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"They were soldiers."
"You implying you're something more?" I ask, sounding bored.
Better to get the information I want.
"Not us," Mo says.
"Shut up," Curly shouts.
"You said it first." Mo looks over at Larry. "They'll send an army from Russia to avenge him."
That's worth knowing.
"Who is he?"
"Thepakhan'sson."
Not thepakhanin California. New to his position after losing his father, because of me,hisson is only a child. Curly is talking about the Golubevpakhanin Russia.
What is his son doing here in Oregon? Proving himself? But by doing what exactly?
"What is he here to do?" I ask Mo.
He doesn't answer. I turn the crank on the winch, lifting them until the three men dangle above the floor. Finally breaking for real, Curly screams and begs me to lower him back down. "My shoulders, my shoulders," he whimpers.
"Answer my question."
"Thepakhanwants the port to bring our cargo in."
"What cargo?"
Neither Curly nor Mo are willing to tell me. Not even after I crank the winch twice more and threaten Mo's testicles again. It takes a surprising amount of bloody and painful persuasion to get the answer.
When it comes, it's not a surprise, but rage boils through my blood at the confirmation of what I suspect.
They're moving people. Thepakhan'sson is here to establish one end of a new east-west pipeline for human trafficking. Worse, they have plans to use Nuovi Inizi as a source of inventory. Lucia's DJ program brings patrons from the surrounding counties and even states.
"Better to take women from out of town than locals," Curly wheezes.
I grab my weighted baton, bring it up over my shoulder and swing down against his tibia. The bone cracks and he howls. I didn't think he had that much vocal juice left in him. One broken end of the bone makes a lump under the skin on his calf.
What these men would have done to my beautiful lover when she refused to let them use her club as part of their flesh trade, has me swinging my baton again. Curly's scream this time sounds like it's coming from the bowels of hell. Where I plan to send him.
"What is your problem?" Larry demands with more lucidity than he should be capable of.
His pupils are still blown. That last scream must have given him a shot of adrenalin.
"No fucking syndicate is moving into our territory to buy and sell humans." Zeus throws a one-two punch to Larry's kidneys.
Thepakhan'sson screams unintelligible things about fire, proving he's still well under the influence of my drug cocktail. A well aimed kidney punch can feel like you're being skewered with a hot fireplace poker, I guess.
Leaving him to writhe in his agony, Zeus takes a turn at questioning the other two.
Curly is barely conscious, but reveals that the current contingent of bratva soldiers isn't as large as we thought. Only a handful of Golubevs from California are here. I've decimated their numbers so much they can't afford to send more than that to Oregon until they make the move out of California entirely.
According to Curly, that move is supposed to happen once the shipping yard is secured. Which is never going to happen. There are only two dozen soldiers here from Russia. I like my odds.
As expected, Larry gives up more intel as he comes down from the drug cocktail I injected him with. He knows the names of all the major players, what they are supposed to be doing and where they live.
