Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(44)

For a second, he looks like he wants to bolt, but then he eyes me and nods shakily.

“Yeah. You looking to buy?”

“Not whatever you’re selling. I’m looking for information.”

“Don’t have none of that,” he says quickly, scratching at an already red patch on his arm. “Got other stuff though. Takes the edge off. Makes you feel good.”

I raise an eyebrow, watching his twitchy movements. Just from the way he’s acting, I wonder if he’s breaking the first rule of dealing and sampling his own wares.

Fucking idiot. It’s a wonder he hasn’t OD’d or been killed by a rival yet if he’s out here doing this shit in the middle of the day. But that’s not my problem one way or another.

“Look,” I tell him, keeping my cool. “I know you keep tabs on Ivan St. James. I need information about him.”

Just the mention of Ivan makes his skin go even paler, and he looks around frantically, like he’s expecting the man to melt out of the shadows and take care of him personally.

“Who said I know anything about him?” he asks.

“Someone with more sense than you, obviously,” I shoot back. “Tell me what you know.”

“Don’t know nothing,” he insists, but his voice goes high and reedy, and it’s not even a good lie. “Don’t know nothing about him. I keep to myself. Sell my shit and go home. That’s all.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. I might not be as intimidating physically as Knox or Priest, but I know how to make myself look like I’m fed up with someone’s shit. Mostly because I am.

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “And I’m a part time nun down at Old St. Mary’s. Tell me what you know or it won’t go well for you.”

The threat gets his attention, and he stops looking at everything but me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if you don’t tell me, I’m going to make sure Ivan finds out you’re dealing just a little too close to his territory. Everybody knows how territorial he is. How touchy he gets about those lines he’s drawn.”

Sweat beads on Sinclair’s brow, and I know I’ve got him. I’m an unknown entity to him, but it’s pretty much legend at this point how Ivan St. James deals with people who cross his lines. Or even get too close to them. Sinclair’s an idiot, but he’s not that stupid.

“Okay,” he says in a rush. “Okay, okay, okay. Don’t do anything hasty. Maybe I know something. A couple things.”

I smirk. “Imagine that. Tell me.”

He glances around and then leans in closer to me. “So. So, St. James. He’s got a meeting planned with the Mexican cartel to talk out a deal.”

“When?” I ask, cutting right to the point. “And where?”

“Soon. Couple days, I think. At that Italian place right off Grand River Ave. New fancy one. With the green awning. Uh, Romano’s.” Sinclair sags with relief when he gets it all out and then steps away from me. “That’s all I know, I swear.”

I nod, believing him. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

And then I turn on my heel and head back for my car.

I’ve never been to this Italian place, and it’s interesting that St. James wants to meet somewhere so public, but I guess it makes sense. He likes to do his deals in his own space, but the other side wouldn’t be comfortable with that. Not if this is a fresh deal. It’s a place that will keep both sides safe, since attacking in public like that would be too risky.

It’s risky for me too, but worth it.

I pull away from the curb, checking the directions on my phone quickly before making my way to Romano’s.

From the outside, it looks like your average hole-in-the-wall place, but the fancy tablecloths inside and the smells coming from it mean it’s probably expensive and authentic. There’s a little patio out front with tables that have to be reserved ahead of time, and that seems more Ivan’s speed than meeting inside. It’ll let his paranoid ass keep an eye on everything, and makes him look good for having the best table. I wouldn’t put it past him to reserve all the tables in advance, to make sure there’s no one else to overhear them talk.

The neighborhood is one of those fancy, up-and-coming areas, but the place where Romano’s is situated is relatively open. There are other restaurants and little shops further up the street, and I know they’re usually crowded with people. It would be easy enough to bolt from the restaurant and blend in with the crowd, or slip into a little antique store or book shop and find a place to hide.

It’s also not far from the highway, so getting away won’t be an issue.

There are rows of buildings on the other side of the street, more shops and a couple of office buildings that stretch up tall. Perfect.

I use the fire escape that zig-zags up the back of the building to climb up to the top of one of them and lie low, opening my bag and digging around until I find my scope.

I find the right positioning that will give me a line of sight on the entire patio of Romano’s.

Even better.

Doing this work makes me feel more like myself. This is how it’s been for the longest time. Just me, working alone, figuring out my plans and how best to execute them. I relied on my own strength and cunning to get results, even if that meant finding someone else to do the final dirty work for me. Either way, I got what I needed and made it happen.