Page 44 of Wizard's Spitfire
“JR turns state's evidence and goes into the witness protection program. Somewhere far away, like Alaska.”
“Has he agreed to turn state's evidence?” Dakota asks.
“He will. I’ve got enough to bury him, plus it’s his only way out from under the Bratva,” I reply.
“Thoughts?” Gambit asks.
We spend the next hour debating the pros and cons of working with the feds and the best way to protect Charlie and the girls long term. Gambit’s phone rings. The room falls silent.
He answers the phone. “Go...yeah... on our way. Don’t touch anything.”
He disconnects the call. “Let’s roll. Someone trashed Charlie’s car and left another message. Wizard, she's okay. The prospects are with her. Hurl found the car first. She wasn’t blindsided.”
Boots pound as we race outside and to our sleds. Minutes later, the roar of bikes vibrates the windows as we roar out of the compound.
Charlie
WIZARD PRACTICALLYran out of here earlier. I wonder what he overheard. Three prospects sit at one of the back tables, shooting the breeze. They’re a few tables away from the marks.
While I work, I know one of the Kings is placing trackers and other devices on the marks’ cars. The four of them won’t know what hit them with the King’s are done with them. Plus, I hope the trackers will finally lead me to the last piece of Lola’s puzzle.
I know these men are responsible, or at least one of them is. Now I just need proof. Proof I can give Wrath, so he can close the books on this part of the twins' life.
Never in a million years did I dream I’d put my girls at risk for a job, yet I have a feeling it may have more to do with JR and the Bratva than it does my snooping around Lola’s life. Unless the two are somehow connected.
The thought of human trafficking makes me want to hurl. Finding out the trade is alive and well in your own backyard. That’s frightening. I have three young women to think about. Young women that thanks to my skeezy ex are on a mafia’s don’s radar. The same ex who may also be responsible for me being on the same man’s radar.
I don’t know much about Yuri Petrov, but I intend to find out more. I’ll start by asking Wizard for his file. I know he has one on him. I suspect he has one on every major hitter in the city. He’s brilliant and good at his job. He’s amazing with the girls. He’s also eight years younger than me and his lifestyle scares the hell out of me.
“Waitress, we need more coffee,” Brooks bellows.
I hurry across the diner to grab a fresh pot before refilling their cups.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Besides your phone number?” Brooks says, with a sleazy smile. “I’ll take a piece of pie.”
I ignore his first comment. “Apple, peach, cherry, strawberry rhubarb, chocolate, pecan, butterscotch or coconut?”
“No blackberry?”
“Sold the last piece an hour ago.”
“Apple with ice cream.”
“Got it. Anyone else?”
I take their dessert orders. The diner is well known for its desserts. Cakes, pies, rolls, brownies, cookies, puddings, and more. Desserts and salads are the easiest thing at the diner. I can get them myself and don’t have to wait on someone else.
My shift is over in thirty minutes. All my tables have their food.
After delivering the corner booth’s desserts, I start clearing the booth behind them. Not a minute later, Robillard gets a call. He stands up and pulls out a wad of cash, tossing it on the table.
“Boss wants us now.”
I wait until the last one’s out the door before taking the money from the table. I count out the money for their bill first. They left enough to cover it.Whew.If I get stiffed it comes out of my paycheck. Supposedly, it’s so the wait staff doesn’t let their friends dine and dash. I call bullshit.
Four tables left to check out. Eight tables to clean and I’m out of here. I get to work on the three empty tables. We bus our own tables. The cheapskate owner doesn’t believe in bussers.