His voice is fully cracking now.
I never met Mrs. Duncan. Ozzy came to visit me in Chicago, and we’d planned that I’d come out to Tasmania this summer or next. But that won’t happen now.
I never even spoke to her. Yet I feel I knew her all the same, because Ozzy talked about his parents all the time.
I knew that Mr. Duncan ran an illegal mining operation, as well as trafficking black market metals and stones. He was from criminal stock tracing back to the days when Tasmania was Van Diemen’s Land, and before that, to the professional cracksmen of London.
Mrs. Duncan was the governor’s daughter. She sang in the church choir. She wasn’t supposed to walk down the same hallway as Mr. Duncan, when they were teenagers attending the same secondary school.
They fell in love anyway.
Ozzy was the result.
They married young and stayed together, happily by all Ozzy’s accounts.
He said his mom was funny and playful. That she dragged Ozzy and his dad along to church, but she also loved dice games and shooting. She was shit with technology but she bought Ozzy his first gaming rig.
I know all these things, so I know this was a good woman who died. I know what Ozzy and his father have lost.
I watched how she took Ozzy’s face in her hands with tenderness, without a second’s hesitation as she offered her life in place of his.
“What did she say to you?” I ask.
I have no right to ask, but I want to know all the same.
“She said, ‘I love you, bub. No more violence from this. Go on happy and strong.’ ” Ozzy pauses to swallow. “She didn’t want me to try to get revenge. But I don’t know if I can do that. In five years, ten . . . when it seems unrelated, when nobody remembers but me . . . I want to kill them. Rocco, Jasper, Dax.”
“If you want that, I’ll help you,” I promise him. “Whatever you feel is just . . . I’m there.”
“I hoped you’d say that,” Ozzy says, quietly.
“I’d like a measure of revenge right now,” I say. “On Rocco. Though I’ll admit, this is self-serving . . .”
“You want to take Zoe from him. You want to go through with the plan.”
Ozzy already knows. He’s been expecting this.
“Yes. I want to do it immediately. Is the server ready?”
“I finished it yesterday.”
“You haven’t been working on it still . . .”
“I knew you’d call. Sooner rather than later. And I needed the distraction.”
“You’re okay with me going forward?”
“ ‘Course I am. If you don’t, he gets what he wants.”
Now it’s my turn to feel my throat swollen too tight to speak. I can barely manage, “Thank you, man. Seriously. I can’t tell you—”
“Nah, you can’t, so don’t even try. It’s beautiful work. Best yet from yours truly.”
I end the call, then unearth my list of highly hard-to-come-by contacts. Men whose personal cellphone numbers are only known by five or six people in the world—sometimes not even their wives.
When you call a number like that, you always get an answer.
I call two such men. And I set up two meetings, for the same time tomorrow night.
Both parties don’t want to attend. I have to use all my powers of persuasion. I have to make aggressive promises, with catastrophic consequences if I fail to deliver.
Finally, they agree.
Now, I have two more problems to solve, and I think that one single person might just be able to help me.
I’ve gotta find my new best friend, Ares Cirillo.
No surprise, I track him down on the second level of the Library Tower. Even better luck, Zoe isn’t with him. He’s all alone at a large table that looks small with his rangy frame wrapped around it. He hasn’t cut his hair all year—it hangs shaggy around his face as he hunches over his paper. Writing everything by hand is a fucking nightmare at Kingmakers, especially when you’ve got a hand the size of an oven mitt like Ares. I can barely see the pencil eraser poking out the top.
“I knew I’d find you here,” I say, sliding into the seat directly beside him.
Ares looks up, startled and wary.
Ares has always seemed a little jumpy around me. I don’t think he’s ever entirely trusted me. Which shows that he really is intelligent.
“Hello, Miles,” he says, in his deep voice. “I’m really sorry about your friend. I liked Ozzy.”
“Me too. He’s not the one who’s dead though, he just went home, so you can use current tense.”
“Sorry,” Ares says again, wincing. “I just meant . . . well, you know.”
Now he’s even more off balance, which I think is good for me. I want him feeling guilty.
“Ozzy and I were working on a project. Something we want to sell to the Princes and the Romeros. Something to help Zoe. You want that, don’t you Ares? You want to help Zoe? You’re good friends, aren’t you?”
Ares shifts in his seat, glancing at me in a guilty way.
“We’re just friends,” he says. “I hope that’s clear. We never—”
“Of course not,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder a little too hard. “You’re just buddies.”
“Right.”
“Definitely. Anyway, you agree that Zoe is a fucking treasure, one that Rocco Prince does not deserve. So I’m sure you’ll do anything you can to help her.”
Ares narrows those baby blues at me. He’s kind of a Boy Scout, so I don’t think he’s gonna like this next part,
“What exactly do you want me to do?” He says.
“Nothing too onerous. First, I need you to get me the contact information for the Malina.”
Ares’ head gives a convulsive jerk. That’s about the reaction I expected when I mentioned the Ukrainian Mafia.
“Why would you think that I’d have—”
“I know your family has Bratva connections in St. Petersburg.”
“What are you—”
“Ares. You know I know everything. So cut the shit. Your dad’s inactive but not unconnected. I know he can get me that number, I’ve got a phone right here so you can call him. You don’t even have to wait for Sunday.”
Ares stares at me, his lips tightly pressed together.
After a moment, he says, “I could ask him. But I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Why is that?”
“You don’t want to do business with the Malina.”
“I know what they are.”
“You don’t know. Whatever you think, they’re ten times worse. They have no honor, none at all. The schemes they’ll use are several sewer-levels below what you could possibly imagine.”
“They’re only gonna form a limited part in the plan. I’ve considered the risks. Thank you for your concern,” I tell Ares, firmly.
I have to use the Malina, there’s no other choice. So there’s no point arguing about it. They’re the only ones perfectly situated for everything I need.
“What’s the second thing?” Ares asks. His arms are folded across his broad chest now, and I can tell he’s even less excited for the second request.