“If that’s Three again...”
Seven looks at my phone, expression guarded as he holds it up. “Brooklyn number.”
Son of a bitch.
“Put it on speaker,” I order, waiting for Seven to press the buttons, knowing right away it’ll be none other than Aristov. “Gambini.”
“Ah, Mister Scar, I was hoping you would be accepting calls today.”
“For you, Yogi? Anytime. Now tell me what you want so we can both get on with our days.”
“I am curious if you are with Morgan right now,” he says, “if she is there, wherever you may be.”
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to tell you that, do you?”
“I am hoping so.”
“Well, tough shit, because you’re not getting anything from me.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh. “That is a shame. You could have made a little girl very happy, but instead, you choose to break her heart.” The phone shifts, his voice dropping lower as he says, “I am sorry, my kitten, but you cannot talk to your mommy on her birthday.”
This conniving son of a bitch...
“Do you think I’m stupid?” I ask. “Do you think I’m going to fall for this bullshit? That I’ll actually believe you have the kid right there with you?”
The phone shifts again, his voice sharp as he says, “Say hello to the man.”
I shake my head, snatching a lid up and slamming it back onto the last crate, the bang echoing through the warehouse so loud that I almost miss the sound of the soft voice coming through the line. “Hello.”
Time feels like it stops.
I turn, looking in the direction of my phone. Seven still holds it, wide-eyed, staring at me. Guess he didn’t expect to actually hear the kid, either.
“Hello,” I say, having no idea what else to say, if I should even say anything.
“Is Mommy there?” she asks, a hopeful edge to her high-pitched voice that I know I’m about to crush.
“No, she’s not,” I say, “but she misses you.”
“I miss her, too,” she says, and I can hear her voice as it quivers, hope replaced with devastation. “Do you know where Mommy went?”
“Put your father back on the phone,” I say, because I can’t answer those questions for her, but she doesn’t listen to me any more than Scarlet ever does.
“Please!” she says, starting to cry. “I want Mommy! I don’t wanna be here no more! Please don’t—”
She lets out a shriek that is muffled damn near instantly. I can hear a struggle through the line, frantic sobbing, coughing, like the girl can’t catch her breath. My stomach sinks. Seven looks at me with horror, like he expects me to do something, but what the hell am I supposed to do about this?
I’m suddenly grateful Scarlet isn’t here, that she isn’t hearing it.
“Quiet, kitten,” Aristov says, getting back on the phone. “Daddy is talking to Mommy’s new toy.”
The girl grows quiet.
I don’t hear a fucking peep from her.
“Did you just hurt her?” I ask, trying to keep calm, when I want to reach through the line and rip his fucking balls off.
“I shushed her.”
“You choked her.”
“Nonsense,” he says. “They must be taught or else they run wild. It is for her own good.”
For her own good.
“What do you want?” I ask. “I’m starting to lose my patience with you, and you’re really not going to like me when that happens.”
“You know what I want,” he says. “I want my little kitten to have her mommy back.”
“Well, then, we’re on the same page,” I say. “I’ll gladly come pick up the kid and reunite them so they can go on their merry way.”
“Tsk, tsk. You know it will not work like that.” He laughs. “Tell me where to find the suka. I, also, grow tired of this game, and I will not play it much longer. If you do not give me what I want, everyone you know will pay the price. Your friends, their families... even your own brother. Yes, I know about him, Mister Scar. I do not want to hurt them, so do not make me. All I want is my pretty girl back home so we can be a family.”
Before I can respond, the line goes dead.
He hung up on me.
“I’m gonna enjoy watching that man die,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Boss...”
“Not now, Seven,” I say, hearing the worry in his voice. “Save it, whatever it is, until I’ve had more sleep and can handle this shit.”
I walk out of the warehouse, pausing in the alley to pull out a joint and light up as Seven secures everything, locking the doors.
“Call Jameson,” I say when he joins me. “Tell him to meet me at that bar, the hole in the wall...”
“Whistle Binkie,” he says.
“Yeah, that one,” I mutter, heading toward the car. “I need a fucking drink.”
Seven does as I ask, not questioning me anymore, driving into the city, to the Lower Eastside, where the bar is. He pulls up to the curb right out front, finding that rare street parking.
Maybe my luck is turning around.
“Need me to come in?” Seven asks, cutting the car off but leaving the keys dangling in the ignition.
“You can wait out here,” I say. “Catch a nap for me or something.”
He laughs. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The place isn’t that busy so early in the afternoon, a few people sitting along the bar but most of the tables are empty. I slide up onto an empty stool, and the bartender looks at me, doing a double-take. It’s the same guy as every other time I’ve been here. Do they even have other employees?
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says. “Bottle of rum, right?”
“Right.”
He hands it over, no argument, tearing out the pouring spout for me. I drink straight from the bottle, just sitting in silence, tinkering around with a coaster until Jameson appears.
He pulls out the stool beside me to sit down. “Thirsty?”
I take a swig from the bottle, shrugging, before looking his way. The second I see his face, I laugh. His nose is swollen and bruising, tape covering it.
I offer him the bottle. “You look like you can use some of this.”
He waves me off, saying, “I can’t mess with that hard stuff,” before motioning toward the bartender, asking for whatever’s on tap.
He sips his beer when it’s delivered, sighing, hunched over along the bar.
“So, how’d you explain your face?” I ask.
“Told the guys at work my grandson hit me with a ball, but I told my wife the truth,” he says, cutting his eyes at me. “Got head-butted by a perp.”
“A perp, huh? That about sums her up.”
“Tell me about it,” he says. “Got the judge to rescind the warrant this morning, got it wiped out of the system. Heard the Russian showed up and made a stink when nobody could tell him where she went.”
“He called me a bit ago.”
“Yeah? What did he want?”
“To use the kid to get me to cooperate,” I say. “He had her ask me for her mommy.”
Jameson makes a pained face. “He must be getting desperate.”
“He is, which means it’s probably going to get ugly soon. I’ll try to keep it all under the radar, so you’re not pulled in, but I wanted to give you the heads up so you’re not blindsided.”
He nods, sipping on his beer. “Do what you’ve gotta do for your girl, Gambini.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says. “You’re sure going through a lot of trouble for a girl that’s not yours.”
“It’s principle,” I tell him. “The sooner this is over, the sooner my life can get back to normal.”
“Normal.” He laughs at that. “When the hell has your life ever been normal?”
I cut my eyes at him but ignore that question.
We drink in silence for a while.
Jameson shoves his glass aside when it’s empty. “I need your assurance that Aristov is the end of this.”