Bryce wasn’t in Nepal. And he was definitely the fucker I chased out of the rink.
He wasn’t on mainland California anymore.
He was close, though.
The reason I knew was so contrived, hardly anyone would believe it.
First, I noticed the lighting in the background of his call matched early spring evening: the same time it was where we were.
But it was the bird call that sealed it for me.
Not just any bird call. The California quail.
Not just any California quail. This was its endemic sister only found on Catalina Island: the rare Catalina California quail.
I knew exactly where that spineless weasel piece of shit was, and when I found him, I’d make sure he never disappointed my wife or son again.
“Hey man,can I talk to you for a minute?”
I wandered over to where Nikki was getting changed. I was still in my sweaty compression pants, but I couldn’t wait any longer. The sooner I could get Bryce tracked down, the sooner I could make Aspen happy again.
“Yeah. What’s up?”
I rolled my lips between my teeth. “I need a connection.”
Nikki reared his head back. “Connection to what?”
I lowered my voice and leaned in. “The dark web.”
“The dark web?!” he shouted. “What do you need on the dark web?”
Jesus.
Mikey was already headed our way with a shit-eating grin on his face, and I knew I was in for some fuckery. “Whatcha doin’, Jackie baby? Finding another mail-order bride?”
“I do not have any connection to the dark web,” Nikki said, waving his hands in front of him.
“I swear to fuck—” I mumbled.
“It’s just Google Dark, Jackie. Go to dark.google.com,” Mikey said. “Come on, man. Child’s play.”
“Mara is not a mail-order bride. And that’s not how you get on the dark web, Mike!” I snapped, then lowered my voice. “I just need some information.”
“What kind of information?” Nikki asked, sliding some underwear under his towel.
“I need to find someone.”
“I think you can do that on the regular web?” Nikki tried.
“No, he’s a shady little shit,” I said.
“Who?” Mikey asked, being his usual nosy fuck self. “Oh, you know what? You know who’s got mob ties? Sorrento.”
“What do I have?” Our captain, Dylan Sorrento, looked up from where he was stripping for the shower.
“Mike, that’s racist,” I finally managed over all the mayhem around me. “Just because Sorrento’s Italian doesn’t mean he’s in the mob.”
“You’re the one who asked this sweet little sugarplum about the dark web because he’s Russian!” Mikey argued, pointing to Nikita.
