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“King wouldn’t have hired a hitman,” Brad breathes, taking his drink. “He needs Pearl alive.”
Right. God, my head. “The questions we need answering,” I say, getting myself a top-up.
“Who killed the Mexicans and Russians and engraved the Black family emblem on their chests?” James kicks things off.
“Not a fucking clue,” I answer.
“Who did the drive-by on Brad?” he goes on.
“Maybe King.” I take a swig of my drink.
“Why?” Brad asks. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why bother with the Russians and Mexicans if he’s going to try and take us down himself?”
“Who hired Gillingham to kill Pearl?” James continues.
“Or kidnap her,” I add. “In which case, it definitely could have been King. Abduction isn’t killing.”
“Again, doesn’t make sense,” Brad mumbles. “King went to Sandy and Luis. Promised them guns in exchange for their back up. He knows he can’t take us on alone, so why suddenly start trying?”
“He can take us on if he’s got Nolan,” I say, putting that out there. Brad gives me the eye.
“Do Sandy and Luis know King’s got Nolan?” James asks. “And if Anya knows Pearl’s not a virgin, why doesn’t King? Surely she told Sandy.” He gives his attention to Otto. “Anything on her phone?”
“Working on it,” Otto replies, not looking up.
“The guy in the alley who mugged Pearl?” I prompt, like there’s not enough fucking unanswered questions.
Brad snorts. “That’s a question I do have the answer to.”
“Oh good,” I quip. “Hit me with it. I was beginning to think we’re stupid.”
“He was a nobody. A chancer.” Brad says, looking at Otto again.
I recoil. “You had him check that out too?”
“Don’t start, Danny.”
I breathe in some patience. Right. Losing my shit will get us nowhere. Think. “How did King know Pearl was in Miami?”
Brad strokes his nape. “The tracker King put in Pearl’s neck. He didn’t tell the Poles about it. Pearl did. They removed it.”
Fucking hell. “Does that mean King knows Pearl’s been in our care for the past six months?”
James narrows his eyes, thoughtful. “He’s only been in Miami a few months.”
So is that a no? So many fucking questions. So many answers needed. Fuck, this feels like a bastard of a brain-teaser. I knock back my Scotch and pour myself another, but freeze when a phone rings. Everyone’s looking around the room, waiting for who claims the call.
Brad lifts his arse and feels at his back pocket. Pulls out a mobile. “Pearl’s,” he says, staring at the screen.
“Be cool,” James warns, going to him.
He laughs under his breath and connects the call. Doesn’t speak. I don’t think he can. He’s struggling to breathe.
“My instinct tells me I’ve not come through to my darling niece.”
Brad shifts in his chair, while we all watch, on edge, all hoping and praying he handles this delicately. Wisely. “You’re a smart man.”
“I want her back.”
