Page 39 of The Bait

“So, Ivan,” Asher broke the silence. “What did you find out about a Mr Asher Garin?”

He made a face, and it was an expression Harry had seen a hundred times on his victims. He didn’t know much, and his answer was not going to go over well. But there was something else in the way he swallowed hard...

“That he disappeared a few years ago. He had a price on his head but no one claimed the kill.”

He looked up at Harry then, his eyes shifty, hands fidgeting in his lap.

“He knows more,” Harry said to Asher. Then he looked down at Ivan. “You can’t lie for shit.”

“I don’t know,” Ivan said. “I don’t for certain, and I don’t like retelling shit that might not be true. You said you wanted information, not rumours.”

Harry growled at him. “What rumours?”

Ivan shrank back from him, his hands up. “Okay, okay. There’s been rumours. But it was about some other guy tied to Garin, not Garin himself. That the guy he worked for, who he got his intel from, was some guy that supposedly died years ago. They were running some big-time data funding ring together, him and Garin. I don’t know. That guy who was supposed to be dead isn’t fucking dead, apparently. Like, no shit. Bit hard to run some billion-dollar black market data farm when you’re dead. But they found him. Some Chinese kid found him. I don’t know.”

Asher’s eyes flashed to Harry’s in the rear-vision mirror.

Chinese kid?

“Who?” Harry snarled. “The Chinese guy? Who is he?”

Ivan slunk away, his back almost to the door. “I don’t know. Some genius computer whiz. He’s like fifteen years old or something.”

“Who does he work for?” Harry bellowed at him.

Ivan went white, his eyes comically large, his hands shaking. “I don’t know! Some guy in Moscow. Super rich. Garin’s partner must have pissed him off. Deal gone wrong, how the fuck would I know?”

“You seem to know an awful lot of rumours,” Asher said calmly.

“It was hot news this week, apparently. Those ZBK freaks you were asking about, in the photos...” Ivan said, grimacing. “The Russian guy hired them. Found some lead in Australia, where they reckon Garin was hiding out, and sent three...” Ivan’s face went a shade of pale before his crazed eyes danced between Asher and Harry. “Oh fuck,” he squeaked.

Harry sighed. “He’s just realised I’m Australian,” he said flatly. “He put the pieces together. You’re a bit fucking slow, mate.”

Ivan’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he blinked in Asher’s direction. “And y-you’re...”

Asher laughed. “I’m a paying customer.” Then he nodded up ahead. “The address is coming up. Where do I go?”

Ivan could only shake his head, so he clearly needed some help getting the words out. Harry grabbed him by the neck and pinned him against the door. “Speak.”

“R-round the side,” he gasped. “On the right. There’s a roller door. PIN code access. Number is 4375.”

Harry let him go and Ivan slumped down in his seat, rubbing his neck. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled.

“I doubt he’d be any help to you,” Harry replied flatly.

Asher pulled up at the PIN pad, entered the number, and inched the car forward as the door went up. What the place was, it turned out, was a storage warehouse. There were pallets of different alcohols; beers, cans, bottles, and an older style Jeep parked off to the side.

Asher waited until the roller door was closed behind them, then he got out. He opened Ivan’s door and helped him to his feet—he looked a little unsteady—and dragged him over to the wall. “Lights,” he demanded. By the time Harry got out and walked around to meet them, the overhead lights flickered on.

“Whose place is this?” Asher asked.

“It’s mine,” he began. “I get wholesale liquor for my clubs. Bulk discounts and shit. Store it here.”

“And our merchandise?” Asher asked.

He swallowed hard. “It’s over there,” he said, giving a pointed nod to the Jeep.

“Let’s see it,” Harry barked, and Ivan hurried over.

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