Behind me, I feel my men stop moving. It’s a small stillness, and I feel it like a shift in weather. I meet Popeye’s eye and lean in close enough to count copper in his breath. “How many of your men saw that map?”
He tries to smile again and can’t quite make his mouth do it. “Enough.”
He’s going to make this more difficult than it needs to be. Over Popeye’s shoulder, a workbench similar to the one in the garage offers me an array of options: duct tape, a length of chain, a bucket, a stack of clear plastic drop cloth. I pick up the plastic and unravel what I need. Popeye watches me the entire time, up and until I lift the material and drop it over his head in one smooth motion. It clings to him where his face sweats. The sound he makes when the world goes thin is unpleasant and useful, just like the sounds the kid, Kyle made. Different man, same sound. Turns out loyalty breaks the same way in every family.
“Names,” I say, voice easy. “Who saw the fucking map?”
He tries to breathe. The plastic sucks into his mouth and shows the shape of a lie starting to form. I lift a corner, just enough for the air to return to him. “Jinx,” he coughs immediately. “Reed. Burn. Two prospects whose names I didn’t bother to learn.”
I pull the plastic off and let it crumple around his throat like a collar. He gasps then coughs.
“Archer Kent,” I say, hating his goddamn name.
“What about him?” Popeye is still panting.
“Who arranged the first meeting, who vouched for him, where and when?”
Popeye’s good eye shifts to my shoulder, calculating. “Pawn man,” he says. “One with a little shop in Jersey City where he keeps rosaries over a register and sells guns in the back.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, already knowing about the shop.
“Yeah. AK said he knew how to steal the guns and not to get caught. He didn’t look scared. He said he wanted more.”
“Did he give you anything else besides guns and maps?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Popeye grins through blood. “Your door code, zero-three-one-seven. Said we could send men to your building if we wanted to see how you lived. I told him we weren’t that fucking stupid.”
My body goes very still. Alina is staying with me now and Archer could have put her in even more danger. He didn’t just hand them my address; he handed them the woman sleeping in my bed. I breathe deeply around the hole in my side and let my racing heart slow.
“Archer walked into your world because he’s a greedy son of a bitch,” I say. “And you let him because you like cheap men trying to play at expensive games.”
Popeye laughs. It’s a broken sound. “Like you don’t.”
I look down at my hands and imagine them in other rooms, doing other things. The image makes me angrier than it should. “Who has your other ledger?” I ask softly. “The one with deposits, dates, whatever you call honest when you write to yourself.”
His mouth presses thin. “All in my head.”
“Wrong answer,” I say, and draw the 9 mm from my left hip. The suppressor threads on with a few quiet spins. His wide gaze volleys between the barrel and my face like a scared man staring at his own grave.
“You drug her into this,” he says suddenly, and it’s the wrong tactic, but men use whatever they can when they’re desperate. “The girl. Archer’s sister. ThePakhan’s going to take her. Better you give her to him yourself and keep your dick attached to your ego.”
I step close enough so that I see the lines around his eyes and lower my voice. “Archer isn’t your cheap pipeline. He’s the warning I’m going to nail across every door you think you’ve ever bought.”
Popeye opens his mouth as if to beg for something I don’t plan to give him. I put the muzzle to his forehead. “You shouldn’t have mentioned my girl,” I say to him before I squeeze the trigger.
The shot is small and final. Popeye’s head rocks back, then bows as if he’s finally praying for his soul.
Silence isn’t empty in rooms like this; it’s crowded with what won’t happen next. The forklift rattles once and gives up. Petrov exhales. Viktor doesn’t. His eyes meet mine for a second, and I see the thought neither of us say: we now own one less problem, and probably at least three more.
“Burn the leather,” I order. “Crate the inventory. Renat, I want Reed and Jinx put down. If they can run, they can talk. Weneed to pay Manny a visit. But first…” I slide the pistol away. My ribs complain; I ignore them. “Viktor.”
“Boss?” he says.
“Time to have that meeting,” I tell him. He nods in understanding. We already know where Archer is because a man shadowed him after the drop instead of shooting him where he stood under that parking garage. Archer thought he had vanished. He zigzagged through Secaucus like a rat in a maze of alleys. He switched motels, traded phone SIMs, then ordered food and holed up. Renat planted a car he didn’t recognize across the street and watched his every twitch.
I wipe Popeye’s blood off the barrel, holster the weapon, and let the rage settle into something colder. Anger is loud, but I need quiet now for planning.
Viktor drives and Petrov rides shotgun. I sit alone in the back because sometimes I need my space when I’m weighing hard decisions and don’t like any of them.
