Page 75 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
“I know.”
“Man with a scar. And Lev.” I watch him closely. “They were in here. You do business with them?”
Even in the dark, I can see the color drain from his face.
“And they went where?” I ask.
“They left, man, out the back. To the meetup. They’re meeting Anton.” He rattles off an address. It’s in a condemned building not far from here, so I thank him and leave, taking my time.
No one came into the bar while we spoke, but I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
I do a lazy lap around the block, taking in exits and entrances, what’s next to the building and on the other side. There’s a side door down an alley, which will work for me. The building’s been condemned for a long time, and word on the street is it’s a favored place for all kinds of off-the-book meetings. I don’t want to walk in a place like that with no other escape path.
As I walk up to the building, a car takes off behind me. When I go inside, I’m almost alone.
Almost, apart from a startled guy closing a case of cash. He fumbles for a weapon. I stride over and backhand him with my gun. His weapon hits the floor, clattering on the concrete. I kick it behind me and it skitters over the floor. “Anton?”
“I don’t know nothing. I’m just a middleman, okay? I sell explosives for cash. That’s it.”
“What about Semtex?” I ask.
“I don’t touch that.”
“So you have a giant case of cash, but you don’t sell Semtex,” I say, not believing him. “Nitro? Plastique? Something old,something new? Something borrowed? Blue? Or maybe you like the pressure-cooker approach. Or you supply the nifty straps for suicide bombers.”
“Just pieces. Whatever Brad tells me to get, I get. It’s a system.”
“It’s always a system. The bits and bobs for the lazy anarchist.” And not everyone knows how to build an explosive from scratch. This is America, where everything’s available for a price. “And the timers?”
“Anyone can get them,” he says.
I’ll bet they supply them, too, if someone asks. “You teach people how to connect them, or is that Brad’s job?”
He shifts, eyes darting around. “Look, I know people.”
“I’m worse than those people.” I take a step closer. He has himself in a tangle of overturned broken tables that no doubt hide all the things he has for sale. I wouldn’t mind a look. I wouldn’t mind him talking. “I’ll ask you again… did you sell to a guy with a scar?”
Terror lights up his features. “No scars.”
“Someone named Lev?”
He spreads his hands. “Look, man?—”
“What about a pretty lass with black hair? Ava?”
“Ava? I don’t want?—”
A shot whizzes by me, and I half spin to avoid it, gun raised. Another shot, this time a bullet hits the guy between the eyes, killing him instantly. He crashes down, taking a chair with him.
I dive for cover as another shot rings out. I hit the ground just as I see the figure in the doorway.
Ava.
EIGHTEEN
ava
“What the fuck?”Seamus growls, rising from the floor.
