Drop Shot (Myron Bolitar 2)

“Turn around, Lee,” Aaron said.

“Ah, come off it, Aaron, let me fuck him up a little. You see what the motherfucker did to my car? And look at my fucking nose.” Car first, then nose. Priorities. “He and his faggot buddy jumped me. Two on one. When I wasn’t looking. Let me teach him a little respect.”

“You couldn’t, Lee. You and Jim together couldn’t.”

“Fuck I couldn’t. If I didn’t have this busted nose—”

“Shut up, Lee,” Aaron said.

Immediate silence.

Aaron rolled his eyes at Myron and spread his hands. “Rank amateurs,” he said. “Frank is always trying to cut corners. Save a buck here. Save a buck there. In the end it always costs more.”

“I thought you stopped working for the Ache brothers,” Myron said.

“I work freelance now.”

“So Frank just brought you in?”

“As of this morning.”

“Must be something big,” Myron said. “You don’t come cheap.”

Aaron gave him the teeth again, adjusted the jacket of his suit. “You want the best, you have to pay.”

“So why’s Frank so bent out of shape about this?”

“I have no idea. But make no mistake about it: Frank wants your investigation to end. Now. No excuses. Look, Myron, we both know you’ve been something of a pain in the ass to Frank. He doesn’t like you. To be honest he’d like to ace you. That’s no bullshit. I’m talking man to man here. Friend to friend. We’re friends, right? Buddies?”

“Best of chums,” Myron added. Shovel, shovel.

“But Frank is showing incredible restraint with you. Generosity even. He knows, for example, that you took Eddie Crane out to dinner. That alone would be reason for Frank to want you roughed up a bit. But he doesn’t. In fact he’s decided that if Eddie Crane chooses your agency, he won’t get in the way.”

“Big of him.”

“But it is big of him,” Aaron insisted. “He owns the kid’s coach, for crying out loud. By all rights he belongs to TruPro. But Frank is willing to let him go, and he’s willing to help you bring in Roger Quincy. Two very big favors. Gifts really. In exchange, you do nothing.”

Myron turned his palms up. “How can I pass up a deal like that?”

“Do I sense a whiff of sarcasm?”

Myron shrugged.

“Frank’s trying to be fair, Myron.”

“Yeah, the man’s a prince.”

“Don’t push him on this. It’s not worth it.”

“Can I leave now?”

“I’d like your answer first.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Myron said. “But I’d be much more willing to let go if I knew what Frank was trying to hide.”

Aaron shook his head. “Still the same old Myron, huh? You never change. I’m surprised no one has wasted you yet.”

“I’m not easy to kill,” Myron said.

“Maybe not.”

“And I’m also a snazzy dancer. No one likes to kill a snazzy dancer. There’re so few us left.”

Aaron put his hand on Myron’s knee and leaned toward him. “Can we stop the lunatic routine for a moment?”

Myron’s eyes flicked down to the knee, then back to Aaron. “Uh, your hand?”

“You know about the carrot and the stick, Myron?”

“The what?”

“The carrot and the stick.” The hand was still on Myron’s knee.

“Oh. Sure. The carrot and the stick.” What?

“So far I have shown you only the carrot. I would feel amiss if I did not also show a bit of stick.”

In the front seat Fishnet and Jim shared a chuckle.

Aaron’s fingers gave the knee a little squeeze. Like a hawk’s talons. “Now you know me. I’m not a stick man. I’m the gentle sort. I’m kind. I’m nice. I’m …” He looked up as though searching for the word.

“A carrot,” Myron finished.

“Right. A carrot.”

Myron had seen Aaron kill a man. Snap his neck as though it were a twig. He’d also seen the results of Aaron’s work in venues ranging from boxing rings to morgues. Some carrot.

“But nonetheless I need to add a bit of stick. Just for the record, you understand. It’s expected. I know it’s not necessary in your case. The stick, I mean.”

“I’m listening,” Myron said.

“Yeah,” Fishnet added, “tell him, Aaron.” Fishnet and Jim restarted the chuckle. Louder.

“Shut up,” Aaron said softly.

Again immediate silence. Like they’d both been shot in the head.

Aaron swung his line of vision to Myron. His eyes were suddenly dark and hard. “There will be no further warnings. We will simply strike. I know you don’t scare easily. I explained that to Frank. He doesn’t care. He suggested striking places that another man might consider taboo.”

“Like?”

“I understand Duane Richwood is playing well. I’d hate to see his career cut short.” He gave the knee a harder squeeze. “Or take your beautiful Jessica, for example. Now I know she’s out of the country right now. In Athens, in case you don’t know. The Grand Bretagne Hotel. Room 207. Frank has friends in Greece.”

Myron felt a cold chill. “Don’t even think about it, Aaron.”

“Not my decision.” He finally let go of the knee. “It’s Frank. He’s adamant about this. He wants you to let go now. You know what they say about grabbing a tiger by the tail.”

“If he touches her—”

Aaron waved him off. “Please, Myron, no threats. There’s no reason for threats here. You can’t win. You know that. The price of victory is too high. You and Win are only two men. Two good men. Two of the best. Worthy adversaries. But Frank has me, for one. And he has others. Many others. As many men as he needs. Men with no scruples. Men who would break into Jessica’s room, take turns with her, and then blow her away. Men who would jump Esperanza on her way home from work. Men who would even do unspeakable things to your mother.”

Myron stared at Aaron. Aaron did not blink. “You can’t win, Myron. No matter how tough you are, you can’t stand up to that kind of thing. We both know it.”

Silence. The Caddy pulled up to the front of Myron’s building.

“Can I have your answer now?” Aaron asked.