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So we took him and that was that. Apparently, that code of silence the Italians were so well known for in their glory days still applied with the Chechens as well. He'd given us next to nothing, and what we did get wasn't anything we couldn't have figured out by ourselves with some reconnaissance work. We'd come to a point where we were just prolonging the man's sorry life instead of getting rid of him. So the music wouldn't need to go on for much longer anyway.
"Has Remy gotten back yet?" I asked, seeing his cat leap onto the top of the TV cabinet from the arm of the couch.
Remy—Remington—was the resident collector of animals. Or, rather, It was more fair to say he saved them. Like any rational person, he hated it when people abused their animals. Unlike rational people, though, he would break your teeth out of your face before he saved those animals from you. Which meant the clubhouse was a bit of a menagerie these days.
Remy was currently out walking his dogs since putting up a fence in the backyard wasn't exactly high on anyone's priority list while we were working our asses off to take over the arms trade in the area and keep control of the port.
We'd taken out the major players in the area. But it was a funny thing, when you were working your way up to the top of the food chain, you ran across a lot of bastards trying to do the exact same thing. People got hungry and mean when the prize was as big as the one we were all looking at.
So we had to be a lot hungrier and a fuckuva lot meaner to stay on top.
"He's coming now," Che said, looking out the window.
Not two minutes later, Remy was walking in the front door with his five mutts, all saved from various situations. Two pit bulls, three other mixes.
Remy himself was in a ridiculous yellow and white tank top with green board shorts and flip-flops. With his bleached hair and easy smile along with that outfit, he looked like a fucking college kid on spring break rather than a local.
"What's up?" he asked, unclasping a hot pink leash from his latest addition. "Did I miss something?" he added, walking over to pluck his cat off the TV cabinet while she tried to bat at a bird on the screen.
"Huck was just meeting the neighbor," Che supplied.
"Yeah? With the blue hair?" Remy asked. "What? You guys haven't seen her pacing her porch at night?"
Judging by the blank looks gathered around, no one had.
"See? This is why I am valuable to this team."
That, and his insane violent streak. The bastard enjoyed every second of it, too.
"Anyone played with the Chechen yet?" he asked, running his hand down the cat's black fur.
"I think we are almost done with that. It's getting us nowhere," I admitted, sighing.
That just meant we had to go and find a new lead. Endless hours of surveillance were ahead of us. On top of shoring up deals for new shipments, and trying to find a way to protect the docks.
We weren't exactly a big club. And until shit was more secure, we couldn't be opening up the books to take on new members. So that meant we were all going to be stretched thin for a while.
"I mean, I can try my very best to get one final bit of information out of him," Remy offered, giving us a wicked smirk.
"Maybe later," I said, shaking my head. "We're going to try to give the neighbor some peace and quiet for a few hours a day."
"Right right. So she can do her videos."
"Her videos?" I asked.
"I'm the only one here who does some research?" Remy asked, shaking his head.
"What kind of research?"
"Just a basic search for who she is," Remy said. "Thought it was weird she was willing to move in next to us, wanted to make sure she didn't have any ties to some big bad around here."
"And?"
"And she doesn't seem to have ties to anyone. Except her fans."
"Quit beating around the fucking bush, Remy," I demanded.
"Does she do some X-rated shit?" McCoy asked.
"No. I mean, I'm sure some of the mouth-breathers still pant over her. But she's a gamer."
"A gamer," Che repeated. "Like video games?"
"Yeah. She's really good at Wheel of Life. It's a role-playing game where she's practically royalty."
"How is that work, though?" I asked. "She said she wanted quiet for work."
"Right, well. I guess she figured out how to make money off what she is already good at. She records herself playing, posts the videos up, slaps ads on them."
"And you can make a living doing that?" McCoy asked.
"When you're drop-dead gorgeous enough to get nearly a million followers, then yeah."
"Drop-dead gorgeous, huh?" Che asked, giving me a smirk. "I heard the word 'pretty' tossed around."
