[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
SUV parked in the loading zone around the rear of the hospital. Not a word was spoken
as they climbed into the SUV. He hissed with pain and put a stabilizing hand against his
ribs.
"Here." Kostya shoved a couple pills and a bottle of water into his hand. "Take these.
They'll help with the pain but keep your mind clear."
He trusted the medicine dropped into his palm. Before coming here, Kostya had been
a biochemist who worked research and development in one of Europe's mega
pharmaceutical firms. His keen knowledge of science was the key to his excellence in the
field of cleaning.
A few blocks from the hospital, three different cars joined them, each one packed with
his soldiers and captains. Voice gravelly, he ordered, "Tell me everything, Kostya."
"There isn't much to tell." Kostya didn t sugarcoat it. "We've gone to the usual
suspects. Everyone is talking. They're all scared shitless that they'll be blamed or caught
in the crossfire. No one has given us anything good until now." Kostya turned in his seat.
"And the old man called twice. He's threatening to send Grisha."
The last complication Nikolai needed was Maksim, their boss, sending one of the
Moscow boys down to Houston. Though Grisha had been the man who brought Nikolai
into the family fold as a teenager, he didn t trust the captain to keep this nightmare from
spiraling out of control.
Grisha had always been the type to favor a violent answer to every problem. Once,
Nikolai had been that stupid and immature but with age came wisdom. He'd learned that
the best way to handle these types of situations was calmly and quietly.
More distressingly, Maksim had been signaling his displeasure with the way Nikolai
ran Houston. While Nikolai had been consciously moving their syndicate into cleaner,
easier business, Maksim had been looking to grow into riskier, higher earning areas.
Nikolai's refusal to open Houston to some of those opportunities hadn't gone over well
with the old man.
If Maksim thought this was his chance to wrest control from Nikolai's hands, he was
dead wrong. Nikolai knew his men. This would push them closer together. They would
rally around him now.
"You let me handle the old man." He gestured toward Sergei with a tip of his chin.
"Where are we headed?"
"Besian called. He says he has something you'll want to see."
The Albanian wasn't the kind of man who would waste Nikolai's time. More
importantly, Kostya and Sergei wouldn't have let the detective break him out of the
hospital if this lead wasn't promising.
He glanced at Vivian's cousin. The younger man looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
His tense expression told the story. "The Marshals intercepted a call between someone in
the Calaveras' club house and Romero. It was a quick call and a simple message. 'He has
her.' It's useless as far as intel goes but I thought you'd want to know."
"Not that useless," Nikolai murmured. "He? Romero knows who has his daughter. He
was probably expecting her to be taken."
"Do you think he set it up?" Santos hesitated. "Maybe prison has softened the old
bastard. He might have had her snatched up to keep her safe while he makes whatever
move he's planning to make by flipping."
He snorted derisively. "A man who used his child to run drug shipments around
Houston doesn't suddenly grow a conscience in prison."
"I suppose you are the authority on the intersection of conscience and prison terms."
Nikolai let the dig slide. Instead, he insisted, "Romero didn't take early release from
the pen just because he wanted to flip on his old crew. He's running another game, a
game those Marshals probably don't even suspect."
"I'm sure they've studied it from every angle. They wouldn't have given him a deal
otherwise."
"And I'm sure that police officers and lawyers don't think like criminals." Irritation
laced his voice. "You have to stop thinking with your cop brain. What does a man like
Romero want?"
"Money? Power?"
"Yes, but he also wants something even more precious. He wants freedom."
Santos blinked. "Freedom? From prison?"
"Nothing that simple," Nikolai replied. "You can't possibly understand it but there's a
heavy price that's paid for a life like Romero's. He's fifty years old but he's still got
someone yanking on his goddamn chain and telling him what to do. How high to jump
and how fast. It wears on a man. It makes him hungry for freedom. For the chance to
make his own decisions."
Santos studied him. "And what's the price of freedom these days?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
SUV parked in the loading zone around the rear of the hospital. Not a word was spoken
as they climbed into the SUV. He hissed with pain and put a stabilizing hand against his
ribs.
"Here." Kostya shoved a couple pills and a bottle of water into his hand. "Take these.
They'll help with the pain but keep your mind clear."
He trusted the medicine dropped into his palm. Before coming here, Kostya had been
a biochemist who worked research and development in one of Europe's mega
pharmaceutical firms. His keen knowledge of science was the key to his excellence in the
field of cleaning.
A few blocks from the hospital, three different cars joined them, each one packed with
his soldiers and captains. Voice gravelly, he ordered, "Tell me everything, Kostya."
"There isn't much to tell." Kostya didn t sugarcoat it. "We've gone to the usual
suspects. Everyone is talking. They're all scared shitless that they'll be blamed or caught
in the crossfire. No one has given us anything good until now." Kostya turned in his seat.
"And the old man called twice. He's threatening to send Grisha."
The last complication Nikolai needed was Maksim, their boss, sending one of the
Moscow boys down to Houston. Though Grisha had been the man who brought Nikolai
into the family fold as a teenager, he didn t trust the captain to keep this nightmare from
spiraling out of control.
Grisha had always been the type to favor a violent answer to every problem. Once,
Nikolai had been that stupid and immature but with age came wisdom. He'd learned that
the best way to handle these types of situations was calmly and quietly.
More distressingly, Maksim had been signaling his displeasure with the way Nikolai
ran Houston. While Nikolai had been consciously moving their syndicate into cleaner,
easier business, Maksim had been looking to grow into riskier, higher earning areas.
Nikolai's refusal to open Houston to some of those opportunities hadn't gone over well
with the old man.
If Maksim thought this was his chance to wrest control from Nikolai's hands, he was
dead wrong. Nikolai knew his men. This would push them closer together. They would
rally around him now.
"You let me handle the old man." He gestured toward Sergei with a tip of his chin.
"Where are we headed?"
"Besian called. He says he has something you'll want to see."
The Albanian wasn't the kind of man who would waste Nikolai's time. More
importantly, Kostya and Sergei wouldn't have let the detective break him out of the
hospital if this lead wasn't promising.
He glanced at Vivian's cousin. The younger man looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
His tense expression told the story. "The Marshals intercepted a call between someone in
the Calaveras' club house and Romero. It was a quick call and a simple message. 'He has
her.' It's useless as far as intel goes but I thought you'd want to know."
"Not that useless," Nikolai murmured. "He? Romero knows who has his daughter. He
was probably expecting her to be taken."
"Do you think he set it up?" Santos hesitated. "Maybe prison has softened the old
bastard. He might have had her snatched up to keep her safe while he makes whatever
move he's planning to make by flipping."
He snorted derisively. "A man who used his child to run drug shipments around
Houston doesn't suddenly grow a conscience in prison."
"I suppose you are the authority on the intersection of conscience and prison terms."
Nikolai let the dig slide. Instead, he insisted, "Romero didn't take early release from
the pen just because he wanted to flip on his old crew. He's running another game, a
game those Marshals probably don't even suspect."
"I'm sure they've studied it from every angle. They wouldn't have given him a deal
otherwise."
"And I'm sure that police officers and lawyers don't think like criminals." Irritation
laced his voice. "You have to stop thinking with your cop brain. What does a man like
Romero want?"
"Money? Power?"
"Yes, but he also wants something even more precious. He wants freedom."
Santos blinked. "Freedom? From prison?"
"Nothing that simple," Nikolai replied. "You can't possibly understand it but there's a
heavy price that's paid for a life like Romero's. He's fifty years old but he's still got
someone yanking on his goddamn chain and telling him what to do. How high to jump
and how fast. It wears on a man. It makes him hungry for freedom. For the chance to
make his own decisions."
Santos studied him. "And what's the price of freedom these days?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]