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“Sure,” Artyom said with a shrug. “You can pawn off the wetwork to another man.”
The way his uncle said it, Danny could tell he meant it as an insult.
“Do you think he’s done it before?” Artyom asked, throwing Danny for a moment. “Arson? Poison?”
“Macy made some comments about her mother’s death that made me wonder,” Danny admitted.
“How did she die?”
“She drowned in a shower.”
Artyom shot him a what-the-fuck look. “That sounds like the setup for one of those true-crime podcasts Chess loves. No fucking way that was an accident. Does Macy remember anything about it?”
“She told me she feels like her memories are blocked.”
“If he did kill her mother, it was probably for money,” Artyom reasoned. “The man is a greedy pig.”
As they cooked breakfast and ate, Danny couldn’t stop thinking about Artyom’s remark. If Burt had killed Macy’s mother for money, there would be a paper trail. Insurance claims, payouts and bank records. Kostya would have no trouble tracking those down if they existed.
“I need you take care of past due tax payments today,” Artyom said as he loaded the dishwasher. He didn’t mean the legit IRS kind either. “The usual suspects,” he added with a scowl.
“Titos’s tire shop?” Danny guessed. “Ronny’s oil change place? Fat Dimitri’s car wash? The dry cleaning spot?”
“Actually, Fat Dimitri paid on time for once. But, yes, to the others. Also the kolache place and the old lady’s dress shop.” Artyom shut the dishwasher door and snatched a flyer for the neighborhood watch group off the refrigerator. He found a pen in a drawer and scribbled a list of businesses onto it. “Don’t let them give you any bullshit about the economy either. You get the money, or you take property.”
“Right.” Danny took the flyer and suspected he would need to find a moving truck to complete his task. By the end of the day, he would be loaded down with tires, rims, toolboxes, dry cleaning chemicals, wedding gowns and whatever else he could take and hold as collateral for payment.
“When you’re done with that, go see Nikolai.”
Danny groaned. “Am I in trouble again?”
“No.” Artyom wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. “He’s going to offer you a promotion.”
“Promotion?” He had already been made a street captain. There was nowhere else for him to go within their organization. Locally, that is. Was the boss planning to send him away? To New York? Los Angeles? New Orleans? Miami?
“Keep an open mind,” Artyom urged. “Think about his offer, Danila.” His uncle clamped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Really think about it. Take some time.”
“Okay?” Danny said uncertainly.
Artyom nodded and then lightly slapped Danny’s cheek. “Now, get the fuck out of my house.”
Danny laughed. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Be careful with the tax collection,” Artyom called after him.
“I will.”
Out in his truck, Danny opened the last message he had shared with Macy. His thumb hovered over the screen. What could he say to make things right?
Are you awake?
He watched the message change fromsenttoread. Three bouncing dots appeared as Macy typed in a response. He waited for the message to reply, but one never came. The dots disappeared, and she left him onread.
Frustration welled, but he tamped down the impulse to text her again. She clearly didn’t want to talk to him, and he didn’t want to push her. All he could do now was wait.
He left Artyom’s and started visiting the businesses on the list. The day went exactly as he had expected. Yelled at. Called names. Dodging angrily thrown wrenches and spatulas. He kept his cool, collected what was owed in cash or equipment and moved onto the next business.
Right before noon, he entered the last stop on the list. A blast of cold, floral scented air smacked him in the face as he tugged open the front door of the shop. Gentle, romantic classical music played quietly in the background. There were dozens of women looking through racks of wedding dresses on sale. He gave them a wide berth and headed straight for the back offices where he was sure to find Anita.
