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Alek nodded. “Fine.”
“You sure?” Alek only smoked when he was nervous.
“I’m sure,” Alek said.
“How’s it going?” Lyon asked.
“Nothing yet,” Alek said. “But we’re just getting started.”
“Anybody see you pick him up?” Lyon asked.
Alek shook his head.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Alek pushed the buttons on the warehouse’s electronic keypad and they stepped into the cavernous interior. A light was on in the mezzanine level — probably Alek’s office — but the place was quiet.
They crossed the concrete floor and walked past the stairs leading to the offices. The back of the warehouse felt more vacuous, with the energy of a place long abandoned. The building was massive. Lyon had focused his efforts on cleaning up the mezzanine for use by him and the men.
They came to a series of doors at the back of the structure. Markus leaned against the wall next to one of them, smoking a cigarette. He straightened when he heard Lyon and Alek approaching and swiftly put out the cigarette.
“Don’t smoke in here,” Lyon said.
The big man ducked his head. “Sorry, boss.”
The last thing Lyon needed was for the place to catch fire.
He turned toward Alek and held out his hand, and Alek placed a key in Lyon’s palm.
He approached the door and unlocked it.
“Want me to come inside with you?” Markus asked.
“No.” Lyon stepped into small, empty room and shut the door behind him.
It was dark, and Lyon stood near the door for a minute, letting his eyes adjust. There was the scrape of metal on concrete, a sniff, and then Lyon made out the chair at the center of the room, the work light on the floor in front of it.
His shoes clicked on the concrete floor as he made his way toward the light. He bent down to turn it on. A few seconds later, David Chaban was illuminated in its glow.
He sat in a rusted metal chair, his hands zip-tied behind his back, feet zip-tied to the chair. His head hung forward, his patchy hair offering glimpses of his pink scalp. Blood stained his shirt, and his feet were bare beneath brown pants.
Lyon paced in front of him, and a moment later, Chaban raised his head far enough to peer at Lyon through his greasy hair.
“I have to say, you’re not looking good,” Lyon said dispassionately. “You haven’t even been here a whole day.”
Chaban raised his head further and Lyon saw that his nose was broken, the skin around both eyes purple and distended. “This is a mistake,” Chaban choked out. “I pledged my loyalty to you.”
Lyon stopped pacing. “That is why you’re here. It would have been better — for you anyway — if you’d never pledged your loyalty at all. You’re a traitor, and you know what we do to traitors in the bratva.”
“No,” Chaban protested. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but whatever it is, it’s not true. It — ”
“How do you know it’s not true if you don’t know what it is?” Lyon asked.
“Because I’m here!” Chaban shouted, his eyes wide with horror.
“You’re here because you pledged loyalty to me, then fed information to Musa Shapiev.” Chaban shook his head, opened his mouth to protest. Lyon cut him off. “The only thing I hate more than a traitor is a traitor who wastes my time. I might show you some mercy if you correct that mistake now and tell me where Musa’s hiding.”
“I don’t know!” Chaban said. “I swear it! I haven’t talked to him since he disappeared.”
