodka back to him.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Dimitri said.
“Why? This isn’t your fault.” I looked at him when he didn’t reply. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
He didn’t bother denying it. “Something happened a few months ago. At the time, I dismissed it. It’s lingered in the back of my mind. There’s been a surge of French speakers at the ports.”
“Here? Boston?” I asked.
“Both, but especially here.” He paused and took a swig of vodka. “Our guys are saying they’ve come across a new drug on the market. It’s synthetic, cheaper than coke or meth, and more addictive.”
“Fentanyl?” I asked.
“No. Something different. It’s calledFelicité.Have you heard of the Bouchard family? Alan Bouchard?”
“No. Is he Parisian?”
“French Canadian,” he clarified. “One of the richest men in Canada, actually. Involved in politics. And in pharmaceuticals.”
“Ah,” I said in understanding. “Do you think he’s funding the manufacturing?”
“Not sure yet. I have to do some more digging. I got one of my guys in Boston with his ear to the ground.”
“One of your guys? Russian?”
“Da.”
“Add an Irishman you trust. That’ll go a long way for morale.”
“Will do.”
I frowned, turning something over in my mind. “Have we tracedFelicitéback to the source?”
“We’re trying to find a dealer to even question. So far, it’s like they’ve all scattered like roaches when the lights are turned on.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
“Myshka,” I said in way of greeting.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I haven’t gone to bed.” I glanced at Dimitri, handed him the bottle of vodka, and then got up. My muscles groaned in protest.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“Bad.”
“Will we recover?”
