Page 152 of Stricken

They sit side by side, both silent, listening to some rock tune crooning in the background. Noose gets another drink. Ivan comments on the quality of the brand, striking the conversation. Noose is drunk enough to be friendly. Words are being exchanged. Ivan pretends that he is out of town, looking for work. With the heavy accent, he's limited to what kind of cover he can come with. So, tonight he's Aleksei from Los Angeles.

Noose is on his third beer when his tongue finally loosens up a little and he tells Ivan that work is sparse now.

"Why?"

"Too many changes, man… If you know what I mean."

"I heard the Italians aren't fairing so well."

Noose just shrugs. "It's the end of an era, man… end of an era. Crypto is putting these old families out of business."

"Sounds like I'm better off going back to LA."

"You probably should," Noose laments drunkenly. "The FEDs are cracking down on Vegas. DEA too. Not safe here anymore."

"Tough times, eh?"

"With the DEA breathing down everyone's necks, it's hard to know who to trust. And how you're gonna do business if you don't trust the man you're supposed to partner with?"

Ivan grunts, taking a long pull from his bottle. "You're telling me. It's like they're always one step ahead. It's why I left LA in the first place." He leans in, voice low. "They're closing in on all cartel operations there. Following the crumbs. Starting to shake the tree. Lots of good men are about to do time."

"Isn't LA La Alianza's territory?" Noose asks, looking sober for a moment.

"Yes." Ivan supplies in a whisper, "I've got a buddy on the force. He says they've collected enough evidence to put away everyone who's ever been involved with La Alianza. And for a long time. They're just waiting for the right moment to strike."

Noose shifts uneasily, his grip tightening on the bottle. "Shit. If they really start taking down everyone, we're all fucked."

Ivan nods. He enjoys playing this game a little too much. He's already spoken to Vlad's contact in the DEA. The rumor mill is working. All Salvatore needs to do is to make some inquiries and his name will come up as one of the DEA's targets.

"I hear everyone with the record and low on the food chain will go down first."

"No shit?"

"Yeah. But you didn't hear it from me, buddy," Ivan says, rising from his stool and tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. "If I were on the narcs' radar, I'd be getting the hell out of Dodge. Maybe lay low in Mexico for a while, until the heat dies down."

"Then why don't you?"

"No record, man. Plus I'm a free agent. You?"

"Thanks for the heads-up," Noose replies, deflecting. "Good luck with the job search."

The seeds are planted. The false information is about to spread like wildfire through Salvatore's inner circle. It's only a matter of days now before younger Morelli tries to flee.

* * *

Several days later, Ivan gets a report from one of the airport employees that a private jet left for Mexico earlier this morning. The man on board of that plane matches the description of Salvatore Morelli.

Ivan's phone buzzes in his pocket at night. He answers, "Belyaev."

"Ivan, my friend. It's Esteban," the voice on the other end greets him. "My people saw Salvatore a few hours ago. This side of the border. In Mexico."

"Good." Ivan's tone is clipped, businesslike. He knows Vlad and Esteban are friendly. But Ivan doesn't trust the man completely. After all, Vlad almost died while being a guest at Esteban's property. "Can you make sure he stays there? I need him as far away from Vegas as possible."

Esteban chuckles, the sound harsh and humorless. "Don't worry,amigo.The Arellanos will run that Italian shit all the way to Brazil if we have to. He won't be coming back north anytime soon."

"Appreciate it."

"How is Vladimir? Is he on the mend?"

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