Page 78 of Bad Medicine
“No one’s dead,” I said simply, letting the impliedyethang in the air.
“Well, don’t be all fuckin’ day about it, alright? I don’t want to still be dealing with this when we get back to town. Francesca wants to have everyone over for Christmas dinner, so I can only imagine I’ll be busy as fuck leading up to whatever massive event she’s gonna be planning.”
I could picture it; all of us gathered around the living room at their place, opening gifts, talkin’ shit, and eating whatever epic food Frankie had cooked up for us.
We’d had lots of holiday gatherings in the past, most of the crew not really having anywhere else to go, but they had mostly involved hard liquor and takeout.
I could only imagine the festive family event Francesca would put on, full of food and music and a big fuckin’ tree and shit.
I suddenly couldn’t wait to be there, and I wanted Mia and Jasper with me.
But before any of that could happen, I had to make sure I took out the trash, and that started with talking to Anton Belikov.
Chapter thirty-five
Rocco
Ihadbarelytakenfive steps toward the building when two goons came barreling out the back door, both with AK-74s draped around their necks, decked out in the stereotypical track suit and gold chains, like they were trying to be the epitome of every Russian gangster ever portrayed in the movies.
It was ridiculous.
Standing still, I held my arms out while they gave me a half-assed pat down, not even noticing the Glock I had tucked into the back of my jeans.
Morons.
When the guy doing the search swiped his hand up the inside of my thigh, I snickered.
“Easy there, Boris,” I growled. “You ain’t even bought me dinner yet.”
“Zatk’nis,” he spat, pulling his hand away like I’d burned him.
“You first,” I said, not having a fuckin’ clue what he’d said, but there was no way I was giving the bastard the last word.
With a shove between my shoulder blades, the two block-headed goons moved me forward, taking up posts on either side of me as they herded me through the back door they just exited out of and down a long hallway. I could hear the growing pulse of shitty club music, some Euro style trance shit that sounded more like someone was using a dental drill than actual music. On top of that, the whole building stank, a combination of cigarette smoke, stale perfume, and desperation, and I grit my teeth to keep from gagging.
It was not my first time in Anton’s whorehouse, but I was disappointed he hadn’t improved the place since I’d been here last.
The douchebag twins continued to lead the way, pushing through a clichéd beaded curtain, and I suddenly found myself standing in a dimly lit bar. The stage at the far end lit up in a sickly purple glow, making the two strippers currently grinding on the poles look like specters, forced to haunt this revolting strip club for all eternity.
What a depressing thought.
Even considering it was still daytime, the place was fuckin’ dead, with only a few men in ill-fitting business suits sitting slouched in their chairs, glassy-eyed stares tracking the dancers as they meandered around the stage apathetically, shaking their asses for whatever meager tips they could squeeze outta this posse of losers.
Ifthiswas what the legal strip club offered, I’d hate to even think about what the illegal brothel had in store for anyone who ventured upstairs.
Curling my lip at the revolting hellscape around me, I headed with purpose to the large booth in the back where Anton sat, strangely alone, shouting into his phone in Russian.
I approached the table, standing at the end and waiting to be invited to sit.
Anton might have been a lying asshole, but I still had manners.
Finally, he snarled something particularly aggressive and ended the call, slamming the phone down on the table and downing whatever was left of the drink on the table in front of him.
“So, he sent you, did he?”
I shrugged.
“I guess you’re as good as anyone.” Pouring another drink from the bottle on the table, Anton lifted the glass to his lips, sipping slower this time. “At least I know it will be quick.”
