Chapter 18 #2
I kissed her. Hard and fast and full of everything I couldn't say.
"Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone."
"I know."
"I'll call you every two hours."
"Code, go. Find Eddie before Viktor does."
I left her standing in that shitty motel room and climbed back into my rental car.
Krause's contact lived in Gardena, in a house that looked like every other house on the block. Krause's truck was already in the driveway.
I knocked twice, paused, knocked once. The door opened.
Krause grinned. "Welcome to the gun show."
The living room had been converted into an armory. Rifles, pistols, body armor, tactical gear. Everything you'd need to start a small war.
"Jesus, Krause. You rob a National Guard depot?"
"Buddy of mine runs a private security company. Owes me favors." He handed me a tactical vest with Level III plates. "Bratva boys like to shoot center mass. This'll keep you breathing."
I stripped off my jacket and pulled the vest on over my t-shirt. The plates pressed against my cracked ribs and I couldn't stop the hiss of pain.
"You good?" Krause's eyes narrowed.
"I'll live,” I told him. “What about you? The doc give you anything?”
“Enough to keep me moving. I can share if you want. You sure you can do this?" Krause asked.
"I don't have a choice."
I strapped the vest tight despite the agony. Every breath hurt, but the armor would stop bullets. Pain was temporary. Death was permanent.
Krause handed me a suppressed Sig Sauer P226. "Better than that Glock you've been carrying. Tighter grouping, better stopping power."
I checked the magazine. Hollow points. "You're a good man, Krause."
"I'm a bored man. This is the most fun I've had since I retired." He pulled on his own vest without flinching. Show off. "Thompson send you those addresses?"
"Yeah. Three locations. Girlfriend in Manhattan Beach, office in Culver City, vacation property in Malibu."
"We'll split them. You take Manhattan Beach, I'll hit Culver City, Simon can check Malibu when he lands."
"Sounds good."
We loaded gear into both vehicles. I checked my phone. Simon and Viktor would be landing soon. Maybe Viktor a little later if there was a God.
"I'll grab Simon from LAX," Krause said. "You head to Manhattan Beach. One of us finds Eddie, we call the others."
"What about the Russians? You said Bratva has places they'd take someone for interrogation."
"Yeah. I've got a list of likely spots. If Eddie's not at any of our three locations, he's probably already been grabbed. I'll start making calls, see if anyone's spotted Bratva activity."
We synchronized watches. Old school, but reliable. No digital trails, no GPS tracking.
"We find Eddie, we get leverage. We don't find him, we're fighting blind."
"Then let's find the son of a bitch."
I drove south on the 405 toward Manhattan Beach. Morning traffic was building, sun just starting to lighten the eastern sky. Commuters heading to work, completely unaware that Russian mobsters were about to descend on their city.
My ribs screamed with every breath. The body armor pressed against the bruising, a constant reminder of last night's fight.
But Katherine's voice echoed in my head. You're precious to me. I intend to cherish you whether you like it or not.
No one had ever said that to me before.
I pressed harder on the accelerator.
Thompson texted the girlfriend's exact address. She lived in a nice neighborhood, houses probably worth five million each, palm trees lining the streets. Eddie Pope had good taste in women. Or at least women with money.
I parked two blocks away and approached on foot. The tactical vest was concealed under my jacket. The Sig was holstered at my back. The house was Spanish-style stucco, red tile roof and bougainvillea climbing the front wall. Pretty. Peaceful.
The front door was closed but I could see damage to the frame. Someone had forced it.
My gut dropped.
I pulled the Sig and moved closer and listened. Muffled sounds from inside. Someone crying? I tested the door. It was unlocked. It swung open silently.
The living room had been torn apart. There had been quite a struggle. Blood on the white carpet. Not a lot, but enough.
The crying was coming from the other end of the house.
I moved through the house, weapon ready, clearing corners.
The woman was in a bedroom, tied to a chair with duct tape. She looked like she was in her early thirties, dark hair, wearing pajamas. A gag had been shoved in her mouth. Blood streaked her face from a cut above her eyebrow. Her eyes went wide when she saw me.
I put a finger to my lips as I scanned the room. Empty. Just her.
I holstered the Sig and pulled the gag free as gently as I could.
She gasped for air. "Please don't hurt me. Please. I don't know anything."
"I'm not going to hurt you." I started working on the tape binding her wrists. "Where's Eddie Pope?"
Fresh tears ran down her face. "Some men with guns took him. They had Russian accents. They broke in maybe an hour ago."
"How many men?"
"Three. Big and scary. They asked me where Eddie was and I wouldn't tell them. They searched the whole house. " She sobbed. "They hit me. They said they'd kill me if I didn't talk."
The tape came free. She pulled her hands to her chest, rubbing her wrists.
"Where was Eddie hiding?"
"On the floor of the guest room closet, underneath all my shoes.
But they found him anyway. They dragged him out.
He was screaming my name." Her voice broke. "They put something over his head, and they took him, maybe thirty minutes ago. I don’t know, I’m not sure.
I heard a car drive away, but I couldn't see anything from here. "
Eddie had been gone for half an hour. This must have been the local Russians. The good news was, they’d probably keep him alive until Viktor arrived. Bad news? They were probably going to make him talk in the meantime.