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Woosh.
I push open the door to make the two men immediately uncomfortable.
“Mister DeMatteo, hello.” Gus holds up his hands to his guests, signaling that it’s alright. “Can you give us a minute? We’re just wrapping—”
“I need the room, now. You can call to reschedule,” I say with finality and stand in the doorway so the little suit-rats can scurry on out, then shut the door behind them.
“Bull, what the hell? I’m running a legit business. You can’t just—”
“Sit,” I demand.
“What is it? You look spooked,” Gus says. His bushy eyebrows and silver-rimmed glasses contort with his furrowed brow.
“I am. This is an emergency. I need every rental in the neighborhood within the last two months. I’m looking for a Russian, or group of Russians. I’d assume a basement rental – somewhere offsite like a dead-end block. Obviously, we won’t get a real name, so let’s narrow down to cash.”
Gus is already typing away on his keyboard. “That would take forever to find! Are you nuts?”
“I’ll go door-to-fucking-door if I have to. Don’t tell me no.”
“Alright, I only have access to my database, so let me make some calls and compile a list of any suspicious rentals.”
“Don’t fucking advertise who it’s for, or what it’s about.”
“I don’t know what it’s about, who the hell can I tell?” He shrugs. “Give me four hours.”
“You have one.” I get up and exit his office, ignoring his spluttering. My worry is that this hitman followed her all the way out of state. That’s going to depend heavily on whether she’s being tracked. If not, this fucker is just trying to instill fear, or send a message to me. Either way, he’s a dead man.
I pull out my phone:
Me: Any news if the car’s clean?
Gia: Didn’t leave the house yet. Scared.
Me: Go before it gets dark, Gia. It’s important.
Gia: Okay.
I look at the time to see only five minutes has passed. There’s no point putting more pressure on Gus. He operates fast enough when I ask him once. So what else can I do?
Calling a cab to Gia’s house seems like the best option. The operator sounds confused when I ask for tinted windows, but said she knows one driver who’s are slightly darkened. It’ll have to do.
Time slows down to a crawl when the cabby gets to Gia’s block. I tell him to drive slow, and I slide back in my seat. Marco hasn’t said anything about his sister missing another shift, so I wonder if he’s just keeping things from me, or is he in the dark completely? Maybe the coke got the better of him that night.
No sign of either of Marco’s cars – which is both good and bad since it’s one less person I have to worry about today. I see a familiar Tacoma on the block, a few empty spots near her apartment, and an old-style Corvette. That’s the old man’s across the street.
There’s nothing suspicious at all on the block in the middle of the day, which makes my heart sink back in my stomach.
“Alright. Back to the real estate office,” I demand.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” the cabbie says.
I ignore all my business calls, directing them to Ratchet for the rest of the day. A single text that says “Busy with the boss,” should be enough for a no-questions-asked day.
It’s brutal, though. After reaching out quietly to all my connections on the streets, no one has seen or heard of a skinny Russian in crimson aviators, so I’m stuck in Gus’ office until he gets the information I require.
Hours go by.
I told Big Ace to gather Drinker at midnight – since I know most of his work gets done at bars after dinner – and wait eagerly for all my pieces to fall in line.
