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“People can be rude,” said Gator. “I don’t understand it. A little kindness goes a long way.”
“Hey,” said Remy, nodding a head toward the man walking toward them. “I think that’s our boy.”
It was easy to spot Hiram Silverstein. He was wearing a traditional Jewish black suit and hat. His snowy white beard was long, covering most of his face. In his hand, he carried a brown leather satchel. As he stepped up to the agent, he handed him his license, giving a smile.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to step to the side.”
“Why? I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said.
“Sir. I’m sorry, you need to step to the side.”
“I have the right to know what you want from me,” he said with a huff. Remy gripped his upper arm, pulling him from the line. He sputtered, looking back at the agent who’d already moved on to the next customer.
Remy shoved him into a small room, Robbie, Mo, and Gator following him.
“Sit,” said Gator.
“How dare you speak to me as if I’m a dog!”
“Sit, you son-of-a-bitch, or I’ll make sure I remove your legs, and you won’t have a choice.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, we’re your worst fucking nightmare,” smirked Robbie. “See, you hurt a friend of ours.”
“I’ve never hurt anyone. I’m a simple jeweler from New York City.”
“Bullshit,” scoffed Mo. “You’re a terrorist, conniving with Yun and his men. You’re the man who is trying to kill my friend.” His eyes went wide, and he tried to reach for his cell phone. Gator grabbed it, dropping it to the floor and jamming his heel into it.
“Ooops.”
“Who are you?” he said, breathing heavily.
“We are friends of Sage Marshall,” smirked Remy. “Good friends.”
“Sage stole from me!” he yelled.
“Don’t make me fucking kill you right here,” said Robbie. “Where is Yun?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He stared straight ahead, a look of determination on his face.
“Let me help you remember,” said Gator.
He pulled up a tablet, showing his two sons and a daughter working in their family jewelry store in NYC. On another screen were his small grandchildren, playing at school. In still another, his teenage grandson was talking to a girl.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re sending you a message. You threaten our friend. We threaten your family. You’ve got about sixty seconds to start talking. If you don’t, those men you see in the background, all with denim jackets on, will start cutting your family into pieces.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Show him,” said Gator.
On each screen, one of the team turned, lifting their jackets to reveal knives and guns. In NYC, it was Frank and Dom. At the school was Bone and Ham. And standing behind the completely oblivious teenage boy, besotted by the pretty girl, was Bodhi. All by himself.
“Don’t hurt them. Please, they didn’t do anything,” he begged.
“No, but you did. Where is he?”
