Drawing Dead (29 page)

“Come on, boss. We don't take any out-of-country work anymore. And even if we did—”

“How would Putin know any of that, Buddha? And I can think of one way he could believe we've already taken the contract.”

“So these new Russians, they go back into the bear-claw business? And, one week, the guy they send with the taxes, you're saying he's gonna be wrapped?”

“Yeah. Some true believer Putin sends over. Might not even be Russian. There's a whole horde of ISIS-style dummies running around. Chump kids, recruited on Twitter. The G keeps saying it's the Arabs who're supplying them with weapons. Maybe that's so. But cash is easier to smuggle than ordnance. And the Russians, they've been arms dealers for a
long
time now. Where do you think Saddam got those SCUDs?”

“One had tattoos on his hands,” Tiger said. “Would that tell us whose side they're on?”

“One of those tattoos, it had some kind of crown showing? Or a playing card, a king of clubs, maybe?”

“The crown—that one I saw.”

“Whoever had that one, he did the talking?”

“Yes.”

“Some kind of ‘authority' when he was in prison. But once he said ‘Viktor,' we knew that much, anyway. He's the new boss. However he got to be that, it doesn't matter.”

Buddha stirred. “Even if they've taken over Viktor's racket, I can't see Putin buying that Chechnyan story, boss. Not from them. They're nothing but animal-parts traffickers. Putin, he's ex-KGB, right? He might be a maniac—hell, he might be crazier than a psycho on angel dust—but he'd want actual intel, not some rumors. There's no way—”

“The blond man,” Tracker interrupted. “He would do such a thing in a heartbeat. And that woman with him, she would know how to make contact with a foreign power.”

SILENCE REPLACED SOUND.

Cross went through three more cigarettes before he finally spoke.

“The only way it adds up is if Buddha's right. This new mob, all they did was take over Viktor's business. Different gangs come to this country, they pick up on how we do business here. And that's easy enough, right? Because all over the world, it plays the same. No matter where you are, politics and crime, they need each other to survive, like air and water.

“You see that book?” Cross said, pointing at the single wood shelf against the wall behind the desk. “
Casino.
Nicholas Pileggi. You want to understand, you don't need to take some course. Just read that man's books. He knows. Now let's just get back to—
Damn!
”

“What was that?”

“Just that little brand on my face, Princess. It hit me with a real burn in the middle of what I was saying, that's all.”

“Sweetie didn't even growl.”

“Why would he? It was a message, not a threat. Whoever's doing it, they wouldn't need to threaten anyone. Sweetie's smart, right?”

“Sure!”

“Well, there's your proof. He knew there was nothing to worry about. From that burn, I mean.”

“If they wanted to kill Cross, they could have done it when he was down in that prison basement,” Rhino explained. “But they let him live. We don't know why. Maybe we never will. But they're not
our
enemies. A different tribe, maybe. But not one we're ever going to war against. You understand that, yes?”

“Sure! Sweetie, he knew all this—that's what you're saying?”

“Yes, honey,” Tiger said, assuring the armor-plated child. “And Buddha
has
to be right. Forget those Russians who came in here. Putin wouldn't trust intel from anyone who works on our—I mean, the Americans'—side. But if Blondie and Wanda are still out there, they've gone rogue to the max. Who knows what they're trying to peddle. Percy's not with them, but he's still every movie-merc's fantasy. Macho and merciless. A one-man spike team.”

“He's also loyal,” Cross reminded her. “And he's not what you'd call subtle.”

“He would never go off on his own,” Tracker agreed. “He may be a human missile, but he's a
guided
missile.”

“Then that's what we've got to do,” Cross said. “Find him.”

“Boss? I mean, what's the point?”

“Buddha,” Rhino said, on the fringe of impatience with the pudgy killer's failure to understand—or admit—the obvious, “if the blond man and that woman went off together, people would be
looking
for them. You know which people. And who would know them better than Percy?”

“He had no use for either of them all along,” Cross agreed. “If it was us the G wanted, they'd have tried way before now. Percy's a machine. If you don't give him work, he could rust. He may not like us much—I don't think he likes anyone much—but he's got no real problem with us, either. We—that's just me, as far as Percy knows; Tiger and Tracker, they were supposed to be hired hands
before
they got me involved. And me, I came through, right? I got the job done. It was
Blondie's
plan that was hosed from the start.”

“So now we—?”

“We wait, Buddha. But there's no reason why we can't wait and work at the same time. Rhino?”

“So the one in that house we blew up—?”

“Buddha, that psycho didn't have to be interested in those rape tapes himself. But he'd know the kind of people who wouldn't hesitate to do…damn near anything. Not when so much money was on the table.

“And I'm thinking, me and Rhino, we have it right. So the Lao sees my picture. I don't look like much of anything, but this, this would show up nice and clear,” Cross continued, holding his hand up to display the tattoo known throughout Gangland.

“From there, he could follow the trail. He knew So Long was putting together a big score. She wouldn't have said my name, but if she described the tattoo, that would be enough. So: me to Ace, Ace to Sharyn. After that, no more complicated than paying Hemp to call a blackout on everyone in that house.”

“But So Long was on their hit list before any of that happened, boss.”

“Yeah, she was. And
there's
the link between the Lao and whoever set up the whole rape-tape online game. She wasn't picked because of any connection to us—it was just her skin color.”

“So…?”

“So remember what the Lao told us? Remember what Rhino figured out? Pekelo was a miserable pervert when it came to his idea of ‘entertainment,' but he wasn't stupid. He must have been good at whatever he did—he didn't get all that jewelry playing real-estate games. And that offshore account, not so easy to set up securely, not today.”

“Boss, I can't—”

“Yeah, you can. So Long's got her own rep. Her own network, too. Pekelo, he was on the fringes, but he knew So Long was a big-money player. And he knew this rape-tape crew was operating out of somewhere close. Remember, he was
watching
those tapes. That wouldn't be for free.

“He couldn't get to whoever set it all up. But he
could
send a message to that back-channel site. Those rapes, they weren't random. Had to be scouted out. And that ‘pattern' crap, it was just to throw off those profiler clowns. Like with that ‘Rejuvenator' thing. But So Long, she fit, right?”

“
He
put So Long in the crosshairs? The Lao?”

“Could have,” Cross said, meaningfully. “But there's no way to ask him. Not anymore.”

TIGER SLID
into the back room.

This time, the spandex was all black, the shoes were crepe-soled flats, and her hair was rolled into a French braid inside a black Unabomber hoodie. Working clothes.

“We got a target?” she asked, speaking very softly but unable to hide the hopefulness in her voice.

“The boss said two. And, thanks to me being a…damn chump, we're down to one,” Buddha said soberly, holding up one finger. An index finger to most, a trigger finger to him.