Page 30 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
Borya shuffled some papers on his desk, like the answer lay in one of the spreadsheets on his desk. Which, as it turned out, it did.
“My brother was lying to me,” Borya explained. “And stealing.” He slid some papers across the desk, as if providing proof of Sasha’s treachery. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the Russian.
“He was doing side deals all over the place,” Borya said. “Taking payments in cryptocurrency, hiding them from my accountants. I cannot tolerate that kind of treachery in my organization.” He looked up at Daniel. “And you understand why I couldn’t do it myself, of course.”
Daniel just shook his head. He understood none of it. Not the part about killing your own blood. And definitely not the part about not having the balls to do it yourself.
Borya inclined his head toward the window overlooking the main floor of the strip club. “We’ll clean this up. Make sure none of it comes back on you. Or the gang.”
Daniel followed Borya’s gaze to the strip club floor—to the forty-odd dancers, slowly emerging from their hiding places and running, panicked, for the exits. Witnesses. Every last one of them.
“Next time,” Daniel said coldly, “you let me in on the plan before you hand me the murder weapon.”
Borya smiled thinly. “Terry said you got the message.”
Daniel didn’t answer. He just stared. Wondering, confused, if the message had been meant for him all along.
A message about what happens to those who lie.
To those whosteal.
Daniel said, “I meant what I said about the price going up.”
Borya nodded, and Sonny appeared over Daniel’s left shoulder. He was holding a thick brown envelope.
“Ten thousand,” the Russian said. “For you, my friend.”
Daniel looked from the envelope to Borya, then back to the envelope. He snatched it. “Fuck this shit,” he said, and left.
Downstairs, he saw the leather satchel of cash lying on the table. It was wet with blood and gore and split champagne. He grabbed it and headed out the way he’d come.
Outside, the sunlight hit the back of his eyeballs like a trip flare. Cocaine was still fizzing in his veins, making everything feel a thousand times more intense. He bent double and vomited onto the gravel.
Milo appeared in the corner of his vision. He was doing a comical little jig, trying to re-pocket all his paraphernalia and run toward the van at the same time. “We gotta get the fuck outta here, bro.”
Finally, something intelligent out of that idiot’s mouth.
Daniel straightened and wiped his mouth. He tucked the brown envelope down the waistband of his jeans. Then he tossed the leather satchel to Milo and strode toward the van.
He cranked the engine while Milo scrambled into the passenger seat. He didn’t even wait for him to shut the door before reversing in a wide arc and peeling out of the lot.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Milo get out his phone, queue up Chief Keef and reach for the aux cable to plug it into the car stereo.
Daniel smacked his hand away. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”
TEN
Belinda Weck splither gaze between the three whiteboards set up at the front of the ops room, as if she hadn’t already memorized their contents days ago.
Oates’ voice came from the speakerphone on the table behind her. “Where are we at?”
She folded her arms and drummed her fingers against her biceps. “Well, we finally have our witness. A young man who was at the party and who saw Monaghan there.”
Oates waited for her to continue, but she could hear the skepticism in his pause.
She exhaled through her nose. “Admittedly, he was fairly intoxicated at the time. But he told detectives he’d been standing in the backyard, smoking weed with some of his friends. He saw Monaghan leave the house and head for Castaño’s trailer.”
