Incoming - The Wheelman
By Duane Swierczynski
KATIE’S CELL PHONE CHIRPED. SHIT. SHE COULDN’T stop to pick it up now. Not with the business end of a Beretta in this Russian gangster’s mouth.
Wait.
Only two people had this disposable number. One of them was Patrick. Which would make it pointless to continue negotiations with this tight-lipped Russian prick.
“Hold on a second, okay? Of course you will.” Katie fumbled in her bag, found the phone, and flicked it open one-handed, but it was too late. The call was gone. Fuck.
She removed the gun from the guy’s mouth and then proceeded to pistol-whip him into unconsciousness. He wasn’t going to help, anyway. Claimed he knew nothing. Katie dialed in to check her messages, wiping the pistol clean on the guy’s sofa.
The Russian hadn’t been difficult to find. Henry refused to name names, and begged her to come over to his apartment to think things through. But eventually, he relented, and gave her one: Evsei Fieuchevsky. “I don’t know that he’s involved, but he might know some people who might know.”
Fieuchevsky had claimed to know nothing, and it didn’t matter. A search of his desk drawer revealed an old-fashioned address book. Somebody down the line would know what had happened to Patrick.