“His name’s Captain Ryan Melino. He’s probably the next most important cop in the Lionetti files.”
“What’s his deal?” I asked, leaning back in my seat. My body still buzzed from the night before and I felt like I’d gotten a deep tissue massage—though really, I’d come about five times and Luke was absolutely insatiable.
But now he was all business, which I found strangely sexy. Maybe my wires were crossed and all I could think about was him between my legs, his teeth teasing my nipples and my lips, his fingers digging into my back.
“Drunk and womanizer, and he apparently owes a massive gambling debt.”
I frowned a little and looked over. Luke had the dossier open in his lap. He tilted it toward me and I glanced through the writing: sure enough, the guy owed them at least half a million dollars. I whistled and shook my head. “That’s one hell of a debt.”
“Seriously, no wonder they own him.” Luke closed the file.
“Are you sure he’s in there?”
“Says he comes here every night. If he’s not around, we’ll ask after him, maybe see if someone knows where he’s at.”
I put a hand on his leg. “The last cop we approached didn’t take this very well.”
“That was the police chief. This is some washed-up drunk captain with a gambling debt big enough to drown a fucking whale.” He leaned over and kissed me gently. “Come on, if you’re good, I’ll let you sleep in my room again tonight.”
I rolled my eyes but secretly felt a thrill—that was all I really wanted.
He climbed out and I followed. The rain drenched my hair almost immediately, but there was nothing I could do about it. We ran across the street, onto the sidewalk, and ducked under the building’s awning. He pushed the door open, and we stepped into a dim bar that smelled like stale beer and peanut shells.
The floor was sticky, the tables and chairs were scratched and marked with carved graffiti, and the walls were covered with Philadelphia sports memorabilia, all of it in pretty bad shape. Several guys sat at the bar, drinking and watching a baseball game on TV, and a booth toward the back was packed with a few young girls, probably college-aged, drinking and laughing loudly. The bartender was a craggy old lady standing with her arms crossed over her big, broad chest.
“What do you two need?” she asked without taking her eyes off the TV.
“Lager,” I said. “Wine for her. Whatever’s white and cold.”
The bartender nodded and got started on the drinks. I looked closely at all the guys sitting at the bar, and finally stared at the very last man, tucked in the far corner toward the bathrooms. He was hunched over a glass of something brown, staring down into it, but he had the look of a cop—short trimmed hair, clean shaven face, ruddy cheeks, big frame.
Luke caught my eye and nodded once.
The bartender returned with the drinks. I took the wine, sipped it, and tried not to gag. The stuff tasted like grape juice left out in a toilet for three weeks, which it might’ve been for all I knew. Luke drank half his lager down in three big gulps then carried the rest of it down to the far side of the bar. He sat down on Captain Melino’s right and I sat on his left, crossing my legs primly, sitting with my back straight.
He barely looked up. “What do you want?” he asked, like it was normal for people to surround him like this.
“You’re Ryan Melino, right?” Luke leaned toward him. “How about I buy you another drink?”
Captain Melino looked up, frowned, and shrugged. He tossed back the whiskey then waved it toward the bartender. She scowled, but Luke put some cash on the bar, and that got her moving. She refilled the drink then returned to her game.
“Thanks,” Captain Melino grunted. “I still don’t know what you want, though.”
“My name’s Luke. I’m with the Morozov family.”
Captain Melino tensed. “I don’t work major crimes. I don’t give a shit about you mobsters.”
“I’m not here about any outstanding cases.” Luke smiles and leaned closer. “I’m here about the dossier the Lionetti family keeps on you.”
Captain Melino didn’t move. He looked like a squirrel standing in front of an angry dog about to charge. I wasn’t sure if the captain would bolt or fight or roll over and die.
He picked up his drink and tossed it back. “Buy me another.”
Luke obeyed. The bartender poured, looking a little put out, then groaned at the TV.
“I bet you’ve heard the rumor that their dossier got pinched by some mid-level thief not too long ago. I’m here to let you know that the rumor’s true.”
Captain Melino sipped the whiskey and eyed Luke. “I’m guessing it’s in your possession now, is that right?”