“Okay,” Gary agreed, drawing the word out. “What did you want toknow?”
“Well,” Drew said, faint apology in his tone. “General information would be great, since we can’t really talk aboutwhywe need the info.Anything you could tell us about the power players, rackets they run, or where they operate would behelpful.”
“So, SILA 101?” Gary said, just as the waitress finally,finallycame over to their table. “Um, another Johnny Walker rocks for me,” he toldher.
“Oh, a whisky drinker?” Drew said with a smile. “A man after my own heart. Same,” he told thewaitress.
Bas gritted his teeth. What the fuck did that evenmean, a man after his own heart? God. Drew was being an idiot, but Gary seemed to enjoyit.
“Vodka tonic,” Bas said, when the waitress finally turned her attention to him. “Make it adouble.”
Drew gave him a disbelieving look, but Bas ignored it. “Right, so, what can you tell us, Gary?” he demandedinstead.
“Well,” Gary began, and once again he looked at Drew as he spoke, like Bas wasn’t the one asking the questions, like he couldn’t see Bas sitting right in front of him, like Bas and Drew hadn’t fucking come heretogether.
What the hell was taking the waitress solong?
“I’m happy to tell you what I know. But I feel like I need to preface this by saying that everything I know has been learned through anonymous sources who cannot be reached to testify.” He looked briefly at Bas before turning his attention back to Drew. “I’ve already explained this to the police. The main reason I still have my head attached to my shoulders is that everything I’ve written is technically unprovable. Urban legend I have no interest in proving, for my ownsafety.”
“Of course,” Drew said easily. “No, this is strictly for our own knowledge. Nothing concerning a legalmatter.”
Gary nodded. His gaze narrowed on Drew’s face and his lips twitched. “So mysterious,” he said smoothly. “I likethat.”
Ugh.Gary was creeping himout.
Bas cleared his throat. “Drew mentioned power players?” he interrupted, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “What can you tell us aboutthem?”
Gary’s questioning eyes flickered to him. “If you want to know about the power players in SILA, you want to know about the Stornovich family,” hesaid.
“Right. I’ve heard of them,” Drew said, frowning in concentration as though the names weren’t at the forefront of his brain. “Ilya and Alex, Ithink?”
“Yes, Ilya Grigorovich Stornovich and his son, Alexei IlyichStornovich.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, and Gary fell momentarily silent. When she left, he took a sip of his whisky, and Drew did the same. Bas threw back his drink in four quick gulps, then motioned to her for a refill. This meeting was a pain in the assalready.
“Ilya Stornovich was born in the Ukraine,” Gary began. “Sometime in the early 1930’s. How much do you know about Russianhistory?”
“Not much,” Drewadmitted.
“Is this really relevant?” Basdemanded.
“Well, given that I don’t really know what you’re looking for, I can’t say for sure, can I?” Gary said sharply. “But if you want to know generally about SILA, I believe it is.” He took a deep breath like he was composing histhoughts.
“The common joke about Russian history is that every chapter could end with ‘…and then it got worse.’But even with that said, the 1930s in the Ukraine were a particularly dark time. Communism was alive and well, and Joseph Stalin had a five-year plan… a plan that involved shipping almost all the grain in the Ukraine back east to the cities of Russia.” He stopped and took a sip of his whisky. “Starvation was rampant. It was a time when if youdidn’tlook like you were starving, your neighbors would rat you out and you’d be accused of hiding food somewhere, which was how Ilya’s father, Grigori, died. Ilya became a thief before he was a teenager just to keep his family fed. And after the war, he got even bolder - moved to Kiev and started smuggling in western goods. That’s what landed him in a gulag - a Russianprison.”
Drew braced his feet and leaned across the table toward Gary, caught up in the story. Bas couldn’t help but notice the way Drew’s shoulders shifted beneath the wool overcoat he still wore and how the dim, yellow light of the bar made his hair look more auburn than brown. He wore the sharp-eyed, curious expression Bas had seen hundreds of times, but tonight it somehow made Bas’s stomach twistsharply.
God, what was wrong with him tonight? Maybe it was thevodka?
He refocused his attention on Gary, who was still staring into Drew’s browneyes.
“Can we speed this up?” Bas asked. Drew kicked him sharply under the table and Bas turned his head. “What? I’m not here for worldhistory.”
“Please continue, Gary,” Drew said with a smile. ‘Iamfascinated.”
Garywinked.
Sounprofessional.
