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Too bad for him, I’ve done this countless times. I clamp down the pliers on the end of his tongue and yank it out, resting the tip of the letter opener somewhere in the center of the slippery organ. His mate in the other chair looks on, horrified, bleeding out all over the rug. Danny stands and pulls the belt from his trousers, folding it in half and taking a seat again, threading the leather through his fingers. “If I wrap this belt around your thigh, you might live. If you talk now, your mate might live.”
“Okay, okay!”
“Ah!” Danny chimes. “It speaks.”
“Hallelujah,” Brad mutters, perching on the desk behind Danny. “Get on with it, I have a club to run.”
“You have to promise us protection,” the one able to speak says, his accent thick but his English perfect, as his mate tries his best to shake his head, objecting. So we have a squealer and a loyal advocate. I chose the right man’s tongue.
“I don’t have to promise you anything,” Danny grates. “If the information you provide is any good, I might consider it.” He flicks his eyes to me. Danny knows these two men aren’t walking out of here alive. Even if they lead us directly to our prey.
“Volodya and Sandy work together,” he spits urgently. “They head up the gun side of the business. The Polish deal with the women. The Irish in drugs. It’s been peaceful. The only issue was The Enigma.”
I look at Danny incredulously. So it really is one big happy family?
“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Danny says, getting up and going to pour more Scotch. “Another one, James?”
“Hands are kind of full at the moment.” I give the Russian’s tongue a little yank, pushing the blade in a fraction, not piercing his flesh, but as close as I can get before drawing blood. “You don’t know who The Enigmas is?” I ask.
“I think he’s above their pay grade,” Danny says, joining Brad on the edge of the desk.
“The Bear,” I say. “What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
For fuck’s sake, someone has to know who the fuck he is. “So how the fuck does anyone do business if they don’t know who they’re dealing with?”
“He emails. Only ever emails.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Danny snaps, slamming his glass down on the desk and lunging forward, ramming the letter opener through the tongue I’m still holding. The scream is blood-curdling. It also gets the other Russian talking again, although what the fuck he’s saying is a mystery. I expect he’s praying. He should be. I release the clamp and move over to his dribbling, whining form.
I hold the pliers in front of him.
“He emails the three at the top,” he blurts. “Only ever them.”
Well, that’s not true. He also emails Green.
“The Ox leads the Russians. Volodya and Sandy answer to him. Then there’s us below them.”
“Oh,” I muse, moving around the front of him and taking Danny’s chair. I circle the pliers for him to continue.
“The Shark. Polish.”
“Deals in women,” I say, and he nods. “And below The Shark?”
“The Hound and The Fox. The Fox disappeared. The Hound has a tattoo covering his right cheek. Some writing in his native language.”
“Where is he?” Danny asks.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, I swear. But I can tell you the Irish lost The Snake. The Eagle and The Alligator are . . . were below The Snake. The Eagle’s dead. They’re trying to get The Alligator out of jail to take over the drugs side. The Dodo is also missing.”
I hear Danny and Brad shift on the desk behind me, and I glance across to see Otto, Goldie, and Ringo all looking rather bored. “So what were you doing at Derek Green’s office?” Perhaps with a shortage of Irish to swing by Green’s place, they sent some Russians instead. Happy families.
“We were told to give him a gun.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know!”
I look at Danny. He’s thoughtful. What the fuck is happening in Miami? The Irish can deal and kill, the Polish traffickers can buy, sell, and rape women, and the Russians can open fire wherever the fuck they please, but it’s okay because everyone gets along. Peace in the city, he said. What a shame we’re fucking with their plans. Fuck this shit.
“Thanks for the chat,” I say, turning and putting my hand out to Danny, who places the belt in my hand. The Russian deflates before me, relieved. “Problem is, you’ve told us a whole lot of what we already know.”
His eyes widen, his back pressing into the back of the chair.
“The Snake, The Eagle, The Dodo, The Fox . . .” I slip the belt around his head and use the ends to pull him forward. “All me.”
“No,” he whispers, his eyes widening.
“Yes.”
“That can’t be. The Enigma’s dead.”
Danny laughs. “You get the feeling people have a problem with us being alive?” he asks from behind. He’s being a real comedian today. I’m not sure what people should be more wary of, the joker or the deadly, short-fused monster.
