Last to Fold by David Duffy Page B

names. It took him less than ten minutes to come up with addresses and phone numbers, also in Manhattan Beach. One of the men, Marko, had a family. I got back in the van.
    “We’re going back to the house. You’re going to take us in. Anything goes wrong, you die first. Understand?”
    He nodded.
    We left my car and drove the van back to Montgomery Street. Nedelenko had keys for the front door. He led us down a hallway with a dirty linoleum floor and yellowed, peeling paint to a single door in the back. The three of us stood to one side. He knocked twice and said his name before he put his key in the lock. As soon as he turned it, I pulled him back, Gayeff kicked open the door, and the brothers burst in. There were shouts of surprise and the pop of a silencer. After a minute, Maks said, “Okay.”
    I brought in Nedelenko, which probably didn’t add any years to his life expectancy, but he should have chosen his business associates more wisely. Like he said, there were two men in the room, one on an old couch, the man from the parking lot, and one at a table with money on it. Next to the money was a revolver and a BlackBerry. The room was hardly any cooler than outside. An old air conditioner chugged away in the window, but to little effect. The man at the table, the other man in the hotel room, wore a tank top and held his bleeding shoulder. His skin was covered in tattoos. His eyes were darker and tougher than Nedelenko’s. They showed pain but not fear. The ringleader. The other man was scared. His eyes darted around the room. Sweat stained his shirt halfway down his rib cage.
    Momentum was an ally. Don’t give them time to think. I went straight to the man at the table, picked up the gun, and poked the wound. He tried not to show the pain, but it was too much.
    “Which one are you? Marko? Diodor?”
    His eyes widened, but he said nothing. I nodded at Maks, who put his gun against the man’s cheek.
    “Which?”
    “Mar … Marko.”
    “Good. Let me explain the situation. You are clumsy and you are stupid. You are operating on the Badger’s turf, which means you also have a death wish.” I took out my cell phone. “One call and—”
    “No! Ratko said—” Marko caught himself. That name rang a vague bell, but I wanted to keep the pressure on.
    “Ratko said what?”
    Marko shook his head. I poked his wound again and he grimaced. I pushed harder and he cried out.
    “Okay, okay, please. We know rules. We no break. Ratko said everything okay with the Badger. I swear.”
    “You can swear to Barsukov. See if he believes you. Personally, I think you’re full of shit.”
    “No! It’s truth!”
    “Shut up. Listen. You have two problems. One is the Badger. The other is me. He already has men on their way to your home on Amherst Street. I can call them off—if you give me reason to.”
    Marko started out of the chair. He was scared now. “No! You wouldn’t—”
    I shoved him back, hitting his wounded shoulder. His face was filled with pain.
    “You don’t think so? You are wrong. Listen to me. Where’s the girl?”
    “Girl? What girl?”
    I only had to feint in the direction of his shoulder before he screamed.
    “No! Stop! Please! I … I don’t know girl. Ratko say pick up money. That’s all.”
    “And he’d take care of Barsukov?”
    “Yes! I told you…”
    “I still think you’re full of shit. Let’s see what Lachko thinks.”
    I took out my cell phone and walked into the bedroom. Marko wailed as I shut the door. I was all but certain they knew nothing of Eva. As expected, they were working for someone else—Ratko—and he might. I waited a few minutes, returned to the living room, and spoke quietly to Gayeff and Maks. I surveyed the three men, all of whom looked terrified.
    “You,” I said, pointing to the man I hadn’t spoken with yet. “In there.”
    I followed him to the bedroom, Raven in hand.
    “Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed, face forward.”
    “Wait,” he cried.