His phone flashed with a call from an unknown number, but he let it go to voicemail. He needed to remain focused on getting things under control for Stella. He called Marco and confirmed that Winters was still behaving. As he ended the call, the lanky guy with waist-length hair he’d seen enter the building earlier came out. The guy shoved his hands in his pockets and lumbered down the road with his eyes trained on the ground.
Logan checked his gun and slid it into the shoulder holster beneath the flannel shirt he wore open over a wrinkled T-shirt. He’d changed into his scumbag clothes so as not to stand out. He buried his fingers in his hair and scrubbed. Between his unshaven cheeks, mussed hair, wrinkled clothes, and torn and dirty sneakers, he should fit right in with Kanets’s usual prospects. He stepped from the rental car, head bowed, eyes darting, and ducked around the side of the building, which looked as sordid as the front, then entered the building as silently as the wind, heading up the stairs toward the second floor, where he’d seen Kanets earlier through one of the missing windows.
He stole a glance into the room before tucking himself against the wall in the hallway. In two seconds flat he’d taken in Kanets’s stringy blond hair, his rail-thin, rounded shoulders, and his lanky body as he paced by the missing window with a pistol in the back of his pants. The room was empty save for a dented metal desk pushed against one wall. It was hardly a gamble that Kanets had drugs on him. Possession of drugs and a weapon while on parole would mean an easy five years minimum.
Logan had made his mark.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, bowed his head, and staggered into the room. Kanets spun around.
“You Kanets?” Logan spoke in a bored drawl.
“Who wants to know?” Kanets’s eyes jumped around the room as Logan casually closed the distance between them, shrugging.
“Kutcher sent me.” Logan kept his head bent, which went against everything he’d ever been taught, but he knew how to play this scared rat.
“Cool. Can’t wait until he’s out to take care of his own shit. Whatchu need?”
“Just some blast, man. Kutcher said you got it.” Blast was the street term for injectable cocaine powder, which was Kanets’s bread and butter.
Kanets lifted his chin toward the desk. “In the drawer.”
Logan eyed Kanets’s pockets, noting the telltale bulge. He was reasonably sure he had drugs on him, which would make this much easier than trying to nail him with drugs in the room. Idiot. Logan walked toward the desk, and as if on cue, Kanets stepped in closer. Logan waited for Kanets to step behind him. In the next second Logan had Kanets’s right arm wrenched behind his back, Kanets’s face pressed to the top of the metal desk.
“You can thank Kutcher,” Logan growled between clenched teeth as he took Kanets’s pistol and tucked it into the back of his own pants.
“What the fuck?” Kanets spat.
Logan let him rattle on. He was just dumb enough to hang himself.
“Motherfucker. What’s he think? I’m cheatin’ him? The asshole.”
“He is an asshole.” Logan almost felt sorry for Kanets. He was such a dumbass.
“Motherfuckin’ right, he’s an asshole. I’m not cheatin’ him. Take the drugs, man. Take the cash. It’s in my pocket. Take it all. I don’t give a fuck.”
“If I wanted the drugs, you’d be dead and I’d be gone.”
“What?” Kanets’s voice cracked. “No, no, no. Motherfuck.” His body began to shake. “No, man. Don’t kill me. I’ll get him the cash. Every fucking cent.”
Bingo.
“Only a fool would try to scam Kutcher.” Logan pressed the muzzle of his gun harder against Kanets’s head. Kanets bucked, trying to break free of Logan’s vise grip. Keep trying, prick. You’re going nowhere fast.
“Hey, man. Wait. Wait, man. I got…gotta…idea.”
I bet you do.
“I’ll give you his money. Yeah, yeah. That’s it. The drugs, too. Then you can take off and sell it. It’s gotta be more than he’s paying you to off me.”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m a private investigator. I’m not with Kutcher. I’m nailing him.”
“Fuck, man.”
“Shut up.” This was too easy. He was putty in Logan’s hands. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to take you down to the station, and you’re going to tell those motherfuckers everything you know about Kutcher. The dealing he’s doing from the pen, who his customers are, the whole load of shit.” After the police had given up looking for his father’s killer, Logan had lost a lot of respect for the men in blue, but there was about an ounce left. Enough to know how to play the fucking game when he was in their presence. Beyond that, Logan did things his own way.
“Got it?” Logan twisted his arm to send his message home.
“I’m not going back to jail. No fucking way. You can kill me.”
“That’s a shame. I kinda liked this T-shirt. Guess I can wash the blood out.” He let out a bored breath, and Kanets flailed harder.
“Wait!”
Logan crushed Kanets’s face into the desk again. “You fucking ready to play, or you wanna die? My trigger finger is mighty itchy. I’ll get you a fucking plea bargain for ratting out Kutcher, but if you fuck up…” Logan leaned down and spoke in a threateningly low tone. “I’ll take great pleasure in killing you.”