A Jaguar sits to my left and a high-end Volvo sits to my right.
I’m not out of place here, I think to myself, smiling as I hit the “arm” button. My Porsche chirps. My fucking beautiful Porsche.
Man, I’m so lucky to have Rust in my life.
I stroll through the downtown parking lot, my keys swinging casually by my finger, a cover for the nervous knots twisting in my stomach as I head toward the building Aref instructed me to go to. I’ve talked to him several times since Sunday. Sometimes about business, other times just to shoot the shit. I can see why Rust likes him. I like him. For all the money he’s got and as arrogant as he is, he’s still a cool guy. And making the arrangements for this Ferrari? Piece of cake. I’ve done nothing besides make a few phone calls to Dmitri and Nikolai. There’s been virtually no risk to me.
Not until now.
“Gold Bonds,” I say to the security guard behind the desk, and he waves me through, directing me to the fourth floor without another look.
I’ve never stepped inside a jewelry wholesaler business, so I don’t know if the security level is normal. All I know is that it’s tight. Four cameras, two armed guards, three bulletproof security doors, and one metal detector later, I’m heading down a narrow, sterile hallway to the office of Jerry Rosenthal.
Anyone paying Aref, anyone taking money from Aref, gets it through this guy. He doesn’t do dark motel parking lot drops. He’s too classy—and too smart—for that. Apparently that’s been a bone of contention with the Russians, but the simple fact is they need Aref’s ships. He doesn’t need them for anything.
“Sit.” Rosenthal waves his stubby hand toward to the chair across from him before dialing his phone. “He’s here,” he mutters into the phone. “Yes . . . okay.” Shrewd gray eyes glare at me. “Address?”
I dig the folded sheet of paper out of my pocket and slide it across the desk. The one with detailed instructions to the garage where the Ferrari’s sitting, waiting to be driven into a moving truck trailer and taken away by Aref’s guys. They’re already in the general neighborhood, but Rust told me not to hand over the address until I was sitting in front of Rosenthal. Just in case. This is our first deal like this with Aref and, while I don’t think he’s going to screw us over . . . I’m going to trust Rust.
Rosenthal reads the address and then throws the page in the shredder and hangs up.
“What now?”
“Now . . .” He strums his fingers, each one decorated in a gaudy gold ring, an unfriendly look on his face. “. . . we wait for the phone call.”
I let my eyes wander over his desk, which is clear except for one neat stack of papers in the top-right corner and a strange metal contraption with various metal rings hanging off it. I can’t help but eye it, thoughts of mobsters and cigar cutters and missing fingers flashing through my mind.
“Give me your hand,” he demands abruptly.
As much as I don’t want to, I don’t know what else to do, so I humor him. He picks up that weird metal thing and slips one ring over my fourth ringer. “You’re a size eleven. Would you like to see the latest wedding bands that just arrived?”
“Only if they come with a noose.”
Finally . . . his face breaks out in a wide smile, displaying a gap between his middle front teeth. “Okay, okay.” Rolling over to a wall panel, he punches in a few buttons and a lock pop sounds. Pushing open a hidden display case full of gold and diamonds, he says, “How about a piece of jewelry for a lovely woman? You must have one. Or two.”
This guy is unreal. Is this what he does while waiting for drops to take place? I open my mouth to decline his offer when a particular piece catches my eyes.
“Ahh . . . of course.” How he knows exactly what I’m eyeing I have no idea, but the little man stands—and he truly is little; I’m guessing five-foot-two—and seizes the necklace from its hook. “One flawless carat in each. White gold, rhodium-plated.”
The mention of rhodium reminds me of the pile of catalytic converters back at the warehouse. I know it’s worth a lot. Rosenthal dangles the necklace in front of me, letting it sway back and forth, the sparkling raindrops almost hypnotic.
I’m picturing it around Rain’s slender neck. “How much?”
“Ten.”
I laugh. “What’s that, a five hundred percent markup?” Rust filled me in on this guy before I got here. While he runs a legit wholesaler’s business, that doesn’t mean he buys completely legit. A good chunk of his stock is coming from smuggled inventory at 50 percent less than what’s considered market standard.
“What are you saying? That I’m trying to rip you off?” That sour look has returned.
Trying to rip me off is exactly what he’s doing, but I need to be careful. He’s still holding our money. “No, I’m saying that I didn’t come in here to spend ten grand for a necklace.”
He hangs the necklace back up, but I know he’s going to come back with a lower offer. This is all negotiation 101. Before he does, we’re interrupted with ringing. He’s on the phone for all of three seconds, long enough to say, “Hello . . . Okay.” Punching a code into a safe behind his desk, he pulls out an overstuffed manila envelope and drops it on the desk, sliding it across. Stacks of money sit inside. Stacks that will earn Dmitri’s wide grin, no doubt.
Hell, I’m grinning because some of this is mine. Handler’s fee, Rust calls it. I glance at the necklace again, hung so intentionally front and center. I wonder how Rain would react to that? She’d probably tell me I’m fucking crazy. I’ve known her for only a few weeks. We’ve barely kissed. But it’d be a good gift down the road, maybe. “How much are you really going to sell that to me for?”
He twists his mouth tight. And then smirks. “Only because you’re a good friend of Aref . . . two.”
I dig the cash out and slap it on the table. “Now that’s more reasonable.”
He has the jewelry wrapped and packaged in under a minute, certificate of authenticity and everything. When I walk out of there, it’s with a smile and a handshake and an “until next time.” I make it all the way past the last security door before my smile falls off abruptly.
Vlad is here.
His eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow as they drop to the messenger bag hanging over my hip, where I’ve tucked away a shitload of cash. “What are you doing here?”
I should probably bite my tongue, but I don’t like the way he’s talking to me. It makes my brass balls come out. “None of your fucking business.” What am I doing here? What is he doing here!
He takes a step closer, the smell of black coffee and salmon assaulting my nose. “Why are you here?”
I decide that starting a pissing contest with this guy isn’t the best idea. “Buying my girlfriend a necklace.” I pull the long, slender box out of my jacket pocket and hold it up as proof.
The way he pushes his tongue over his teeth, he doesn’t seem too impressed with my explanation. “How’s the Ferrari?”
Shit. Has he truly figured out that we went through Aref to move it? “Don’t know what Ferrari you’re talking about. I have a Porsche. And it’s awesome.” I stroll past him, out the door.
Feeling his eyes on my back the entire time.
I don’t trust that guy at all.
