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Junior lifts his hand like he’s in school.
Suppressing my amusement, I wave my open palm toward him. “Yes?”
“Ma’am, do we know which trafficking ring?”
Ma’am? Bleh.
Before I answer, Jonesy piles on, “In other words, whose shit list are we about to put ourselves on besides Big Al’s?”
“We believe it’s the Russians— likely Lenkov’s organization. We know Yuri Zaytsev is involved to some degree since his bouncer slash bodyguard, Yevdokim Ivanovich, is one of the men who took Lettie.” I point at Yev’s picture taped to the board. “It’s likely Yuri is in bed with Lenkov again. Considering the damage Redleg did to Lenkov’s bottom line when his operation was disrupted at Franco Financial, he may be attempting to recoup his losses with increased trafficking. Activity on the dark web points to a spike in auctions and listings for availableescorts, which I attribute to Lenkov’s people.”
Groans and curses fill the room. Glad to see I’m not the only one repulsed by all this.
Shep scrubs his palm over his short-cropped blond hair. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve increased their gun and drug activities too. Fuck. I wish we could’ve taken down the entire organization when we had the chance.”
I fail at suppressing my eye roll. “Shep, face it. You never had a chance. Our entire alphabet soup task force barely poked holes in their business. Getting rid of them permanently is a fantasy. Nikolai’s well protected, with far too many politicians in his pocket.”
Tomer claps his hands, making me flinch. “Back to the plan.”
All heads whip in his direction, spines stiffening like they’ve been called to attention. While I’ve never seen Tomer in command of a risky op, I suspect this isn’t his typical behavior.
“We identified two primary destinations for the first leg of the op. We’ll be breaking you into two teams. Alpha team— Jonesy, Klein, and Junior— will take the two perps we spotted entering this bar earlier tonight.” He jerks his head toward the screen behind him. “The bar is calledWet your Whistle.”
Jonesy chuckles at the name. Tomer’s eyes become virtual flame throwers, spewing fire at Jonesy, who silences his laugh immediately.
Oof.
The one formerly known as bland is extra spicy tonight.
Klein catches my attention. “Mia, is that one of the bars where they’ve abducted girls before?”
“Yes.” I instantly recognized the location from my earlier search of unsolved cases under investigation by the local FBI branch.
It’s chapping my cheeks that I haven’t had time to figure out which shit stain at the bureau is holding up those cases. If I had some time in their system, I could identify the common denominator. Someone over there is dirty. All the signs point to it.
It’s just like before.
But I don’t have time, and there isn’t enough cake on the planet to make me less stabby about that. See again:shit I don’t knowlist.
Shep inhales sharply through his nose, pinching his jaw tight. “In that case, perhaps we’ll save another woman from becoming a victim tonight.”
Keeping us on task, Tomer barks out more orders. “Bravo team— Shep and Aaron— will go to Yuri’s club to subdue and break Yev.”
Shep cracks his knuckles and springs from foot to foot, energy pulsing through him. For the first time since the briefing started, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He’s looking forward to roughing up Yev.
Aw. Justified violence. How sweet.
Jonesy teases him with an elbow to the ribs. “We’ll be sure to have a stomach pump handy for when you’re done with Yuri.”
Yuri always insists on getting Shep piss drunk before he reveals any intel. I can’t squash the memory of how inebriated Shep was after a meet-up with Yuri back when we were on the task force.
Let’s just say Shep’s an exceedingly happy drunk. He told everyone he loved them— even the hot dog vendor we passed on the street on the way to the parking garage.
The old man was so touched he gave him a free hot dog. But it was loaded, and Shep doesn’t eat mustard, so he wiped it off with his bare hand. The disgusting yellow blob landed on his shoe, and he dared everyone in the vicinity to lick it off. He offered a guy in the parking garage elevator fifty bucks to do it.
Three minutes later, Shep’s pockets were fifty bucks lighter.
A snort laugh escapes me when I recall how he hoisted his big leg onto the elevator railing, and the equally drunk man dove in tongue-first.
