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The kid looked extremely relieved when he spotted Hector. “You know, you could have just texted me, instead of sending this guy.” He pointedly looked at Angel. “For a second, I had thisGoodfellasmoment, picturing myself getting beaten up in a back room by mobsters.”
Any other time, Hector would have appreciated his brazen talk, but not now. “Someone has Mary. I need you to tell me if anyone has approached her at your table.”
“Mary’s gone? When did that happen? She just left a few minutes ago with Gina.”
Fucking Gina Rossi. He should’ve known she had something to do with this. Bad luck followed her around like a dark cloud.
“I watched the footage from the parking lot,” Angel said, looking up from behind his laptop. “It shows Mary and another woman getting pushed into a van by two men. One of them is Micky, from Brian’s crew.”
Kristoff pulled out his phone and walked away.
“Who is this Brian?” Hector wanted to know.
“Irish Brian. He’s into gambling and underground fights. He usually doesn’t get in Kristoff’s way. He is said to be fair but out for blood when someone crosses him. Very Old Testament kind of guy. You take money from him and don’t pay him back in time, he’s not gonna charge you an interest rate. He takes the interest back in blood or sweat. It’s his trademark.”
Hector didn’t like the sound of that. “Meaning?”
“Meaning men usually pay him back by fighting in a cage; women, by working on their back.”
If this Brian character landed one hand on his woman, Hector would paint the streets with his blood.
Kristoff returned, an annoyed look on his face. “I’ve spoken to Brian. It seems that your sister-in-law has said that you would pay her debt. Mary was just taken with, since she refused to leave her sister. You have to control your woman. She can’t willingly let herself get kidnapped. It’s bad for my reputation.”
“They better not have touched her.”
A chill crept into Kristoff’s eyes. “Mary has declared herself my sister-in-law. I told Brian who she is. No one touches my family.”
Hector bit back a crude remark.
Not the time, Diaz. So not the time.
***
Walking into Irish Brian’s place of business was like strolling back down memory lane. It had been over a decade since he’d had his last underground fight. Back then, fights were arranged close to abandoned subways and in back alleys. Nowadays, apparently, bare-knuckle fights had moved to a silo at the docks. It was one of the last buildings, more secluded, so the row of cars didn’t draw much attention.
Kristoff had insisted on going with, and Hector didn’t object, as he could be useful in the parley. Also, Kristoff had provided him with a suitcase filled with cash. Guess being a crime boss had its perks, such as having a hundred thousand dollars laying around.
The twins were another matter. Then again, he knew they wouldn’t let Kristoff walk into the den of this Brian guy by himself. Or maybe they just came along to watch the fights; who knew why those crazy fuckers did anything.
Brian’s place was packed. There was a big, octagon cage in the middle of the room, placed MMA-style.
As they walked past the rows of cheering and screaming people, some waving with pieces of paper in their hands, he remembered the old days.
There was a certain appeal to people chanting your name. It had made him feel invincible, but more so, it had felt as if he mattered. He knew though, that the same people who cheered him on while he was a champion, would turn their backs on him the second he lost. Street fighting had been more of a way to let off steam, a way to control his rage since he’d been so angry all the time.
He tried to put all that behind him as they walked toward a door in the back. Two men were guarding it. Hired muscle, hands crossed before them, close to their piece.
When they saw Kristoff, one of them opened the door and went inside. The other one remained standing, looking nervous.
“Mr. Romanov,” he greeted him.
Angeltsked. “Now you’ve done it. Kristoff hates to be called that.” He looked at the hater in question. “Can I introduce him to Ally?”
The guy’s hand went to his gun. “Ally?”
Hector could see the sweat form on his brow.
“My alligator.”