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And, of course, the fake registration plate on the Shadows’ pool car was a dead plate and not registered to anyone. The VINs on the undercover vehicles had been filed down or removed, too.
Because of that, Reaper wasn’t worried when goon number two checked his pockets, his boots, and his waistband.
“Nothing, Sal,” Goon Two griped as he finished the search and took a step back. He held up Reaper’s cell phone. “Except this.”
Sal put out his hand and Goon Two placed Reaper’s cell phone in it. When he lifted it to Reaper’s face, it didn’t unlock. He knew better than to use biometrics on any phone. “What’s the passcode?”
He had his phone set to delete texts and his call history every night at midnight. That didn’t mean he didn’t have phone numbers saved, he did. Just not in his contacts. He retrieved emails, calls, and texts under apps that, at first glance, didn’t look like what they should be. If someone took the time to go through each app on his phone, they’d eventually find what they were looking for, but most people were too impatient.
His method might not be infallible, but it was a deterrent. Maybe he needed to start carrying an old flip phone on jobs.
If he got out of his current situation alive, that was.
“Are you going to let me go if I give you that info?”
“No.”
“Then, figure it out yourself.”
“Or we can cut off one finger for every minute you don’t provide it. I doubt you’ll get to ten before giving it up or bleeding to death. And if you don’t, then there’s always your toes. Then your teeth. Maybe even your fucking balls.” Sal called out, “Lorenzo, bring me some pruning shears.”
When he last checked, he wasn’t a hedge. “No need. The code is nine-nine-zero-five.”
“He’s spilling shit way too easily. It’s suspect, Sal,” Goon One warned.
“Maybe,” Sal murmured and plugged in the passcode. He dug around for a few minutes and found nothing. Thank fuck.
Sal was extremely annoyed when he demanded, “Name,” next.
“Peter Daniels.”
“I’m sure that’s a real fucking name,” came from the first goon.
Reaper answered, “It’s the only one I have.”
“For today, anyway,” Sal murmured. “How’d you get to be such a good shot, Peter? Military?” He took another puff on his cigar and blew the smoke directly in Reaper’s face.
Reaper held his breath and willed himself not to cough. Once he could breathe freely again, he answered, “Practice. Lots of it.”
“You ever hear of the Chens?”
Reaper pinned his eyebrows together. “The Chens? No. Why?”
“What do you know about Triads?”
“I know that I’m not into love triangles.”
“It has nothing to do with love.”
“Then, I have no idea.”
“We think that’s who’s hiring you.”
“I can’t confirm since it’s all done anonymously.” That was his story and he was sticking to it.
“So you said. Not that I believe you.” Sal pulled in a deep breath. “You’ve killed fifteen of our people.”
So far.
