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“I said we didn’t have an on-record source. This guy’s fairy low-level and nowhere near willing to testify,” Garcia said.
She sank into her chair. “But he has information?”
“He’s on Yakov’s team and he’s saying Yakov is losing his shit.”
“Yakov already lost his shit when he tied a concrete block around Bayard Owens’ ankle and dumped his body in the lake,” she said.
“Right, and the guy had a reputation even before that,” Garcia said. “But this time he’s even got Baranov concerned.”
Gabriella sat forward in her chair. “What are you hearing?”
“Just that Baranov isn’t happy with the way Vitsin has handled the situation, and he's made that clear to Vitsin, who in turn, isn’t very happy with being questioned by Baranov,” Garcia said.
“Interesting,” she said, turning over the information. “Is there a possibility we could turn Vitsin?”
“Are you serious?” He sounded wounded. “You said no pleas.”
“True, but that was before we had Baranov on the table,” she said turning in her chair and looking out over the city.
“We already asked if Vitsin was willing to deal,” Garcia reminded her. “Way back at the beginning.”
“That was before Baranov hurt his tender feelings,” she said. “Maybe selling out Baranov is looking a little better now.”
“You’d take a plea in exchange for Baranov?” Garcia asked.
“If it was airtight, information that sent Baranov away for good. He’s at the top of the food chain,” she said.
The bratva would regroup, but without an heir, the Baranov organization would be in shambles. Vitsin would still be in prison, albeit on a lesser charge. The soldiers would fight for a foothold. Some of them would go to war in an attempt to fill the vacuum left by Viktor Baranov.
“It’s worth a shot,” Garcia said.
“You don’t sound hopeful.”
“Because I’m not,” he said. “Vitsin might be pissed at Baranov, he might even plot to overthrow the old man if he gets out of this without going to prison. But there’s honor in that with these guys. There’s no honor in being a snitch, and Vitsin would have a big, red target on his back in prison too.”
“I’m going to try,” Gabriella said. “I’ll call Vitsin’s lawyer later today.”
“Godspeed,” Garcia said. “Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do. And thanks for the tip.”
She hung up and turned her eyes back to the city. Part of her hated the idea of a plea. She wanted to see Vitsin go away until he was a very old man.
But this was the name of the game: trade a small fish for a bigger one.
Trade the bigger one for a shark.
It was all about making the people of the State of Illinois safer.
But dammit. Sometimes, safer wasn’t as clear-cut as she wanted it to be.
24
Mauz followed the bus at a distance, grateful for both its lumbering hulk and the color that stood out like a beacon. He doubted a harried bus driver would be paying attention to who was following, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
He was so not down to be questioned by the cops about why he was driving around in a car with two other men following a bus full of kids.
It was early enough that the roads were still packed with commuters, and Mauz kept a close eye on the bus as it changed lanes, belching black smoke out of its tailpipe.
