Chapter Seven #5
"Okay. I will give him a call," I agreed. "And he is outsourcing muscle. This time, it seems like a three-man-crew. Any ideas?"
"They look alike?"
"Tall and dark was about all Savvy could give me. They were in a dark store and then they were chasing behind her."
"We'll do some digging," Charlie promised. "Let's go. Savea doesn't need to be there a second longer than it takes us all to scramble some information together."
And with that, everyone moved.
Including Helen.
Who advanced toward Harry and me with a feral type of grace. A lioness stalking prey.
"You listen to me, you piece of shit," she started, voice low, lethal, cutting.
She wasn't even aiming for me and I felt flayed.
"If anything has happened to Savea that a little Witch Hazel and a small bandage can't fix, I will personally make it my life's mission to hunt you down and make you pay for it.
Slowly," she added, moving close enough that her nose almost touched him. "Do you understand me?"
"Pretty sure he peed his pants, Ma," Shane said, clamping a hand on her shoulder, moving her back to his side. "But yeah, you should be scared," he added as Charlie came back out of the back room, a small black backpack in his hands. In it, I knew what I would find. What I needed to get Savea back.
I snatched it with one hand and Harry's shirt with the other, dragging him with me back out of the bar, into the car.
"The cops aren't going to have a way to find Eamon," Harry assured me, not a sliver of doubt in his voice.
"I'm looking for solutions, not more fucking problems right now."
"I know someone. I mean, I don't know him.
But he's been at the games. They were already on a first-name basis by the time I got there, so I never got last names.
But some of the people have recognizable faces.
There's this one guy. Saw him on a news interview a couple days after our first game.
He had secured the build on that new parking garage in River Bank.
Seems like a good man, family man. Also mentioned something to Eamon.
Something about building something for him.
I didn't get details. I'd get kicked out if I looked like I was eavesdropping. But..."
"If he was building something for Eamon, he has to have a way to get in touch with him."
"Exactly."
"Point me in a direction."
Ordinarily, you didn't just walk into the offices of a man who made tens of millions of dollars a year. There were secretaries and security to be gotten through.
But, apparently, showing up with a man covered in blood and speaking to the security team as though it was a clandestine matter that needed to be discussed with the boss (and the boss only) got you access pretty easily.
It also implied that this Richard Balefire was no stranger to illegal activities.
I wasn't entirely sure if that worked in our favor. Or against it.
But we were on an elevator on the way up to the top floor of a sleek, modern building. All white and windows. Open and airy while still somehow being stuffy at the same time.
It wasn't a long ride up, but my mind worked itself in a thousand directions in that time, sometimes moving from one possible scenario that could be happening to Savea to the next so fast I felt nauseated from whiplash.
But then the floor dinged, the doors slid open, and there was Richard Balefire in his intimidating gray suit and keen blue eyes.
"I know you." His gaze went to Harry, tone curious, guarded, unsure why his nose was broken, why I was holding onto him like he might bolt, who the hell I was in general.
"In a way, yeah."
"Mr. Balefire, we don't want to take up too much of your time.
I'm Kingston Rivers. My girlfriend was just kidnapped by a bunch of thugs employed by Eamon Awan.
We need a way to get back in touch with him.
To pay him what he is owed," I added, and those knowing eyes of his went from me back to Harry, putting things together.
It was, no doubt, big news that Harry had defrauded them all, that he was out.
It seemed like a close, yet distant, sort of club they had going on.
"Why would he take your girl?" he asked, gaze back to me, penetrating. "I've never seen you before."
"My girl has the unfortunate distinction of working for him," I said, head jerking to Harry. "And she happened to walk in on him getting what he deserved one night. I guess they misread the situation. Homed in on her."
"You let an innocent girl pay for your debts?" he asked, fatherly disgust plain in his voice, something that gave me hope.
"I was trying to fix it."
"Not hard enough, clearly," Richard shot back, mouth curling like he had a sour taste on his tongue.
"I can't betray a confidence by giving you a number or address.
It would be me missing next if I did. But I can give you this," he said, turning, walking back into a large glassed-off office, going in his top drawer, grabbing something, walking back out to us, holding out his hand.
Where a very distinctive golden chip was held between two fingers.
"Tonight's the game," he declared. "There will be a guard hanging at this location all day."
"Thank you," I told him, tone heavy with gratitude, a small bit of relief. One step closer. "If you need anything," I added, reaching for my cell, for the little sleeve on the back of it where I could fit exactly three business cards in case the need for one rose, I pulled one out, handing it off.
He took it, gaze moving over the words there.
"Private security, huh?" he mused. "If this is the kind of thing one can expect from your services," he said, waving at the general scene we were as a whole.
"Then I will definitely hold onto this," he told me, slipping the card into his breast pocket. "Good luck finding your girl."
"Thank you again," I told him, turning to hit the button for the elevator, shoving Harry into it.
"That was slick." I must have shot him a look because he continued. "The way you handed off that card. Slick."
"It's the highlight of my day, impressing you," I drawled.
Fifteen minutes later, we were situated outside a laundromat, eyes moving around at the people gathered there, trying to discern who might be the guard from who was simply sneaking out for a smoke while their clothes sudsed up.
"That one," Harry declared, pointing his chin toward a guy in a corner in simple slacks and a gray sink short-sleeved shirt, casually leaning against the wall, smoking.
But Harry was right. there was an alertness in the way his gaze kept casually moving around, as if looking for someone or something.
"Alright. Let's go."
"You're out," the guy declared when we were within five feet of him.
"He knows. He also knows the muscle your boss hired to track him down kidnapped my girl. So now we're here to pay his debt. And find out how to get her back."
The guard's eyes sized me up, eyes considering, before he nodded, ashing out his cigarette in the sand of the wrought iron ashtray, and moving away from us.
We stood there a long couple of minutes before he came back, another cigarette lit, trailing smoke behind him from his slightly swinging arm as he moved back toward us.
"Alright," he said, giving me a nod, ignoring Harry as a whole. "You got the money. I got an address," he told me, holding up his free hand where a small piece of paper was nestled between his fore and middle fingers.
"I took it, handing him the black bag. "That is straight from the Mallicks," I told him as he unzipped it to gaze inside. "So you know it's all there," I clarified.
"Yep," he agreed, nodding, zipping it back up. "Glad he's someone else's problem," he added, moving to walk away, suddenly turning back, eyes squinting a little at me. "Rivers, right?"
"Yep," I agreed. "Kingston."
To that, I got a nod as he turned and left.
"Jackass pretty boy hire-a-guard," Harry said bitterly. "Eamon always surrounds himself with good-looking people. It's sick."
I was only half-aware of Harry's clearly jealous ranting as I unfolded the paper with hands that—I’m not too ashamed to say—shook a bit, finding the address there.
"So where are we going?" Harry asked, finally grabbing my attention.
I snorted. "You are going home to clean that nose up. Then I suggest you hit the streets and find some jobs to start paying down the interest you are accruing as we speak."
"It's an hour walk from here."
"Yeah, I feel real fucking sorry for you," I told him, heading back to my car at a dead run, throwing it into reverse, peeling out of the lot.
It wasn't far, the address.
It wasn't like they grabbed her and headed to the city or something.
She was somewhere holed up with those bastards in a warehouse district in New Burnswick, just a half an hour drive I intended to make in twenty, making a quick call to Nixon, rallying the troops, though I had no intention of waiting for them.
Would it be smarter, safer?
Yeah.
But there was no way that I was going to sit on my hands and wait for them to show if Savea was just a couple hundred feet away from me.
I had to get to her.
Get her out.
Save the girl.
My girl.