Chapter 22 #4
“I’m not sure,” Matthew said, shrugging. “I’m afraid I was perhaps mistaken about my uncle’s activities.”
“You’re afraid you were perhaps mistaken?” Beckett snapped. “My mother thinks my brother is dead because of you, dick bag!” The wave of anger seemed to hit suddenly, totally out of the blue, like a tsunami.
“Yes,” Matthew readily admitted. “And I am truly sorry for that inconvenience, but—” he shrugged.
“If my uncle isn’t housing these women in the condos, then perhaps I was mistaken about his intentions from the get-go.
He might have invested in Montreal solely because the market conditions were good. ”
And while Hayes could tell Matthew was trying to believe his own words, no one seemed convinced.
“There has to be something we’re missing,” Hayes argued.
“Why?” Matthew countered. “What evidence do we have that suggests his businesses aren’t legit?”
“Because we’ve only scratched the surface of his businesses,” Hayes replied.
“Your theory was that he stashed these women in apartments—pretended to be offering them a new life before selling them. It made sense since he had the resources to do so. But the fact that he didn’t stash them here doesn’t mean he didn’t stash them elsewhere. ”
“What elsewhere?” Matthew asked, and his tone implied Hayes was being stupid. “There is no secret dungeon. No illegal location,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “The only thing we’ve established in Montreal is his strong interest in real estate.”
“Really?” Beckett asked, doubtfully, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
“Truly,” Matthew stated with a tired sigh.
“But what about the Serbians?” Hayes asked, finding gaps in the story. “I thought the idea was that he could do imports and exports on multiple goods.”
Matthew’s eyes glittered with anger, like he didn’t want to hear any of Hayes’ suggestions.
“It was—it is—,” he answered. “In New York, that is the deal we’ve struck. They move the product in and out. I admit I thought it would be the same here, but there is no product being moved here. There are already too many hands in the cookie jar in Canada. My uncle didn’t want to risk it.”
“Think you mean the coke-y jar,” Beckett mumbled.
Adeline snorted and offered him a fist bump.
Matthew shot him a death glare, but Beckett pretended not to notice while Hayes pursed his lips to suppress his smile.
“So—excuse the limitations of my pea brain, but is your uncle in bed with the Montreal branch of the Serbian Mafia or not? Think I lost the plot sometime after I dug up my dead brother.” Beckett gave Matthew a rather pointed look.
Whether Adeline had heard the full story on Beckett’s brother or not, she merely lifted an eyebrow in surprise at hearing that.
“Hard to say,” Matthew said mulishly.
Hayes saw the glint of pure, barely leashed anger in his boyfriend’s gaze, indicating the urge to strangle the mob boss was alive and well. Shooting him wasn’t entire out the question either, it seemed.
“No, you fuckwad—supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is hard to say—so this should be pretty fucking simple for you.”
Matthew sighed in exasperation, which, funnily enough, reminded Hayes of the way Franklin sometimes responded to Beckett.
“I have evidence that he was in contact with them, and I assumed it was for the girls, but—now?” Matthew shrugged nonchalantly.
“Arghhhh,” Beckett moaned, banging his head on the table in frustration.
Matthew stared, unimpressed by his response.
“This?” Matthew pointed at Beckett. “You find this—childish behaviour appealing? Truly?”
Hayes merely shrugged, because, if he was being 100% honest, then the answer was a resounding yes.
He’d grown quite fond of Beckett’s brand of lively, entertaining theatrics—they appealed strongly to a part of his soul that he’d thought dead and buried in his short-lived childhood.
He didn’t feel like telling Matthew that, however.
“I’d defend my choice—if you weren’t head over heels for his narcissistic prick of a brother who got shortchanged in the height department,” Hayes said, adding his most sardonic smile to enhance his statement.
“Ha!” Beckett cried victoriously, both shocked and stoked by Hayes’ comeback. He straightened up and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “You tell him, Susanne!”
And exactly how and when he’d earned himself that new nickname, Hayes hadn’t the faintest idea, but he adopted it with pride.
“Now, not that I don’t love this dynamic,” Adeline said, interrupting them, “but seems to me like we’re a bit off topic. What’s the plan?”
“Are we off topic? Or have we exhausted the topic?” Matthew asked.
“Better not fucking have,” Beckett declared, displeased. “Until my brother’s safe and I can tell my momma her baby boy isn’t actually dead, the only thing that’s bound to be exhausted is your membership to life.”
“Yes, yes. You’ll kill me, feed my flesh to the dogs, and sell my bones to witches,” Matthew said, sighing loudly like he’d heard it all before. “I get it—but beside threats, is there anything pertinent you could bring to the table?”
Hayes put an arm out to stop his boyfriend from jumping across said table and snapping the fucker’s neck.
“What about the Serbians?” Hayes asked. As they’d been sitting here, talking in circles, an idea had begun to take shape.
“What about them?”
“If your uncle is moving people in and out of Montreal, then he’s doing it with them, correct?” Hayes asked.
“Yes,” Matthew agreed.
“Then why not go to them directly?”
Matthew shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he declared firmly. He’d said the same thing when Beckett had brought it up.
“Why not?” Beckett asked.
“Because the Serbians work for my uncle. They know how I feel about their other businesses. They’ll see me coming a mile away.”
“Okay—but who said anything about you?” Beckett said, cocking his head.
“If you went to them asking questions, they’d know the information was coming from inside the family! No one knows the Serbians work for us for sure. It’s all rumor!”
“Pish-posh, you think I can’t talk my way around it?”
“What do you have in mind?” Hayes asked, wondering where Beckett was going with this.
Beckett smiled his signature shit-eating grin. The one that told Hayes he certainly wouldn’t like what was about to happen.
“You got the names of those other Mafia groups who run the city?” he asked Matthew.
“Eh—well, yes but—”
“Then I think we should buy ourselves a couple of ski masks and pay the Serbians a little visit—”
“Hold on—you want to kidnap a Serbian gang member and torture him for information?” Hayes asked, just to make sure he understood his partner’s intentions.
Beckett shrugged. “I’ve decided to just—lean into the crazy.”
“You weren’t already?” Adeline asked in stark surprise. Nickel gave a yip of agreement.
“Meh—only on days that ended in Y,” he answered the two of them, then he turned to Hayes again, suddenly becoming serious. “But I agree it’s a bit of an—unhinged plan.”
“You think?” Matthew scoffed.
“Yeah—finding ski masks this late in the season is gonna be hard—ya think nylon stockings are still in fashion?” Beckett frowned thoughtfully.
Hayes didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, he turned to Matthew and shrugged.
“You got a better idea?” he asked the mob boss, whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water.
Matthew slowly shook his head.
“I’m not wearing a nylon stocking on my head,” Hayes told Beckett with a sigh. “We’ll stop by Sports Experts on our way back.”
“Good Lord—the unhinged is contagious,” Matthew muttered and rubbed his forehead as if in pain.
“Cockledoodle-fucking-doo—” Beckett agreed and burst out laughing.