Nikolai
Hours Earlier
I arrived at the club before it closed. There wasn’t a lot of time left, last call was at two, but I still had a half an hour or so. Plenty of time. Sliding out of my car, I headed towards the bar, making sure my gun was tucked beneath my jacket and concealed, but easy to reach. Peter wouldn’t have an issue with me having the gun, but some of the people who worked there and visited often maybe didn’t understand who really ran the bar. They wouldn’t be too happy with having a loaded gun in the place, though I knew without asking that there was a shotgun beneath the counter and a pistol in the drawer where Peter would tend that evening.
As soon as I walked in, I spotted Peter. He was cleaning glasses as several tossed men, looking miserable and happily so, nursed the remnants of whatever they’d been drinking for most of that night.
I locked eyes with him and his expression turned grave. He knew exactly what I did for a living and knew what the consequences of his call to me had been. He’d effectively sentenced a man to death, and that probably wasn’t sitting really well with him just then. Sure, Peter was a tough guy and knew there were certain things that came with the territory of essentially being run by Mickey. Getting rid of rats happened to be one of those things.
Still, he wasn’t the kind of guy who appreciated that sort of vigilante, eye for an eye type of justice. He still had some hope in the judiciary branch of government, though it was waning with each passing month.
After a minute of unspoken communication between the two of us, he jerked his head towards the opposite corner of the bar, then broke eye contact with me. He went back to cleaning glasses, acting as though I was just another customer or maybe no one at all. He was good about being calm like that.
I took his hint and scanned the bar quickly and efficiently as I shoved my hands into my pockets, casually walking farther into the dimly lit room. There were still a few brave souls clinging to each other on the dance floor, trying to hold each other up and swaying gently to the music, which had become quiet and soft, unlike the electronica business that would have been playing earlier. Beyond them were tables that lined the walls. Booths, mostly, with plain black leather seats and dark wood tables that weren’t shiny enough to reflect the strobe lights that bounced around earlier in the evening. Most of them were empty at this point as last call would be coming very soon, but there were one or two still occupied.
Sitting at one of these tables was a young man with light, honey colored blond hair and blue eyes that were watered down, dulled by alcohol and maybe some form of drug. He was relatively somber, though there was a ghost of a smile lingering on his youthful features.
Logan King.
I recognized him instantly and began to make my way carefully across the room towards the table. I didn’t know if he knew there was a price on his head—he’d be the biggest moron on the planet if he thought there wasn’t—so I didn’t want to spook him by being obvious.
As I got closer, I noticed there was another man sitting across from him. Young also, he had dishwater brown hair and a slightly tan skin, though not like he’d seen the sun frequently. Instead, it was more like he was naturally tan and because he hadn’t seen the sun much lately, he was actually kind of dusky and paler than he should be.
A friend? I wondered silently. Or a business associate.
As far as I knew, Logan had pulled his stunt alone, but it wasn’t beyond reason to think he’d had a partner in the crime. In fact, it was more likely than anything else. He didn’t seem handy enough or clever enough to have pulled the heist off on his own. A partner would have given him some help both in dispatching with Mickey’s man and with hauling the money to the van. Still, Mickey hadn’t mentioned a second man. There was a chance he was uninvolved completely, just an unwitting friend sitting across from a dead man.
I frowned. I didn’t like that.
If this guy was merely a friend and not an accomplice, then he was innocent, more or less. Sure, he’d probably done something to earn him some hard licks here and there, but chances were he hadn’t done anything to warrant execution. And I didn’t like executing the undeserving.
Which was why I slid into the booth right behind them and flagged down a waitress, instead of going straight to their table. I wanted to listen a little bit and I wanted more information before making a move.
“Vodka, neat,” I told the waitress who smiled flirtatiously at me before disappearing back to the bar for my drink. My mind flickered back to Madeline, how I’d left her naked and sore on the floor, thoroughly fucked. How I’d made her mine, because she was mine.
I shook my head, forcing the memories away. I couldn’t think about her and my job at the same time. That was too dangerous.
Digging into the pocket of my slacks, I found my phone and dragged it out. Mickey wasn’t one to text, but I wasn’t comfortable calling him. If I had to do too much talking, it might tip off Logan and I wouldn’t risk that. The boy had become a thorn in my side and I wasn’t about to lose my first real shot at him just for the sake of the moron sitting across from him.
So I texted the question, careful of my wording. That new employee of yours bring a friend along for the job?
Then I waited, listening casually to the conversation behind me.
“…huge tits!” Judging by the way the sound came to me, that sounded like Logan. Both of them laughed at whatever joke he’d just told about a woman’s chest.
“Man, who knew money would go so far?” commented a second voice, his friend.
“I’m telling you, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean, I couldn’t even fit those knockers in my hands!”
I frowned, considering his words and what they might mean. I was inclined to think it was about the stolen money as opposed to anything he’d earned lately. But it didn’t tell me whether or not his friend was in on it, so I continued to listen. Maybe they would let something drop, or tell me where they’d been. Maybe even tell me where the money was.
“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”
I stiffened. That was the friend. Was he talking about the job? Or something else. I waited for them to continue, but then I received a reply text message from Mickey. Yes. I want that roach fired, too.
And that told me everything. Whatever Logan had done, this friend had been privy to it. I didn’t know why Mickey hadn’t told me about it earlier—probably he was either more concerned with the money or with Logan, or he simply hadn’t known who the other kid was at the time—but knew it didn’t matter. My fee would go up, Mickey knew that, and he’d still made the call.
I was here to “fire” them both now.
The waitress came back with my drink and placed it down on a napkin. One that I noticed had scrawling handwriting on it leaving a name—Roxy—and a number. I ignored it and took a sip of my drink. I didn’t want to be inebriated, as I needed to keep my wits about me, but I also needed to blend.
Besides, one glass of vodka wasn’t enough to send me spiraling.
It would be for Madeline, I though idly, remembering how she’d been tipsy by the end of her first drink. How she’d leaned closer to me, flirted. How she’d let my hand snake up beneath her dress to find the edges of her panties.
I did my best to suppress my shiver of desire. It was insane how much I still wanted her. This wasn’t exactly my typical reaction to a woman, though in all fairness, she was hardly a typical woman.
Crumpling up the napkin, I focused on the conversation behind me, waiting. People were starting to thin out. Those who had been lingering on the dance floor dissipated. The band was done, packing up, as a CD player somewhere in the back took over to play a soft melody that was just barely taking up space in the background. At the bar, Peter was already starting to shoo away the drunks and calling cabs for the unfortunate souls who were too far gone to drive.
I took another drink. All I had to do was be patient and then—
“I gotta take a leak, man.”
It was Logan, but I heard him too late. He was already up and moving past my table. He looked back, presumably to yell something to his friend, but froze when he saw me. There was a moment where our eyes met and I was startled by how much he resembled Madeline, how blind I was to have not seen it before.
The moment passed quickly, however, and then his eyes flickered down to my chest. I didn’t know what he was looking at, but in an instant, he was running. He knew who I was. Cursing, I got up from the table and chased after him. But the waitress had come back and I nearly ran into her. She squealed as I grabbed her by the upper arms and tossed her aside into one of the booths. She fell onto the cushions with a “Hey!” as her tray toppled to the floor. I heard glass break, but I was already hot on Logan’s heels and nothing else mattered.
Peter was speaking with a bouncer at the front door, so Logan redirected his escape route so he was heading towards the back, where I knew there were bathrooms and a door leading to the basement. Which wouldn’t have bothered me, except that there was also an emergency exit that would lead to the alleyway outside. I didn’t know if it would sound an alarm or not—they’d used it before as a delivery door since it was so much closer to the basement where they stored the excess—but I knew it wouldn’t be locked regardless.
Cursing, I pushed myself to run faster. And promptly ran into a pair of swaying, giggling girls, clearly trashed. I shoved myself through them; they only laughed. It seemed like everyone was just perfectly set up to be in my way and it was causing the gap between myself and Logan to lengthen quickly.
I was not happy.
He hit the door before I reached him and it popped open. A screeching blared through the building, resonating in my ears. Not pleasant, but I pushed it aside, following him out as I extracted the gun from my waistband. If there was an accomplice, then there was no reason I needed Logan alive, and now that he was no longer in the building, I wouldn’t have to worry about shooting any unsuspecting patrons.
I tore out of the building and rounded the corner, aiming my gun, but I was met with an empty alleyway. Nothing. I cursed again, lowering my gun. Where the hell had he gotten to so fast? There was a back end to the alley, so he could have gone around the backside of the building, but most of the parking was across the street, and I was hoping that was his destination.
Dashing to the front of the alley, I came to a careening halt just in time to avoid getting hit by a large red truck, dented on the side.
Logan.
I raised my gun and shot three times, aiming first for the window and then for the tires, but he swerved and sped and none of my shots hit their mark. I merely put neat little holes in his precious truck, though I noticed the hole in the back window, causing him to duck down and swerve the truck. He rounded the corner and suddenly, I’d lost him again.
“Fuck!” I yelled, spitting on the asphalt.
He’d gotten away and I was no closer to him than I had been at the beginning of the night. A moment later I was struck by my own stupidity: he’d left without his partner. Turning, I bolted to the front door, shoved past the bouncer who was trying to tell me that he wasn’t letting anyone else in, and towards the table where they’d been sitting earlier. It was empty. I cursed again. I’d lost them both.
A second later, I felt a large hand on my shoulder and spun around, gun at the ready. Peter, to his credit, barely flinched when I pointed it right in his face. He nodded once at me. “You’d better go. Between the emergency alarm and the gunshots, the police will be here soon. Easier to explain you away if you were never here, eh, comrade?”
I clenched my jaw in anger, but nodded. He was right. I left empty-handed.