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Well, I leaped from phase one to phase four. Time to realign and get back on track. The son of a bitch will lose everything he holds dear before I’m through with him. His gilded life is about to fall apart.
I keep my eyes on the screen as I pick up my phone and dial Felix. The call rings twice, then disconnects. I hit it again.
“What?” he roars.
“Did you get me in?”
“It’s one in the morning!”
I switch the feed to another camera which has a better view of Rocco. “So what?”
“I go to bed at eight!” Felix hollers.
“Stop whining and answer me.”
“Do you know what’s in the pot? Diamonds! You’ll need at least half a million worth of rocks to play with them.”
“I know. Did you get me in, Felix?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got your crazy ass in. Players are not allowed to arrive directly, so they will be sending a vehicle for you. Secrecy and all that. You’ll get the pickup time and location the morning before the game.”
“Good.” I switch the feeds again. Rocco and some of the guards are in the process of trying to put out the fire. “And where are we with the body I asked for?”
“Wearen’t anywhere.I’mbeing the goddamned undertaker and digging around for you. I need the date when you want it delivered.”
“Just take it when a suitable candidate turns up and store it for me until I call.”
“Store it?” he shouts. “It’s a fucking dead body!”
“You have a freezer, don’t you?”
“And what should I say to Guadalupe if she decides to make carne asada and finds a fucking dead body in the freezer?”
“Who’s Guadalupe?”
“My girlfriend,” he snaps.
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “You’re ninety.”
“I’m seventy-five! And for your information, Lupe says I don’t look a year over fifty.”
“Tell her, ‘Sorry, baby, it’s just work.’ She’ll understand. And maybe take her to get her eyes checked.”
“Oh, go to hell, Az.”
The line goes dead.
I grab the black velvet pouch lying on the desk next to the laptop and take out a small green rock, lifting it toward the light. Drago Popov certainly has a nice product.
Chapter 10
Cracking the window just a tad and making sure I remain hidden behind the curtain, I eavesdrop on the conversation happening on the driveway below.
“I could have died, Nino!” Rocco howls. “If the bomb went off ten seconds earlier, I would have been toast! I have a fucking crater in my driveway.”
“I’ll have the car checked out. Maybe the techs will be able to find something.” Nino—the head of the don’s security—approaches Rocco’s car, or what’s left of it, and places his hands on his hips. “Shit.”
“I think it’s that Slovenian motherfucker. Drago,” Rocco says.
