Dance of Ruin: Chapter 7

The bar on Avenue D smells like piss, stale beer and defeat.

It’s the kind of place that only exists for drowning one’s misery, then setting oneself up for more of the same.

There’s a flickering Coors sign in the window, duct tape on the ‘leather’ booths, and a jukebox that probably hasn’t worked since the Bush administration—the first one. The lighting’s bad enough to hide bloodstains, but not to mask the crust of failure clinging to every square inch of the place.

This is where I’m meeting Mario.

Great first fucking impression, Mario.

I don’t know him. We’ve never met. But an hour ago, one of my little birds got back to me, saying he knew a guy with connections to the scumbags who just tried to hurt my fucking family. My contact also said the loser was interested in making a deal for some information.

If he’s truly connected to those motherfuckers, it’s touch and go if I even let him walk out of here. We’ll see.

Mario is easy to spot. He’s the scared shitless twerp slumped in the corner booth, a half-finished pint in front of him and a shot glass tipped on its side. His eyes are bloodshot, his shirt stained. His hands tremble.

He doesn’t even see me until I slide into the booth across from him, stretching out lazily like I’ve got all the time in the world.

I don’t, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“M-Mr. Barone?” he stammers, sitting up with a drunken jolt that almost knocks over his beer. ‘Shit. I—I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

“My friend says you have something I want.’ Mario shivers as I lean forward over the grimy table, letting my eyes cut into him. “Information.”

I sit back again, casually lighting a cigarette. It’s not for effect—it’s to keep me from grabbing him by the throat and slamming his face onto the sticky table.

Because my sister almost died.

And this guy might know—might be connected to—who’s responsible.

Mario gulps. His eyes dart around, like he’s afraid someone might drag him out of here and shoot him for talking.

‘I didn’t have anything to do with it,’ he blurts. ‘I swear to God, Mr. Barone. I didn’t know what they were planning!”

I don’t say anything. Just stare at him over the tip of my cigarette, letting the silence stretch out.

Making him sweat.

‘It was a job, all right? Just a job. I swear to fucking God, I wasn’t personally involved. But some guys I work with…yeah, the order came in to wire up that real nice sixty-nine Chevelle. That’s all I know.’

My fingers curl tighter around the cigarette.

“Who do you work for, Mario,” I growl.

“I—” His eyes skate around the room again and his throat bobs before he leans in closer. “I can’t say. They’ll fuckin’ kill me, Mr. Barone.”

I smile coldly. “Well, they—whoever they are—would have to catch you first in order to kill you, yes?”

Suddenly, he’s choking as my hand jerks out to wrap around his throat.

“I, on the other hand, have you right here,” I hiss. “And I can assure you, if you don’t start talking, I’ll be inclined to assume you had everything to do with the car bomb that almost killed my pregnant baby sister last night. I’m sure you’ve got the brain power to understand what happens if I stick with that assumption.”

I let go, and he chokes out a coughing, rasping sound. He winces, swallows, then drags his bloodshot eyes back up to me.

“Look, I’m just a contractor. I do odd jobs for⁠—”

I think he literally shits himself when I set my gun down on the table with a heavy thud, my hand resting over it, the business end pointed at his chest.

“Please, Mario,” I smile. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

He nods quickly.

“They’re called the Obsidian Syndicate, okay? Eastern Europeans, I think. Real bad dudes, know what I’m sayin’?”

I don’t really give a shit about anything but the name of the about-to-be-dead motherfuckers who tried to kill Bianca.

“What the fuck does this Obsidian Syndicate have against my family?”

I truly don’t expect him to know. Mario has “low-level dipshit foot soldier” written all over him, and I doubt he knows dick-all about any master plans these assholes might have. But I ask anyway, since when he doesn’t have an answer, he’ll just feel more indebted to me for any further questions I have.

Welcome to how my brain works, constantly.

But then Mario surprises me.

“The Syndicate?” He shakes his head. “Against your family? Probably nothin’. They just get paid to do other people’s dirty work.”

My jaw ticks. “I don’t suppose you’d have any idea who paid your friends in this case to set off that bomb?”

He shivers. “All I know is that they call him the Politician. They do a lot of work for him—at least, they did,” he mutters, looking away.

Oh, really.

“Don’t be a cock tease, Mario. You can’t pump me up with that first part and then leave me with blue balls.”

He flinches as my hand jerks out and grabs the collar of his t-shirt.

“What the fuck do you mean they did, past tense?”

Mario sucks on his teeth, his eyes doing another paranoid sweep of the bar as his voice drops lower.

“Look, I really don’t know much⁠—”

“That’s pretty fucking obvious, Mario. Keep talking.”

“This guy, this Politician dude, he tried to cut ties with them, you know? But, I mean, I think there’s a contract and shit, and the Syndicate, well, they don’t like it when people back out of contracts.”

Mario is quickly becoming one of the most interesting people I know.

“Whois he,” I snarl.

“I—I don’t know!” he whispers. “But I have something! To barter with!”

He starts to reach for his pocket, then freezes when I draw back the hammer of my gun with a metallic click.

“I refuse to believe you’re that stupid, Mario. Both hands on the table.”

His face pales. “Okay, okay, no problem, Mr. Barone. I just⁠—”

Suddenly, before he can utter another word, his eyes bulge and he jabs a finger past me.

‘That’s him!’ he blurts. ‘That’s the guy!’

I turn my head slowly.

The shitty old flatscreen TV mounted over the bar is tuned to one of those 24-hour news channels, some talking head droning on about funding initiatives and urban redevelopment. Scrolling text at the bottom reads: “Congressman Leonard Kim accepts POTUS nomination for Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.”

“That’s the fuckin’ guy!” Mario squeaks.

I go still. Fury throbs inside me as I stare at the screen. Slowly, I pull my gaze back to Mario.

“That’s the Politician?”

He nods eagerly. “Yeah! Hundred percent.”

My eyes narrow. “Congressman Leonard Kim paid the Obsidian Syndicate to blow up a car outside my fucking home?”

Congressman Leonard Kim, as in Naomi’s fucking father.

The blood in my veins turns to ice as I turn back to glare murder at the TV.

Leonard is standing behind a podium, flanked by smiling interns and city officials. He’s also surrounded by about a dozen huge guys in black suits and earpieces.

Fuck.

I haven’t been paying close attention to the news recently. But you’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard that New York’s own Congressman Kim was about to get a Cabinet position at the White House.

The wall of security guys around him are Secret fucking Service.

So if Mario is telling the truth, and Leonard Kim was responsible for the bombing last night, we are now shit out of luck in terms of payback, because he just became untouchable.

“You’re sure?’ My voice is quiet.

Mario nods so hard I think his head might snap off. ‘Positive. I didn’t meet him or anything, but the others did. Said he was real careful. Didn’t leave a trail. But it was him. I’d know him anywhere.’

Mario clears his throat.

“Look, uh, Mr. Barone, I did bring something. And I think it might be something you want if this is the guy who tried to hurt your blood.”

“Well?” I hiss quietly.

Mario swallows thickly. “I, uh…listen, before I do⁠—”

“You’re hardly in a position to negotiate, Mario.”

He shakes his head quickly. “All I want is immunity.”

I scowl at him. “Do I look like the fucking cops to you?”

Mario’s head wags side to side again. “No, I mean immunity from your brother-in-law. Kratos.” Whatever color is left in Mario’s face drains as he takes a shaky breath. “That giant motherfucker is on the warpath right now, man. I mean, he’s leaving a trail of fucking bodies…” Mario shudders. “If he thinks I had something to do with that car⁠—”

“You don’t give me what you have right fucking now, Mario,” I growl. “And I’ll make damn sure Kratos thinks you had everything to do with almost killing his pregnant wife and unborn child.”

Mario’s hand moves so fast I don’t even have time to tell him to go slow. He jams it into his coat pocket and instantly whips it back out again, slamming something small onto the sticky table between us.

I frown. “The fuck?”

He lifts his hand, revealing a thumb drive. Nervousness flitters in his eyes as he glances around again.

“You know how I said they don’t like it when people break contracts? Well…” He taps the table next to the thumb drive. “This is their insurance policy.”

I eye him doubtfully. “And how is it that someone like you has it?”

He clears his throat and then nervously takes a big mouthful of beer. “Because this congressman, he didn’t just pull out of a contract. He started a fight about it. He had some of his guys come after some Obsidian Syndicate guys. They run some operations out of space in the West Village. So I’m over there delivering some merchandise, and one of them was telling me about this video, and how it was gonna be the end of this congressman if he tried any more shit. But then these dudes came busting in, guns blazing.” Mario shudders. “That’s when I grabbed the thumb drive and got out through the fire escape. Gotta look out for number one, you know?”

I glance at the thumb drive. “What’s the video.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “It’s a sex tape.”

My nose wrinkles. “Of the congressman?”

Mario shakes his head. “His daughter.”

For a second, the Earth stops moving, and I can hear my pulse thudding like a drum in my ears.

“Say that again,” I growl.

Mario clears his throat. “It’s a sex tape.”

“Of Naomi Kim?”

He nods. “That’s what they told me.”

What the fuck.

I don’t really know Naomi. She’s just ‘Bianca and Lyra’s friend’. But literally everything I’ve ever heard about her makes it almost impossible that this is true.

She’s a good girl. So good that even Lyra and Bianca, who are pretty good themselves, make fun of her for it. The committed dancer. Daughter of a well-liked, powerful Congressman.

And she made a sex tape?

My brows furrow as I glare at Mario. “You’ve watched it?”

He shakes his head. “No way. I dunno, I figured someone might be tracking it or something.”

I roll my eyes. “It says Best Buy on the fucking side of the thumb drive, Mario,” I mutter. “I doubt we’re talking CIA encryption.” I think for a moment, staring at the USB key. “Come with me.”

Mario lurches to his feet and follows me as I grab the drive and march out of the bar to where my bike is parked. I unlock the seat cover, pulling it up to get to the lockbox underneath, and haul out my laptop. I set that down on top of a newspaper stand next to us, boot it up, and connect the USB key.

A folder opens.

There’s only one file in it—a movie file labeled “Naomi”.

Something claws at me as I double click on it, opening it.

Holy fuck.

It’s actually her.

She’s lying on a bed—oddly, wearing a tutu and tights. My brows furrow as two men climb onto the bed with her. Her eyes open, glancing at them with a strange, sloppy smile on her face, like maybe she’s been drinking.

“Ready to have a good time, Naomi?” one of the men, an older guy, chuckles.

“Yeaaaah….” Naomi sighs, her eyes closing.

One of them starts to pull her tutu down. The other peels off her leotard straps.

I yank the USB stick out and slam the laptop shut, something strange clawing inside me.

“I’m keeping this,” I snarl in Mario’s general direction, pocketing the thumb drive.

“Oh, yeah, no, for sure, Mr. Barone,” he mumbles, shuffling away. He coughs delicately. “So, uh, about your brother-in-law⁠—”

“Start running.”

Mario stares at me. “Wait. What?”

“Start. Running.”

His eyes go wide. “Why?!”

“Because at some point, my brother-in-law is going to call me and ask if I have anything new.” I lift my shoulders. “And I make it a point never to lie to family.”

His face goes white. “Hang on! But⁠—”

“So, if I were you, I would start running, and I wouldn’t stop until New York, Kratos, and any dealings you had with Congressman Kim and this Obsidian Syndicate were well behind you. Are. We. Clear.”

Mario doesn’t even answer, just turns and starts booking it down the dark sidewalk.

Might be the smartest move the little dipshit ever made in his life.

I stand there outside the bar and pull the thumb drive out of my pocket. I glare at it, dark malice swirling inside me, making connections, considering strings to pull.

Building out my plan.

I’m going to destroy Leonard Kim with this.

Even if it means going through Naomi.