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Zbirak already had perfect posture, otherwise he would’ve sat up ramrod straight. “What was in the folder?”
“Just some shit about Annex. Insurance claims. All legit, more or less.”
Zbirak very much doubted that. “Anything that can be traced back to our friend?”
Reed scoffed. “You mean Aguilar? No.”
“You know the rules.”
“Whatever, man. Look, I have some shit going down, okay? I can’t have them poking around here. You gotta get rid of them.”
“I’ll remind you, Donald, that I do not work for you. And you have no authority to give me such demands.”
Reed groaned. “I know you get off being in control and all that bullshit, but you gotta do something, man.”
“Send your little lap dog after them.”
“I already did,” Reed ground out, and Zbirak could imagine the fire in the other man’s eyes. “That dark-haired bitch beat the shit out of him.”
Zbirak tried to keep the anger from his voice, but it was nearly impossible. “What happened?”
“Tried to jump them in an alleyway. They got away. Doesn’t know where they went.”
“So, you lost them?”
“I didn’t lose them, Tommy—”
“A good leader always takes responsibility for his subordinates.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, pal. I never said I was a good leader.”
“You have descriptions? License plate? Anything.”
“Security footage. Hang on.” There was a shuffling of papers and some clicks of a button. “There. You get that?”
Zbirak heard a soft chime in his ear and lowered the phone, opening the text message from Reed. It contained a single photo, which was grainy and in black and white. But it was clear enough to make out two women. And one was easy enough to recognize.
“The dark-haired one is Detective Adelaide Harris. She was close with David Klein,” Zbirak said.
“Who?” Reed asked.
“Never mind. Who was the other woman?”
“Hell if I know. Some red-headed bitch.”
Zbirak pulled the phone away again to look at the image. The angle of the camera indicated it was up high, perhaps in the corner of the room. The
other woman’s head was tilted down and to the side, which made it almost impossible to identify her. He couldn’t see her stomach, but her coat would’ve hidden her pregnant belly anyway. Still, who else would be poking their nose into their business?
Zbirak brought the phone back to his ear. “That’s Rose Sherman, Randall’s wife.”
“Randy’s wife?” Reed grunted. “What’s she doing here? If she were smart, she’d be out of the country by now.”
“Indeed.” The gears in Zbirak’s head started turning. “Tell Mr. Thompson that if he wants to redeem himself, to meet me back in our little fun room. He’s got one hour.”
Zbirak didn’t bother waiting for an answer. If Thompson didn’t show up, well, then his fate was sealed. Zbirak didn’t tolerate failure, and he certainly didn’t tolerate disobedience on top of that. Thompson might not have been much more than a petty criminal, but he’d prove his worth one way or another.
Now, Zbirak simply had to wait until curiosity got the better of the detective and her new friend. He knew enough about Adelaide Harris to know she wouldn’t stop until she found answers. Patience was a virtue, and Zbirak had it in spades. This was his favorite part. He’d let his prey come to him. Then the fun would really begin.
