Besides being observant, Myles was a phenomenal basketball player, especially for someone barely over four feet tall. We played street ball, first team to twenty-one won. He and his little gang of pocket-sized thugs were all over me and Bones from the instant our sneakers hit the court. The four young boys had at least thirty elbows between them, and each one ended up in my ribs at least twice. By the time we reached the second half, Bones and I were sweating harder than we ever did working out. We barely eked out a win, beating them by two points.
Myles tossed me the ball. "Double or nothing?" he asked.
"How are you going to double giving me Markie's number?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I'll think of something. I'll give you her numberandmight even be able to buy you some alone time with her."
I looked to Bones and he nodded. He wanted another crack at the punk. Myles's team won the second game, but thankfully he couldn't resist the challenge of a third. Bones and I won, and then I met Myles midcourt.
"Markie's number?" I asked.
"Hand me your phone. I'll put it in."
I chuckled. "You must think I was born yesterday. I'm not giving you my phone." I pulled it out of my pocket and started entering a new contact. "Just tell me her number."
Myles rattled off a seven-oh-two number and I entered it, and then confirmed it aloud.
"Yeah, that's it. Just don't rat me out for giving it to you," Myles said.
I had every intention of ratting him out. That was my whole plan for having her number without looking like a stalker.
Heads down, looking defeated, he and his goons cleared the court. Every muscle in my body was on fire but I held my head high as we walked out of the building and toward the Hummer. Again, I thought about taking Markie flowers and a card, but I was tired and sweaty, so I headed for home instead. Besides, I had her number. I pulled up the contact and dialed, running through opening lines in my head.
"Vegas Paintballers, David speaking."
I pulled the phone away and double checked the contact. Yep, that was the number he gave me. Of course, the little shit. I dragged my hand down my face, amazed I could be so gullible.
"Sorry. I must have the wrong number." I disconnected and threw the phone on the seat.
Bones started chuckling, and then he threw his head back and broke into a full-on belly laugh. "I can't believe you let that little asshole play you!"
I flipped him off.
More laughter.
"Yeah, yeah," I said, still shaking my head.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Angel
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up to a coded text from my old man. He'd allowed Johnny to pay him off in payments. The stupid son-of-a-bitch had made the first two, but skipped out on the third.
Sore and stiff, like I'd gone eight rounds in the boxing ring rather than three games of basketball with smart-mouthed juvenile delinquents, I dragged ass to the coffee machine and fired it up. A series of swear words told me Bones wasn't doing much better. He lumbered from his room, stretching and groaning.
I told him about Johnny while brewing coffee, then filled a couple of to go mugs and headed out for the day.
Bones called up Tech.
"Good morning Bones, Angel. How can I help you?" Tech asked.
He had to be the busiest man I knew; too busy to waste time with things like sleep or small talk.
"You got a hit on Johnny Dominas's location?" I asked.
Tech looked down. There was the tap-tap-tap of a keyboard and reflections of changing screens in his glasses. Although I'd never seen his set-up, Father had described it as a wall full of monitors, with which Tech babysat the entire city like the family's own "big brother."
"He's been staying in a little roach motel off the strip." More clicks. "His car's still in the lot. I'm sending you the address now."
