We’re already double-timing it down the stairs when Thane’s rumbly voice crackles on the line. “Package received, delivering to safe location. Unfortunate about that spill. Leave it for the locals.”
“Couldn’t be avoided,” I say, checking with Omar.
He gives me the slightest nod, which I take as…I don’t know how to take it actually.
The door at the top of the stairwell opens, and a deep voice shouts out, “Freeze! Stop right there!”
Freeze? Really? This isn’t some cheesy nineties action movie. Looks like mister-speaks-into-his-wrist’s friends have finally joined the party.
“LEO on our tail, incoming.”
The loud steps coming in behind me are fast enough to make me happy that we dumped the trafficker’s body over the rail, but not so fast that I think he’ll be able to catch us.
Within moments we’re at the bottom of the stairwell, sidestepping a body that looks like a game of Twister gone wrong. Thane is disappearing behind a door with the kid under one arm. Even though every instinct is screaming at me to follow them and check on my brother, I know he’s in good hands. I need to focus on the task in front of me.
“Make your way to the shop. The judge is waiting for you there.”
Everett’s tattoo shop is less than a mile away as the crow flies, so Omar and I throw our jackets over our shoulders and head out on foot in the fading evening light.
Pretty quickly, I realize our mistake.
“How the fuck is it November and still almost a hundred degrees?” I complain, glad I already have plans to drop off this bespoke goodness at Jack Brown’s first thing in the morning.
“We could be in Iraq,” Omar says, his accent deepening on the name of his home country.
“Good point.”
We make it to the shop a few minutes later, and I’m able to change into something more appropriate for my next task. Before heading through the door marked Portal to Nowhere to see if that fuck-stick of a judge can tell us where we can find his last boy toy, I stop to check on my brother.
He’s hanging out in the front lounge with DB, and his jeans have been cut open to his thigh. DB glares at me as he places an ice pack on Odd’s knee.
“Think maybe you could’ve given us a heads-up about a body headed straight for us?”
Aggravated, I shoot back, “Yeah, think you could’ve given us a heads-up about the raid we just narrowly avoided?”
DB grinds his jaw, focusing on the ice pack. “They were executing a warrant on the guy who owns the penthouse. Apparently made his money on Fentanyl.”
“He wasn’t even there tonight.”
“I know.”
DB hates the wet work but knows it’s a necessary evil when rich people are so frequently able to pay their way above the law. That local law enforcement would’ve handled the human traffickers almost by accident is going to make him even more circumspect about using our services in the future.
“Where are we with Rafi?”
“He locked the kids away from the rest of the partiers and got down the stairs. He’ll be here momentarily. There were two we couldn’t account for, and Everett is busting down doors right now.”
“You know that Rafi’s going to wait for Everett, to make sure he’s okay.”
Rafi isn’t worried about Everett’s safety; he knows Everett is walking in on some terrible shit right about now and will need a friendly face when he walks out of that building.
DB looks over Odd’s knee again as he nods, his shoulders heavy with the reality of what we do.
“Look, it wasn’t ideal,” I say, trying to comfort him. “But we got the two main assholes.”
His lip snarls, and I step back. “No, what would’ve been ideal is you keeping your head in the game while in the middle of a complex op with a ton of moving parts instead of agitating Omar every chance you got.”
“DB, man, look…”
