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Milos shakes his head. “We cannot kill a Fed who has it out for us. If she’s coming after us then others are aware of her goal. Even if we were to make her disappear, their first stop will be at our door. The FBI has allowed us to operate because we don’t make waves and we only kill their problems. Killing their agent will change everything. There has to be another way, find it.”
I seethe at the order. Especially because he’s right.
* * *
Phoenix
There’s no tail this time. Why would they need one when they’ll be sitting on my place tonight and every night until Aleksander Levin kills me? How could I have been so freaking stupid? I did the one thing I shouldn’t have: showed my hand—my empty fucking hand to Aleksander Levin.
I’m not sure what about the bar draws me in, all I know is it appeals. Despite how bright it is outside in the middle of the day, inside it might as well be midnight.
Sliding onto a barstool, I pretend I don’t feel the half a dozen eyeballs on me. The guy bartender is sullen. “What’ll you have?”
I don’t drink. That isn’t an answer that will work here. I nod at the Jack Daniels on the shelf in front of me. “A double.”
A sigh comes out of me as I study my badge. I don’t have long with this. Tracing the edges of the gold gilt, I sigh. I have nothing that will expose Milos or Aleksander Levin with anything worse than jaywalking. My options are few and all consist of running and hiding.
Fear gets my hand around the dirty glass with the no doubt weak whiskey and I toss it back. Holy shit, it burns. Only the knowledge it will confirm the bartender’s disdain keeps me from spitting it out.
That is freaking gross.
“It’s not often someone with a badge like that comes in here.” The guy is to the right of me. I’m wondering how he got close to me without freaking me out.
I look him up and down. Mafia, not a single doubt in my mind. But he's lower on the totem pole. While his suit is nice, I'm guessing it doesn’t cost more than a few grand. If he were higher up, it'd be twice that. He also looks like he gets his shirts off the shelf. A lot of the guys in the Outfit like having both their suits and shirts custom made.
“It isn’t often a soldier of the Outfit like you sits down with someone with a badge like mine.” I’m grateful for the darkness of the bar, as I’m pretty sure I would never have been able to get the words out otherwise.
It’s pathetic that I’m wracking my brain; what would Garcia do and say? While I am I motion the bartender to give me another pour.
He shrugs. “Maybe we can help each other out. Is there something you're looking for?”
If he’s coming to me, he could know how. “I'm looking for a way to bring down the Levins.”
“It would have to be something really big to bring them down.” He’s quiet for a few beats. “What if I had something that big?”
I’m not expecting what he said. Can’t believe he said it. I take a sip of the ick in my glass. It gives me the strength to push the words out. “It would depend on what you have.”
“How does the Levins going in with Richie Angelo on a heist of edibles sound?” He sips on his drink.
Holy shit. I heard about the heist of the edibles. It was big, but hardly burn-their-world-to-the-ground big. Then again, maybe I can make it bigger. Richie Angelo runs the loop, his front is high-end nail salons. I can’t believe a lead like this would just fall into my lap. What’s the catch?
“What’s in it for you?” I ask.
“You take down Richie with the Levins and his spot opens up.” He finishes his drink.
“It’s like that?” Is it really that simple?
“It’s like that.” He nods.
“So talk.”
“I can give you everything on Richie, who will get you the Levins. Richie didn’t get permission on the edibles heist or give the Outfit their cut. This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. Carlo always hits a capo in the wallet when they screw up. If Carlo took everything from the heist the way he has in the past, it would cripple Ritchie who is on the edge of broke—it’s why he did the heist.”
I take out one of the ten cards I was given that have my name as Special Agent, and my cell phone number on them. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
Finishing the drink in one swallow, I toss a twenty down and leave. Out on the street I hail a cab to Richie Angelo’s office.
The ick whiskey gives me the courage. They’re going to take the badge away soon. If I don’t want this to be a waste, I have to use it now. Penelope wouldn’t wait for them to take it away—she’d use it while she still had it.
