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.
“That’s not all. Two of the three fit your description. Junky alcoholic types. Skinny, minnie. Tough guy-type. Couple of my guys have been barking about them for a month now.”
Lines up.
“Recent sightings? You have a location?”
“Yes, and yes.”
I take a deep breath. Good. That means Gia’s safe. Hopefully.
“Off of Palm Meadow and one-oh-second street. They move every couple of days, but they’re always in that general area, and the lights are always on, according to my connect. Last sighting, 5 a.m. this morning.”
“All three?” I take the glass from the bartender, and nod at Ace to tip him.
“All three.” He holds up his beer, and I cheers him.
“You know, you’re pretty reliable for a drunk,” I say.
“You too, for a pirate.” He grins at me.
I down my drink, slap Ace twice on the back to get up, and leave as fast as I came.
The air is a bit cool at 1 a.m. It bites just enough to keep me alert. As if I need it. An attack on Gia is an attack on me. No, actually, it’s worse. It’s an attack on what’s mine.
“There’s been a lot of talk today, Bull. Everyone’s been feeling your missing presence. Hey.” Ace throws his hands up. “I did what you asked. I told them you were with the don.”
“And?”
“Marco asked how long it takes to suck a dick?”
We both cackle.
“That idiot finally woke up? I was starting to think he was in a coma,” I nudge to see if Marco’s aware that Gia is missing.
“He’s been a little extra lately, hasn’t he?” Ace arcs an eyebrow.
“Yeah. We’re going to have to do an intervention soon.” I open the passenger’s seat to Ace’s black Porsche Cayenne and pull myself in.
The whole SUV teeters when Ace gets in the driver’s side. “Those don’t end well in our line of work.”
“Mm. You heard the man, to the pier.”
“Just scoping, right? You seem a little uneasy. Everything go okay with Donny and Shadow?”
I side-eye him. “Yeah.”
“But I’m assuming the Russian job is a no-go, huh? Damn shame. What did they give you intel on? Something about how they’re fucking us behind the scenes?”
“Oh, we’re still on with the Patrovski,” I say. “But yes, he needs to be taught a lesson first.”
Ace is confused, I can see it all over his face.
“Less is more, here,” I tell him.
“Alright. Alright.” He taps his steering wheel. Ace hates not having the whole story, but he respects my space… because he’s a smart man. “So listen to this… one of the girls you auctioned to Stevey ToolBox—”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“She kept asking about why all the staff were comparing gold coins at the end of the night. So naturally, Stevey told her to mind her business in so many words. So she said, ‘Where’s my gold? I’m not worth it? I’m not worth it?’” Ace shimmies, putting on the worst Latina accent I’d ever heard. But it’s hilarious. “She said ‘Fine, no gold for me? No gold pussy for you. Treating me less than a server. I’m the prize.’”
My anger simmers to allow for a hoot. “Stevey got the short end of the stick that night, huh?”
“That’s why those events are so fun! Always a story coming out of it. Always.”
After about ten minutes, we pull up to the pier, scoping out the different boats. It’s a packed house for a Wednesday night. There’s a few old-timers hanging out, drinking a beer on the back of a smaller yacht, but no wild parties like the Drinker alluded to earlier.
There’s a parking lot before the boardwalk, and I don’t see any sports cars or any red flags at all, really.
“How drunk was Ian tonight?” I ask, annoyed.
“He’s always off the scale, but he’s capable. You know he is.” Ace leans forward to better see. “Should we call it and come back in the morning?”
“If you’re so sure about him, we’re waiting here all night,” I say.
Ace doesn’t groan or moan. He just keeps looking. “Maybe they switched docks?”
“Maybe. We’ll give it an hour, then I’ll cab it to one of the other docks, maybe do a tour.”
“Good idea.”
The next hour is frustrating. We go over the details of what we know of the target, and I rest solely on the fact that Drinker knew of their whereabouts just last night. That means he’s not tracking Gia, and my chance to nab him is now, before I have to talk to Yuri again.
“Alright.” I pull out my phone, about to call a cab service, when I hear the rumble of a V8 motor not far ahead. It revs twice, making my heart skip.
“Oh, oh.” Ace squints. “We got something. Black… yeah. That’s a Maserati alright.”
We watch as it pulls into a spot, and on cue, a group of three loud Russians speaking in their native tongue pour out. Despite my apprehension if the glassy-eyed weasel had his head on straight, Drinker was spot on. Two of them match Gia’s drawing pretty well. The third is chubby, so it can’t be him.
“The one on the right is packing on his hip.” I nod.
“Yeah, I see it. The bigger one is holding on the ankle, I think. That’s got to be them, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Idti! Idti!” One of the thinner ones motions for the other two to go on ahead as he pops the trunk. “Bud’ tam!”
Ace shows me his phone, Google translating “Be right there.”
I take one more look at the picture, and decide the one who stayed behind is him. I’m acting rash, I know, but fuck it, so did he.
“Cover me.” I quietly open the door and leave it as I inch toward a grassy hill separating me from the parking lot. The man is drunk, talking to himself. I even hear a note of old Russian folk singing in his tune. Prideful fuck.
I pull out my pistol and have a mind to pop him where he stands. But that would be too easy. Plus, I’m not entirely sure it’s him, and I don’t take a life on a whim.
We’ll get to the bottom of this and make damn sure it never happens again.
I rush down the hill like a shadow in the night, and when my blazer flaps loud enough for the thin man to turn, I’m already on him.
My hand claps around his mouth as I stick the gun barrel hard against his spine. “One peep, I paint your car bright fucking red. Got it?”
He scoffs into my hand, so I fling him around hard, hearing the crack of his vertebrae. This guy reeks of alcohol. Stringy in his movements, like a soused slug. I’m surprised he’s able to stand.
One glance up to the Porsche shows Ace with a rifle trained somewhere ahead of me. No shots mean no one noticed… yet. Time to move.
“You fucked with the wrong woman.” I lean close to his ear to make sure he understands. “And Yuri isn’t here to protect you.”
His eyes widen when I speak his boss’s name.
“That’s right. Open those glazed fucking eyes. I’m here to pay you back firsthand. I’m the fucking Bull.”