Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Now we need to find Rosalie,” I say. “I’m sure she’s with Ella, and since I can’t find them, at the moment neither can anybody else, so I’m not worried about her safety. Well, until I find her.”
“I have everybody on it, Boss,” Garik says. This is new. He’s never called me boss before. “We’re scouring the city.”
“All right.” Apparently, she didn’t learn her lesson the other night. My girl is a bit stubborn—and reckless. “Get Merlin on it at Rosie’s house too. He’s as good as Ella, or at least he’s close on a computer. He should be able to track her.”
Garik snorts. “None of those men are going to help you find Rosalie.”
I sigh heavily. “Tell him that she’s in danger. Most likely because she is.”
“I will,” Garik says. “What about you, Boss?”
That’s going to annoy the shit out of me. “Knock it off.”
He coughs. “I figure it’s good to get people thinking of you that way.”
“I understand the psychology, Garik. It just sounds weird.”
“Okay. I’ll think of something else.” He drives through town.
I shake my head. “Drop me off on the corner of Piston, will you?”
“Sure. What’s your plan?”
I keep that one to myself for now. “I don’t have one. I do need you to find Rosalie.”
“Okay. It’s getting dark. You armed?” he asks.
“I’m always armed.”
He pulls to the side of the somewhat quiet street. “Why don’t I come with you?”
“This is something I need to do myself. Let me out.”
“Okay.” He stops completely.
I exit on the corner before making my way toward Howard Fissure’s apartment building as Garik drives away. Fissure’s gate opens and I quickly duck behind a tree. He drives out. I call Garik back. He returns immediately and I jump in the back. “Follow that car.”
“Seriously?” Garik asks. “I feel like I’m on a sitcom.”
“Only if the sitcom ends in murder.” We follow Fissure to a restaurant on the upper end where he strides inside and meets a platinum blonde we can watch through the window. “Who is that?” I ask.
“No idea, but she sure is pretty. A little young for him,” Garik says.
My stomach growls. “I haven’t eaten today.”
“Do you want me to get us some food? This may take a while.”
I look around at several of the restaurants in the area. “Yeah, go ahead. You choose.”
“Excellent.” He slides out. I have a clear view of Fissure and the blonde, and I watch them eat a four-course meal. About halfway through, Garik returns with falafels for us.
“Falafels?”
“I had a craving.”
I eat mine, noting it’s just as flavorless as I remember. I could go another seven years without eating one—or maybe nothing tastes good because I can’t find my woman.
Where the hell is Rosalie? I work the phone, calling many of my new followers, and so far, nobody has found her. I have to admit that Ella is good. Even Merlin hasn’t tracked Rosalie down. I called him, and he’s begrudgingly helping us because she might be in danger. However, there’s true panic in his voice when he relates that so far, he hasn’t located either one of them. If he hasn’t, then nobody else has. That’s some reassurance.
Finally, about midnight, Howard and the blonde emerge. He gives her a long kiss and grabs her ass at the curb, and then the valet brings a Porsche for her. She gets in and drives off.
“That didn’t end the way I thought it would,” Garik says.
“Ditto.”
Fissure waits and the valet drives up his BMW. He tips the guy and gets in, driving away. Garik pulls away from the curb, and we follow him through the city, away from his home.
“Where do you think he’s going?” Garik asks.
“I don’t know, but the farther it gets away from the city, the easier it’ll be to take him out.”
We reach a rougher part of town with several dive bars and restaurants, until Howard pulls behind a long-ago burned-out building. Garik turns around the block. We both exit the vehicle in a hurry through the rain, toward the back of the building where we see Fissure meeting with a member of Twenty-One Purple. The guy’s wearing head to toe purple, so definitely not incognito.
They exchange an envelope, and the guy nods over at what looks like a snowmobile trailer. It’s dented and rusted out, but there’s still the outline of a snowmobile on it. The Purple member takes the envelope and hurries away. Howard makes a call on his phone and walks over to the trailer, opening a side door and looking inside.
Garik angles his head from my right. I blink. There are several kids, all dirty, all young, maybe five or six years old, huddled in the back. “Fuck,” Garik says. “They’re trafficking kids?”
“Apparently,” I note. “Stay here.”
Howard slams a door and then walks toward his BMW. I keep to the building as he lifts the phone to his ear to speak. “Yeah, I’ve got them. Straight from the southern border. They’re in the trailer. Pick them up and make the deliveries now. And next time, Albert, this is your job, not mine. I don’t give a shit if your wife is in labor.” He clicks off.