AllFreeNovel
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Bzzt.
Gia: Good news. The car is clean. I’m back at my hideout. :)
The amount of relief that rushes through me is indescribable. I’ve never felt so protective over a girl, ever. Even the one relationship I had for two years was nothing compared to this. I have no idea what it means, but it scares the shit out of me.
Me: Good. Sit tight, kid.
Gus prints four pieces of paper and pats them straight on his desk. “Here you go, Bullion. Rent amount here, address here, occupants name here, date of rental here. Now may I ask, please, knock first next time? You cost me—”
I toss a sleeve of gold coins on the table.
“Oh great, more pirate booty.” He smirks at me.
“Thanks, Gus. I owe you one.” I knock on his desk and walk out of the office.
As I get in the car, my phone buzzes:
Gia: I just remembered something. The guy I told you about the night you slept over. It has to be the same person as the one who grabbed me, right? Well, the man was leaning on a Maserati outside that night. It was dark, and I could be mistaken about the type of sports car, but I’m pretty sure it had that devil stick logo.
I grin. That’s a unique identifier if I ever heard one.
Me: Good girl.
Chapter 15
Castor
I strut into a mangy Irish pub with dark-wood walls, dated tablecloths, and brogues bleeding through my ears. In the corner of the bar – about ten feet away from the dart board – there’s a man leaning over a beer who I’ve come to know too well. Pocked scars on his face, a set of beady eyes. The Drinker.
There’s someone else who doesn’t belong, like me. He sits two hundred and eighty pounds with too much brightness in his eyes for the dingy lighting. Big Ace. These are the ones who are going to bring that Russian bastard to justice.
Eyes trace me all the way down the line.
“What can I get you?” The bartender nods.
I could use a stiff one to calm my nerves, honestly. I’ve been barking and growling at people all day. “Johnnie Blue, neat.”
“Hey, hey, boss man. I bring you the beauty pageant winner of 1952.” Ace presents Drinker, and we all share a small chuckle.
“Nice to see you, Castor.” Drinker extends his clammy hand, which I take gladly if it means a step closer to revenge.
“You too, Ian. What do you have for me?” I pull out my stack of papers.
His eyes are permanently glazed over, like he’s in some kind of drunken trance. Sing for me, already. “Well, thanks to your artist, we got some good headway today.”
“I’m listening.”
“Group of three Russkis seen off Cross Bay, headed towards the pier. You can throw all that out.” He waves at my papers, laughing. “These ain’t your traditional immigrants.”
My eye twitches. Is he right? Did I just waste my whole day?
“As soon as you told me about the sports car, it clicked.” Drinker points to his head. “There’s been some noise about Russians partying late at night on a yacht at the dock.” He taps the bar. “They never rented no apartment, Castor. They’re exporters of high-end luxury vehicles. They live on that boat.”
“And the Maserati?”
“Their main export in the states. Used sports cars that don’t hold their value. Maserati falls on the top of that list.”
I nod, hopeful air filling my lungs, and more rage.
