“In a betting place like this, I’d call it a sure fucking thing.”
“The two of you better knock it the fuck off before we’re all made,” Sundance said.
We relaxed our postures, created a little space between us, and carried on as if we were having a casual conversation.
“How the hell do you even know about this place?” Sundance asked.
“It’s my job to know about places like this.”
“How did you get in here looking likethat?” Sundance asked Luca through a phony smile.
“Same way I’m assuming you got in,” he said. “Money opens doors.”
“You’d better have brought more than just the cover charge if you’re expecting to get Felix back tonight,” Sundance said.
“Tonight? What are you talking about?” Luca asked.
“We’re here to get Felix back, what the hell are you here for?” I snapped.
“To survey. I want the same as you, but if we don’t do this the correct way, the District Attorney and my boss—”
“This isn’t about law and order, Luca. This is about getting Felix back to Sabrina. Back to the only family he has. And if we don’t get him back tonight, we’re gonna lose him forever. If we’re not already too late. So, if you want to blow your cover and arrest me right here, go ahead and try, but the minute you flash a badge in here, you’re a dead man.”
“I only want Fox back home, safe and sound,” Luca said.
“Then trust us,” Sundance said. “We don’t have time for surveillance and search warrants. We know these people and what makes ’em tick. We also know what’ll happen to Felix if we don’t get him back soon.”
“You think I don’t know how this guy operates?”
“Guy? Aren’t there five or six Bulykin brothers?” I asked.
“They’re all in prison. All except the youngest,” Luca said. “He’s in charge of the races now and it looks like he’s trying to step into his brothers’ footsteps.”
“Yeah, well thanks for the update. We’ll take it from here,” Sundance said.
“There’s no way in hell I’m letting the two of you—”
Once again, Luca’s protests were interrupted, but this time it wasn’t by me or Sundance.
“Gentlemen, please. Join us,” the announcer’s voice rang out through the PA system, causing every head in the place to turn toward us.
I looked to the DJ booth to see a tall, blonde man, motioning to us.
“I see new faces. Please come introduce yourselves,” he continued.
“Follow me and don’t say shit,” Sundance said, making a bee line for the booth. Unable to protest, Luca silently fell in line and I followed, keeping a tight grip on the duffel bag.
Just as we arrived, the booth door swung open to reveal the man behind the microphone. He was dressed as though we were on the set of Bullitt and he was Steve McQueen’s stunt double. Black turtleneck, brown jacket, suede shoes. The whole nine yards. He was even wearing a black-dialed Benrus watch. Two exceptionally large, suited, most likely armed, bodyguards flanked him.
“Welcome, gentlemen to our track. My name is Sasha. I’m the official race announcer and event host. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting any of you,” he said looking us up and down, before adding. “I’m sure I would have remembered.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” Sundance said. “I used to come around when Uri ran the place. That is, until he...didn’t.”
“Yes, that was a pity about my brother. Our family was quite ashamed of his behavior. Naturally,” Sasha said, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line.
“Uri was your brother? Good,” Sundance said cheerily. “Me and my money were always welcome at Uri’s race. I’m hoping my friends and I will be just as welcome tonight. I’m assuming Thursday is still big money race night.”
Sundance elbowed me and I unzipped the bag enough to show Sasha its contents.
