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“We have to talk quick, Gia. I don’t know if this line is tapped by the Russians or the feds or what now.”
“Okay, okay, yeah. He—he was about five-nine, reeked of vodka, and had those crimson see-through aviators I tried to draw. His frame is thin. Lots of bulging veins. And threatened to snipe me with a rifle if I told anyone.”
I narrow my eyes, internalizing everything. “You said you’re far enough away. Don’t say where, but, are you out of state?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Good. What did he say about collateral, exactly? Did he actually harm you?”
“He was vague. It’s just as I said in the text. And, um, he… fondled my breasts and teased his finger down there…”
I get leather-burn from squeezing my steering wheel so hard. It takes everything not to drive a hundred miles-per-hour right now. “Did you see the car he got into?”
“No. I drove off for my life as soon as he was out of view.”
“Did you check your car for bugs?” I ask.
“Um. No. Shit… I wouldn’t even know what to look for,” I hear the fear resurfacing in her voice.
“Relax. Go to a local mechanic in the daytime and get it checked. Make sure there are no vehicles in your vicinity. And if there are, you go back to your hideout. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be in touch very soon. Stay strong.” I hang up the phone after reassuring her one last time, then immediately get on with Big Ace.
“Yo! Boss man. What’s up?” There’s music playing wherever he is.
“Are you alone?”
“Hold up.” His heavy breath drones through as he walks somewhere quiet. “I am now. What’s up?”
“I’m sending you a portrait of a John Doe. I need him found out yesterday. Drop everything you’re doing and get me eyes on this man. Do not tell Ratchet, or any of the other crew without going through me first. This is top fucking secret.”
“Got it.”
That’s why I love Ace. He knows when to get serious and when to play. “Alright. Things to know – Russian. Part of the Patrovski crew. Stinks of vodka and was last seen in Howard Beach in a two-mile radius from Bingo Bangos. He could have fled, but I’m not sure. Consider him armed.”
“Alright. Here’s what I’m thinking. We pull in Marco—”
“Not Marco,” I growl.
“—Drinker then… to get intel since we don’t have much to go on. He’ll be able to sniff him out fastest.”
“Fine. No one else. Circle remains tight,” I say.
“Will report back.”
I toggle on my police detection radio and slam the gas. My mind is racing. As far as I’m concerned, I’m in a race with Ian – Drinker – McNab. Fuckin’ Irishman has his work cut out for him. I’m headed straight for my real estate connection in Howard Beach. And in the hour I have to let my thoughts wander, I only get more angry.
Who the fuck does Yuri think he is? Maybe there was a reason Marty Loophole double-crossed him. So far, this is bad business. And he’s going to find out how that goes real quick.
After ninety grueling minutes of hauling ass, I’m finally off the exit. Another few and I’m parked in front of a hydrant, right outside Liuben Realty.
The door chimes when I open it, alerting four women who shrink back uneasily at my arrival. “Where’s Gus?”
One of the women eyes an office in the back. “He’s in a meeting, sir. May I take your name—”
The tension rises when I ignore her and head right for the back. I glimpse two suits and my boy sitting in his office. No time for pleasantries today, unfortunately.
