Page 111 of Devil in a Tux

I nudged Alexa ahead of me and took the rear as we started down the stairs.

Alexa stopped at the first landing. “Keep going.”

“And, I told him that if he so much as looked sideways at you again I wouldn’t like it.”

She laughed and started down again. “I bet that went over well. You said fried or poached. You planning a breakfast meeting with him?” she asked. Apparently she’d heard more than I wanted her to.

“I explained that if I got angry, I would cook his little brother’s balls and feed them to him.”

She gagged and her hand went quickly to my mouth. “You’re insane,” she blurted out when she recovered.

“He needed to understand fear,” I countered.

“And you’d really do that?”

“Of course. It’s a language he understands.”

“Evan, he is not somebody you want to piss off.”

I shrugged and urged her forward. “We’re fine. I made him look good in front of his guys.”

She blew out her cheeks in frustration. “Nothing having to do with him is ever fine. He doesn’t have a screw loose. He has a dozen screws loose. You can’t trust him.”

I waited until the next landing to continue. “Look. He can brag to his guys how much money he got from me and not mention the rest. If I’d threatened him directly, his macho pride wouldn’t let him back down, but mention his family, and he’s smart enough to step back and not take the chance that I could get to his little brother.”

She thought about that for a second. “That’s risky. He’s a lot less predictable than the people you usually deal with.”

What was done was done. “Why did he say you owed him money anyway?”

“You don’t want to know.”

When we reached the ground floor, I asked, “Where is the super’s unit?”

Alexa turned. “Why?”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Trust me. You don’t.”

“Humor me. What’s his name?”

She started walking. “Zhukov.

Last door on the left, but you’re wasting your time. He’s worse than useless.”

“Wait for me on the street,” I told her, and nodded to Albert who went with my girl.

When they were out of sight, I knocked.

A short man in an undershirt with a horseshoe ring of gray hair answered the door with a beer in his hand. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Zhukov?”

“Who’s asking?”

I opened my wallet and pulled out a C-note. “Benjamin Franklin.”

He appraised me for a second before answering. “I’m Zhukov.” He held his hand out.

---