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The mechanics working around us pretend to not hear their boss lose his absolute shit. I’m not doing such a good job of pretending.
When he hangs up, Demyen looks like he’s about to throw his phone across the garage. But he manages to stop himself and shoves it back into his pocket instead. “Bambi says her hands are tied. Martin pulled strings as a cop and for all anyone knows, you’re a dangerous drug user on the run with his daughter.”
I feel blood drain from my face. “But he’s not a custodial parent.”
Demyen nods. “She is working that angle. Right now, he’s acting as a detective with information about a missing child.”
Said “missing child” calmly sips the juice box one of the mechanics gave her shortly after we arrived at the garage. It’s on the outer edge of the city limits, near a salvage yard most people try to avoid—including the police. Demyen drove us in, unannounced, and the second the men saw who was driving the Tesla, they literally dropped everything and locked the doors behind us.
And the second they saw Willow climb out of the back seat, at least half the men melted into the equivalent of doting uncles who have been making sure she’s comfortable and calm ever since.
Now that the initial panic is settled, I take a moment to look around the garage. A car is elevated on one of the platforms with half its body missing; another sits beneath a tarp in the corner. Along the far wall is a neatly organized storage system of boxes, some as small as a stapler and others large enough to ship an engine in.
Which, come to think of it… “Is this a chop shop?”
Demyen glances at me. “I told you: I’m a smuggler. This happens to be part of what I smuggle—luxury car parts. Sometimes full builds, but only for the best customer.”
“What’s a smuggler?” Willow asks between sips.
A few of the mechanics snicker while they pretend to focus on their work. I shoot Demyen a look. Yes, Willow is supposed to be learning a lot today, but atschool.Things like sight-reading and abstract shapes.
Not the ins and outs of criminal enterprise.
Demyen thinks about it for a second. “Do you know what a pirate is?”
She lights up. “Like Captain Hook? And Smee?”
“That. Smuggling is that.”
Willow’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open in awe. “You’re a pirate?”
“Close enough.”
“Are you friends with Captain Hook?”
One of the mechanics swoops in on a creeper, brandishing a suspension hook and squinting at her with one eye while snarling, “Arrrgh!” Willow shrieks in surprise, then laughter, and darts away to the safety of Demyen’s protective shadow.
The men chuckle, and “Captain Hook” gives her a playful wink before returning to work.
I sidle over to Demyen’s side as well, keeping my voice low. “I gotta admit, your world seems to be more… family-friendly?… than what I expected.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Do you know what ‘Bratva’ means?”
I shake my head.
“Brotherhood. We’re not a gang; we’re family. Literally, for the most part. Half the guys you see here are cousins to some degree. And most are married with kids of their own. They treat Willow the same as they treat their children.”
“Family” is not a concept I’ve had good experiences with. Except for my mother, up until she died. “That actually sounds… nice. And not at all criminal.”
“The things we do pay the bills.”
I level my gaze at him. “Come on. That’s such a lame excuse.”
“Is it? Tell me: how much did you make as a cocktail waitress, working full-time,withtips?”
I blush. Not enough for me to even bother to vocalize.
He nods. “That’s what I thought. Now, what if someone came along and told you you could make an entire month’s paycheck with one sale? And not even of yourself; it could be a new pharmaceutical not widely available, or a car part someone’s spent half their life searching for.”
