Chapter 13
Jack
The bald diplomat is faster than expected. As I jog across the open floor, he ducks into the men’s room, and the mother-fucker pales, slinking between two urinals.
I slap some twenties into the open palm of the bathroom attendant. “Give us a few.”
Nodding, the elderly gent pockets my hard-earned cash.
After he leaves, I lock the door, walk along the marble sinks, and glare nose-to-nose at my prey. “I’m going to ask you a couple questions and you’re going to answer.”
“I-I have diplomatic immunity.” The Asian bends his knees, actually shrinking as he speaks.
“You think I give two shits?” Remembering how he left Blakely alone with a bunch of killers, I punch him in the solar plexus. “That’s for my wife. Who kidnapped her?”
Wheezing, he drops onto his hands and knees and his eyes go wide. “I c-can’t. They’ll kill me.”
“And you think I won’t? You went after my wife, dude. My fucking pregnant wife.” My fist goes back as he shakes his head and squirms in my grasp.
“Ask her. She’ll tell you I argued with them. I tried to get them to let her go.”
“Well, you didn’t try hard enough.” I pick him up by his tie, press him against the wall, and my fist connects with his jaw.
He hisses and his snake-like eyes narrow as he flashes his incisors. “She killed one and wounded the other. You think they’re not coming for revenge?”
Outside, someone bangs on the door. “Mr. Yan. Are you al-light?” The thick Asian accent reminds me I haven’t much time.
“Say you’re fine.” I let go of a little pressure on his neck so he can talk.
“I’m fine. I-I’ll be right out.”
When I lean over, he’s within an inch of my face. “Who wanted me to back off, huh? As you can see, I’m not real good at it.”
I give him a full thirty seconds before knocking the back of his bald skull to the wall. “I’m not fucking around.”
“You’re an idiot, Mr. Tay-ror. He’s far worse than the Mexican cartel. You and your wife will die.”
“Who? Who’s worse?”
“Zheng. He has eyes and ears everywhere.”
Finally, I have a name.“Give me a number, an address, a way to find him.”
“First, you must promise to let me go.”
“Sure thing.”I’ll let you go, right into the hands of the FBI or CIA. Whoever’s got the ball.
He reaches into his coat pocket and I grab his wrist expecting to find a weapon. Instead he has a pen.
“May I reach for my wallet?”
My eyes narrow and I nod.
He writes an address on the back of his business card. “You will find your answers here. Now, excuse me, I must go.”
“Wait. One more thing. What happened to the other victim, Philip?”
His face shows genuine surprise. “How would I know? He left right after she did.”
