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Chapter 14
The black SUV was the only car behind me when I took the bridge onto Congress down to my meeting point. I wasn’t the slightest bit worried about my stalker. Instead, I turned onto Sleeper and kept my eyes open for the usual joker the chief would have planted for me here. I scanned the narrow street, the townhomes and alleys off Sleeper, when I noticed the trash truck at the side of the road. I slowed down and checked my rearview. The black SUV was even closer behind me now. The men in the back of the trash truck didn’t look up at me but kept at their task, one green container after the next. I came to a stop behind the trash truck to let it move ahead down the narrow road, but the driver of the truck stretched a hairy arm out his window and waved at me to go ahead.
I smiled and accelerated. I knew exactly what would happen next. The moment I passed him, the trash truck pulled out onto the road, right in front of my stalker. I heard car horns, tires squealing, men yelling, and off I went—with the black SUV now stuck behind the trash truck.
It was a simple trick, but it worked like a charm every time.
I pulled into the meeting point’s parking lot right next to the water. It was a large fish-processing plant with delivery trucks coming and going. The smell hit my nostrils the moment I opened the car door: a strong breeze of seawater, boat oil, and rotten fish. It was intense, but it would be even worse inside.
The chief was already waiting for me on one of the empty delivery-truck ramps. He nodded in the direction of the processing factory and walked inside through a small, unlabeled door.
I followed him, trying to avoid stepping on fish that had fallen off the trucks.
As expected, the stench was much worse as soon as I stepped inside. I found myself in a small processing room that was unused most of the time. The chief was leaning over a box of fish, inspecting its contents with a satisfied grin on his face. He was wearing a nice suit, which made the whole scene even more bizarre.
I walked up to him, frowning. “I get the feeling we have to meet here so you can get free fish from the owner. Don’t you guys go way back?”
“Don’t be absurd,” he said, turning to look at me. “This is one of the safest places to meet. The fishing industry and the cops have been in business since before you were born.”
“At least we could change the code word. Stroll in the park,” I paused to look at a pile of fish heads in a corner, their foggy, dull eyes staring at me, “is not exactly what I’d call this place.”
The chief nodded. “We could rename it don’t-get-a-bullet-in-your-head-tomorrow-idiot.”
I grinned, even though there was nothing funny about it.
“I was up all night, worried this might be the last time I’ll see your b-movie face. Maybe we should call it all off.”
Damn it. He really was worried. I gave him my most confident look. “I got this. Whoever is following me is just some bottom-barrel foot soldier. Andrei is just checking me out for his sister. That means he doesn’t suspect anything.”
“Or he wants us to believe that so he can get rid of you tomorrow.”
I’d thought about that myself. “If that was the case, I’d already be stored with that pile of fish over there, not standing in front of you getting on your nerves.”
The chief sighed, then slowly nodded. “You sure you got this tomorrow?”
“Andrei Kowitsch has slept on golden sheets for too long. He’s got nothing in store for a smart street dog like me.”
“Good. As long as he takes Mila on their next trip after her birthday, it’ll all come to an end anyway.”
“What?”
The chief pulled out a file from his jacket and handed it to me. “The feds were able to get a search warrant for the girl’s phone thanks to your info.”
I opened it and froze when countless pictures of Mila almost fell out of it.
“The girl. Almost every trip she’s been on with her brother lines up with some criminal activity with his name on it.”
My eyes settled on a selfie of her on a horse, the background some sort of farm.
“Texas. Around the time Senator Rollings was killed.”
I pulled out another picture of Mila. This one was a selfie on a tourist boat, the Statue of Liberty in the background. She was smiling, her hair blowing loosely in the wind. The chief followed my gaze.
“This one was taken around the time—”
“The Italian mob king Toni Bortelli was shot.” I closed the file. I’d seen enough. A storm of swirling emotions had taken over my insides. To see Mila like this, so innocent and happy, while her brother was out there killing people. The harsh reality of the situation set in like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the cold, dark sea.
“Does...” My voice broke off. I almost couldn’t form the words. “Does she know?”
