Page 2 of Kristoff

“Can we talk? Somewhere private.”

He’s dismissive yet aware of what’s happening behind him. Self-assured but not overbearing. My gut tells me he’s as dangerous as his partner, only in a different way. I used to defend people like this pair when I practiced. Though I can’t help but feel these two figures would have never been caught, and those kinds of figures could get me killed.

I turn to Harlan. “Keep an eye out for Gerald.” Gerald Vita owns this town, as best as can be described, thanks to Faust. In the U.S. he’d be the mayor, the police chief, the beat cop, the investigator, the judge and jury. In other words, the worst kind of slimy urologist. The last thing I need is for him to come poking around for any reason.

I usher Dante down the narrow hallway to my office. Every time I walk through here, I’m conscious of the boards warping at the corners and the light filtering through at the top of the back door.

I grasp the doorknob to the office, getting a weak click when I try to turn it in either direction. Knocking twice, I call out to Celia, “Open the door.” Our cook and part-time bartender complies. “It’s safe.”

“What happened?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

“Everything’s under control,” I assure her. “Go join Harlan up front, while I have a quick meeting.”

She checks behind me, studying Dante apprehensively before lowering her gaze and going around us.

Dante follows me. “Have a seat,” I offer, before walking behind the improvised desk. It’s a thick wooden table with a metal sheet running around the sides and front. Harlan and I took the time to knock out as many dents as we could, but the metal’s taken a lot of kicks and scrapes over the years.

Most disturbing is the green chair behind my desk. The back sits above the desktop, prominently displaying a curious tear at its center. What’s more disturbing is the notch in the middle of the wood. I’ve wondered if the person seated at the time survived.

While I could replace the chair, or recover the back, I keep it around as a reminder to stay vigilant.

I put my hand to my chest as I’m taking a seat. After years of wearing suits, I’m conditioned to putting a hand to my chest while sitting. I thought I’d worked through those habits, but apparently they’re ingrained deeper than I expected. Having a man in a suit show up sent me back to the life I left behind. As I recline into the back, a splinter digs in between my shoulders.

“How can I help you, Mr…?” I open, getting straight to the point.

“Dante,” he simply provides. “I’m searching for the person managing the pipeline through the region.”

A hollow grows in my chest as I roll my chair closer to the desk. “I’m afraid I can’t provide the kind of information you’re looking for,” I reply, trying to stay as neutral as possible.

His gaze runs over me, assessing my expression and body language. I used to do the same thing, and I pointed out what to look for when I prepared clients for cross examinations.

“With you being the owner and proprietor of the only bar in the region,” he says, completely relaxed, “I find it hard to believe something happens here you aren’t aware of.”

An excellent observation on his part. “I make it a point to mind my own business.”

“I understand,” Dante replies. “In some circumstances, it extends one’s life expectancy.”

Oh hell. “Yes, it can.” A sliver of fear cuts through me. Does he mean in general? Or is he referring to us?

“Who would you recommend I speak to?” he asks, changing his tack.

What a loaded question. The person I should send them to is the one I’d least like to talk to. “Gerald Vita.”

“And he is?”

Again, I get the feeling this man knows more than he’s letting on. “Some might call him our community representative.”

He’s thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll be frank, I’m not looking for arepresentativeor the flunky put in place to report back to Faust.”

He’s familiar with the Faust organization. While they’re small, his people are brutal, stamping out anyone in their way to maintain control.

“I’m looking for the person who can manage logistics for the area. This person, or persons, stands to make a lot of money by pairing with the right organization.”

I swallow hard. He made quite an entrance. Is he looking to take over? I can’t see things going well with the way Faust’s been entrenched in this area for so many decades.

While I knew we were coming to the middle of nowhere, I’d expected some sort of a township. The way Pops remembered it, at one point, this was more of a German town. I expected we’d be within distance of restaurants and cafes, movie theaters, bars, and every other creature comfort we could find back home. Only on a smaller scale. Whatever this place may have been when he was younger, it’s not that now.

The door opens, and Harlan leads in the man in black. With the balaclava gone, I can see the hard angles on the man’s face. His mouth is set in an uncompromising line. He undoes his jacket and closer inspection shows a harness with two knives, four magazines, a pistol, and God knows what in his tactical pants. He carries enough firepower to wipe out this entire town. Yet he never had to pull his weapons.

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