“You’re a monster,” I whispered.
Leon looked at me with the one eye that wasn’t buried in a bed of chipped plastic computer keys. “You’re one to talk,” he said. I raised the gun and slammed the butt hard into the middle of his chest. His lungs voided all the air they had in them at once and he slid to a sitting position on the floor, coughing and wheezing, propped up by the desk. As I bent down and pressed the gun against his eye, I heard the first knock on the door. It was soon followed by another, then three in rapid succession along with a male voice calling Leon’s name.
“Party’s just about over, Leon,” I said, “so talk quick. Did your contact ever mention a woman named Patricia Baum?” Words were still beyond his capabilities at the moment, but he shook his head. “What about the Board of Directors? Did he ever mention them?” This time he stopped coughing and looked at me with the one eye that wasn’t staring down the barrel of a Glock.
“No,” he choked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The knocking against the door turned urgent, and the male voice had gone from calling out Leon’s name to talking to someone else about opening the door. Which meant one of the other bouncers had joined the action and would soon lead a charge into the office. The bouncer with the mutilated face and the blown out kneecap called to them to hurry up.
“The guy with the tattoo,” I said, “where can I find him?”
“I don’t know. He always came to me, here.”
I grabbed his ear and twisted it, hard. There was so much adrenaline pumping through me, I could have ripped it clean off. As it happened, a streamer of blood ran down from where his lobe connected to his head. Turns out that part tears pretty easy.
“Not good enough,” I half-whispered, half-snarled into his ear while he screamed.
“Okay!” he cried. “He races bikes. Motorcycles.”
“Where?”
“The Atomium. I staked him a few times. He’s good. Really good. We both made some extra money.” He added that last part almost boastfully. I twisted his ear again and the sudden flash of pride disappeared.
“How do I find him?”
“He wears a bright-yellow helmet. It matches his motorcycle. Looks like a god damn bumble bee buzzing down the strip.”
“Maybe you really are good for something after all, Leon,” I said, letting his ear go. “Who knew?” Then I stood and pointed the gun at the middle of his forehead. Killing him would change nothing. He was merely a middleman, whose death would have no impact on anything Trish had set in motion.
Didn’t matter. In that moment, I just wanted to see him die. God help me.
Looking back on it, maybe He did.
The door swung open and two men in suits came through with guns raised. Behind them was a third man, also dressed in a suit, but with a garish pink shirt and no tie. He dropped to his knees and tended to the men on the floor while the first two trained their sights on me and told me to drop my weapon. I did as I was told. Marcus’s gun was still concealed in the back of my waistband.
“Hands up!” they ordered. I again obliged.
“Two federal agents for a shooting at a strip club?” I asked. “Do all the local cops have the night off, or were you both just here for a lap dance?”
“We got a tip that old Leon was doing more than running some drugs out the back of his club,” said Agent #1. He and his partner were new faces to me. Older. Veterans. Instead of rushing me like a couple of adrenaline-fueled rookies, they were calm. Casual, almost. #1 was bearded, #2 was not. Both had their guns aimed at my chest. Most likely Belgian Federal Police, which meant Trish could have easily put some extra cash in their pockets through her connections in Interpol. Just because I hadn’t seen them before didn’t mean they weren’t dirty. But it did mean I couldn’t be sure. Still, if they wanted me dead, it would have happened by now.
“Human trafficking, sex slaves,” Agent #2 chimed in. “Nasty shit. You back there, Leon?” From behind the desk, Leon first raised both his hands, then struggled to his feet and stood next to me.
“That’s better,” the bearded agent said. He reminded me of a French actor I’d seen in a bunch of movies but could never remember his name. Always played the villain. “Good to see you again, buddy.”
I tried to read Leon’s face from the corner of my eye, see if it registered any recognition for the two agents other than the relationship between a petty criminal and the cops that harass him for inside information. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that Leon was a snitch. It was how pricks like him continued to operate, unimpeded.
“Oscar,” Leon said, “you know me. Would I go into that kind of business?”
“I’d hoped not, Leon, but we got this from a very credible source.”
“Who?” Leon asked. “Who is spreading these lies about me?” Even if I didn’t know the truth, I wouldn’t have believed him. His acting wouldn’t cut it for the exposition scenes in a porno movie.
“Come on, Leon,” Agent Oscar said, “you know I can’t tell you that. Let’s just say they’re credible enough that we need to continue this conversation downtown. Come on over here, both of you.” He waved his arm to us and lowered his gun.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “what am I being arrested for?”
Agent #1 laughed and gave me a are-you-shitting-me grin. He pointed to Marcus and Mr. Goatee, who were making an awful racket while they waited for the paramedics to arrive. Bunch of babies.
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head while Agent Oscar cuffed Leon’s hands behind his back. “Guys, this is all one big misunderstanding. See, Leon and his goons here kidnapped my daughter.”
Both men perked up at that.
“Excuse me?” said Agent #1.
“I did what?” Leon said, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah,” I went on, “she was meeting her friends at the airport for this European vacation, and one of his guys followed her back to her hotel. She called me to check in and while we were on the phone a bunch of thugs broke into her room.” Everyone was staring at me now, including the bouncer with the ugly pink shirt who was still kneeling over Marcus, pressing a bar rag against his shredded knee.
“Now, she’s a smart girl,” I said. “She hid under the bed, but I knew they would find her. So I told her, very calmly, ‘Honey, you’re about to be taken.’” The two agents shared a glance. Their expressions had gone from rapt attention to confusion, and were on their way to full disbelief.
“‘I need you to pay attention,’” I continued. “‘Look for any details. Identifying marks, tattoos, anything. Shout them out to me.’ But she never got the chance. When she screamed, it was all I could do not to cry. One of the men picked up the phone. I took a deep breath and told him, ‘If you are looking for ransom, I don’t have money. What I do have is a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a long career. Skills that make me—’”
“Hold on,” Agent #1 said, putting his hand up. “Isn’t that a scene from Taken?”
“Yes! Best purchase I ever made from the $5.99 DVD bin at Walmart.” I flicked my eyes over their shoulders. “But I don’t remember what happens next, so you wanna hurry this up?”
“What?” said Agent Oscar as he turned to see what had caught my eye. He made it halfway around before Erica broke his jaw with a single swipe of her retractable steel baton. Blood and tooth fragments ejected from his mouth as he dropped to the floor. Agent #1 swung his gun up from his hip as he spun to face her, but she struck his wrist and he dropped it instantly. The blow also likely broke a few bones based on the sound it made and the way he screamed, but his cries were short lived. With her free hand she delivered a quick strike to his windpipe, silencing him like a valve cutting off water from a faucet. He dropped to his knees and tore at his throat, trying to pull his trachea open from the outside.
