“The Bulykin brothers are crazy for this shit,” he said. “They’re also obsessed with—”
“Steve McQueen,” I replied.
“You noticed,” he replied with a chuckle. “C’mon. Let’s go findBullwinkle.”
“Betting is closed, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “Drivers, get ready.”
“Hold up,” Sundance said.
A hush fell over the room as eight, middle-aged, sweaty men stepped forward and placed brightly colored race cars at the track’s start/finish line. Each driver held an electronic controller that matched their car’s livery. These guys clearly took this shit seriously.
“Drivers, start your engines.”
Each man powered up his controller and waited for the signal lights. Five short red flashes followed by one green and they were off. Cars whizzed by so fast, I could barely keep track of them. Slot car technology had clearly advanced since the fifties. The crowd roared as the first car flew off the track, followed by another. Spotters quickly placed their driver’s cars back into their respective slots which zipped back into the race. This went on for several minutes and God only knew how many laps. I was right there, and I can’t tell you how the winner was determined, but in the end, the green car, number three, would take the victory lap in this low-ceilinged arena.
Just as the race was ending, one of the “Slot Club’s” patrons caught my eye. He didn’t seem at all interested in the race and instead kept looking in the direction of the DJ booth in the corner. Besides the track, it was the only other thing within the basement space. The man wore a baseball cap and thick glasses and I struggled to make out his features from across the room.
As soon as the race was over, Sundance and I headed in the direction of the DJ booth. As we got closer, I got a better look at the man in the cap.
“Oh, shit,” I said, grabbing Sundance’s arm, and spinning him around.
“What the fuck?” he growled.
“It’s Luca,” I said, as quietly as possible.
“Luca? Sabrina’s brother?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“No fucking way. Did he see us?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
“Where is he?”
“Baseball cap and Clark Kent glasses.” I motioned over my shoulder and Sundance casually turned to look.
“I don’t see him,” he whispered.
“He’s right over there—” I said, turning around to find myself face to face with Luca.
“Who’s right over there?” Luca asked.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I whisper shouted.
“That’s not how this works. You don’t ask me questions,” he said.
“Bullshit, we don’t,” I seethed. “You said you had no idea where Felix was and now you miraculously show up here?”
“I’m not obliged to share any information with you whatsoever. I told you I would handle this.”
“Yeah, well, we’re handling it now,” I said.
“Like hell you are,” Luca said, motioning us closer. “This is a police matter, and I will haul you both in for obstruction of justice if you mess with this investigation.”
“And they’ll have to haul you out in a body bag if you fuck with my club,” I said.
Luca raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
