Chapter 17 Seamus #2
“Maybe it’s got a few angles,” he says after a moment. “And maybe it’s about the Volkov Bratva. There’s nothing on my radar from the Italian factions out there, apart from gossip on your marriage and what it could mean to their smuggling routes.”
“You didn’t say anything about that.”
“People talk, Seamus,” Mikey says. “And people like to ponder when someone new enters the mix. It was like that back when the Murphys suddenly appeared on the scene. People talked. Yeah, you’d been here a little while, but you made a splash with the de Rosa deal and they talked.
No one did anything about it, though. They speculated about what might change, what it might mean, but…
it takes a lot to move in and start wars. ”
“And right now no one wants to do that.”
“Not any major players in organized crime.”
“So we’re back to square one,” I say.
“Maybe.” He falls silent a moment. “I listen, but I know talk’s angled to get back to you, to see what they can learn. And for the most part, it’s just talk.”
I get it, I do. It’s pulling out the threads that mean something.
“I guess I’ll keep speculating and looking.”
“Quietly. Sir.”
I smile at that. He’s protective of Lucie, and he listens to Cal, but he knows the family’s a unit. The soft, respectful sarcasm in his “sir” is worth more than actual groveling.
“Always.” Then my shoulders fall as I sigh deeply. “Go home and I’ll call if I need you. I’m going into the bar. It’s the perfect time before the late-night crowds hit.”
“Here?”
I laugh. “It’s fucking New York. There are crowds everywhere.”
“Sir.”
I get out of the car and walk down the street to the bar.
I’m positive Mikey will ignore me, and maybe that’s why I can feel eyes on me.
Yet I don’t think so. It’s not Mikey. There’s too much tension, too much awareness in the air.
But if I’m being followed, looking back won’t help.
I might see them, but I might not. What it’ll do is announce that I’m weak.
Besides, I don’t fucking care if someone wants to follow me into a bar.
It’s dark and dank inside, the music classic rock. The bar’s fairly empty, and the bartender is collecting empty glasses and wiping down tables, so I look around, spot my target, and sit down in front of him.
“Brad.”
The man frowns, the tattoos on his face moving like it’s a mask that’s sinking down into his features. “Who wants to know?”
“A man with a gun pointed at your nuts.”
He looks under the table. “Fuck!”
“Dude. That’s not subtle. Have you been selling things to a very pretty black-haired lass?”
He actually looks upward as he mouths numbers, then he meets my gaze. “That answer will cost.”
Gobshite.
I nod. “Yep, it’ll cost you your nuts.”
“I sell to lots of people.”
He’s hedging. He’s not going to tell me, and I don’t think I have time to drag Ava information, if he even has it, out of him.
I’d love to say he knows who I mean, but I know fuck all about his clients. And the way he sits here, he’s either a middleman or has some convoluted system where he plays this role, sends it to a salesman, and then comes in to close the big deals.
And his expertise might be the explosives arena, but I wouldn’t be shocked to find he dabbles in other shit.
Fuck, dabbling in things like guns or stolen goods or even drugs could have sent him to Rikers, too.
“But you knew Paddy?” I ask. “Also known as Piotyr?”
His head jerks, and I smile. Now we’re getting somewhere. I’ll be taking that as a yes he’s dealt with my lying bride.
“I know you deal with all kinds of highly illegal things.”
He taps his finger to his head. “I sell know-how. Some occasional parts, you know.”
“I know.”
“Man with a scar. And Lev.” I watch him closely. “They were in here. You do business with them?”
Even in the dark, I can see the color drain from his face.
“And they went where?” I ask.
“They left, man, out the back. To the meetup. They’re meeting Anton.” He rattles off an address. It’s in a condemned building not far from here, so I thank him and leave, taking my time.
No one came into the bar while we spoke, but I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
I do a lazy lap around the block, taking in exits and entrances, what’s next to the building and on the other side.
There’s a side door down an alley, which will work for me.
The building’s been condemned for a long time, and word on the street is it’s a favored place for all kinds of off-the-book meetings.
I don’t want to walk in a place like that with no other escape path.
As I walk up to the building, a car takes off behind me. When I go inside, I’m almost alone.
Almost, apart from a startled guy closing a case of cash. He fumbles for a weapon. I stride over and backhand him with my gun. His weapon hits the floor, clattering on the concrete. I kick it behind me and it skitters over the floor. “Anton?”
“I don’t know nothing. I’m just a middleman, okay? I sell explosives for cash. That’s it.”
“What about Semtex?” I ask.
“I don’t touch that.”
“So you have a giant case of cash, but you don’t sell Semtex,” I say, not believing him. “Nitro? Plastique? Something old, something new? Something borrowed? Blue? Or maybe you like the pressure-cooker approach. Or you supply the nifty straps for suicide bombers.”
“Just pieces. Whatever Brad tells me to get, I get. It’s a system.”
“It’s always a system. The bits and bobs for the lazy anarchist.” And not everyone knows how to build an explosive from scratch. This is America, where everything’s available for a price. “And the timers?”
“Anyone can get them,” he says.
I’ll bet they supply them, too, if someone asks. “You teach people how to connect them, or is that Brad’s job?”
He shifts, eyes darting around. “Look, I know people.”
“I’m worse than those people.” I take a step closer. He has himself in a tangle of overturned broken tables that no doubt hide all the things he has for sale. I wouldn’t mind a look. I wouldn’t mind him talking. “I’ll ask you again… did you sell to a guy with a scar?”
Terror lights up his features. “No scars.”
“Someone named Lev?”
He spreads his hands. “Look, man—”
“What about a pretty lass with black hair? Ava?”
“Ava? I don’t want—”
A shot whizzes by me, and I half spin to avoid it, gun raised. Another shot, this time a bullet hits the guy between the eyes, killing him instantly. He crashes down, taking a chair with him.
I dive for cover as another shot rings out. I hit the ground just as I see the figure in the doorway.
Ava.