Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Well, I’m looking at a picture of him right now. Found it on a guy we just arrested who works for the Barroso cartel. Also in his pocket was a ticket to the Low Low Blues and Jazz club: that mean anything to you?”
My eagerness evaporated. “Gennadiy goes there,” I said. I knew his routine by heart, now. “Nine O’clock. Every Thursday.” My heart started slamming in my chest. It was Thursday today.
“Figured you should know,” said Nate sagely. “You take care, Brooks.”
I ran to Halifax’s office. He was on the phone, but I wasn’t waiting. “The Barroso cartel’s going to take out Gennadiy tonight.”
Halifax sighed. “I’ll call you back,” he told the phone. Then, to me, “What?!”
I told him about the man Nate had picked up. “The only reason a member of the cartel is carrying around a picture of someone is if they’re going to assassinate them.” I’d tailed Gennadiy into the jazz club a few times, and it was the perfect place for an ambush: twisting hallways and lots of shadowy places for an ambush.
“Well, Chicago PD caught the guy, so it’s over, right?”
I leaned over his desk. “No! The cartel will know their guy was arrested. They’ll send someone else.”
Halifax just looked at me.
“Sir, we have to stop this. They’re going to kill him.”
Halifax picked up a pen and started playing with it. “We don’t know anything for sure.”
I felt my jaw drop. “You don’t want to stop it.”
“What would you have me do? Put agents’ lives at risk to protect a Bratva boss? This is the guy we’re trying to bring down, Brooks!”
“Bring him down, not—”—my voice cracked—“kill him!”
“We’re not killing anyone,” he said testily. “But honestly, if these assholes want to wipe each other out...I’m not shedding any tears.” He frowned at me. “Have you forgotten about the bodies we keep pulling out of Lake Michigan? He’s a killer. Maybe karma’s finally catching up to him.”
It was like someone had slapped me awake. Gennadiy was a killer. I’d known that, at the start. At some point, had I forgotten?
“Don’t interfere,” Halifax told me. He narrowed his eyes, watching me. “Brooks? That’s an order.”
I nodded quickly. “Of course, sir.” I walked back to my desk on legs that felt numb and waxy. Does Halifax suspect? Suspect what? I haven’t done anything wrong. I want to bring Gennadiy down. I just—
I thought of Gennadiy’s arms around me, by the grave. I just...
I tried to work, but I kept glancing at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. 6pm. 7pm. The office cleared and, as usual, I was the last one there. 8pm. Gennadiy always went to the jazz club just in time for the start of the main set at 9pm.
I looked at my phone. I can’t. I’d be in serious, serious trouble.
The clock reached 8:30pm. This isn’t right. Weren’t the FBI meant to protect people...even Bratva? Maybe Halifax had been doing this so long, he almost didn’t see Gennadiy and his family as people anymore. Hadn’t I felt the same way just a few months ago?
8:45pm.
“Fuck,” I told the empty, dark office. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” And suddenly I was up and running. Out of the office. Pounding down the stairs. Out into the street. Payphone, I need a payphone. Except there weren’t any payphones anymore. Fuck.
I ran to the first person I saw, a guy in his twenties, and flashed my badge at him. “FBI! I need your phone!”
He handed it over, gaping. I’d tapped Gennadiy’s phone so many times by now that I knew his number by heart. As I punched it in, the clock on the phone read 8:55pm. He’ll be driving. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he’s early and he’s already inside the club, and it’s too late? What if he’s lying dead?
“Yes?” said Gennadiy suspiciously.
“Don’t go to the jazz club!” I blurted. “The Barroso cartel has sent someone to kill you!”
He was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, he sounded shocked...and just a little vulnerable. “Thank you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I ended the call. Then I handed the phone back to the guy I’d snatched it from. He was looking at me in adoring wonder. “That’s the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me!” he told me, and wandered off.
I slumped against a lamppost. I could finally breathe again, and it made me face up to just how scared I’d been. I hadn’t just been doing the right thing.
I... cared about him. And I hated him even more for that.
First thing the next morning, Halifax called me into his office. “I talked to Chicago PD,” he said, his eyes boring into me. “No reports of any trouble at that jazz club last night.”
I stood in front of his desk, chin up. I had my hands clasped together behind my back so I wouldn’t nervously twist them. “I guess you were right, sir. The cartel didn’t send another assassin after all.”