Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)

“No. I prefer saucy Italian girls.”

“For phone sex?”

“No. The real thing,” he murmured as he hurried on making his call. “Yeah, Louis, this is Saks. I’ll put you on speaker. You know Chrissy, right?”

“Yes. She was at the apartment when—”

“You got it right. Say hi to Chrissy.”

“Hi, Chrissy,” Louis sing-songed over the speakerphone.

“Hi, Detective Anglotti,” Chrissy called back.

“He’s family, babe. Don’t ‘Detective’ him.”

Chrissy snorted.

“So, Chrissy and I are in London, and we found her boss’ apartment broken in to. He’s gone. Chrissy’s assistant, who was here helping, is missing, too. The place has been torn apart, but it doesn’t seem like anything is missing, and the police don’t seem to care much.”

“There isn’t much they can do except file the paperwork.”

“But I have on good authority that Chrissy’s boss is into high-level criminal activity. Now Pearson and Jessica, Chrissy’s assistant, is missing.”

“Who gave you the information on this Pearson guy?”

“An unimpeachable source. This is why I came to London with Chrissy.”

“Then maybe you should call your unimpeachable source.”

“I will. But what sort of things should we look for?”

“People, when they aren’t in trouble, usually have their cell phones.”

“We didn’t find them here,” Chrissy said. The knots in her stomach twisted tighter. Something bad happened in this apartment.

“Look in unusual places, or if you can get a hold of the cell phone company records, that can help. You might find phone numbers that are out of place, or many of the same number at a specific time. That can be helpful. And...” Louis let out a breathy sigh, “make sure you’re careful. If someone went through a lot of trouble to cover their tracks, then they’re going to be watching their backs, too.”

“Of course,” Chrissy said. “And I'll try that for Mr. Pearson’s phone. Thanks.”

“No problem, but now I have to go fight Westfield’s crime.”

“Then say hello to the family for me,” Saks told him.

“I’ll be sure to send your regards to Uncle Vits.”

“Don’t eat too many hot wings.”

“’Bye, Anthony.”

Chrissy snickered as Saks hung up the phone.

“What?”

“Anthony,” she muttered, her tongue stuck partially out.

“It’s my name. You going to harass me for what my parents did to me, or are you going to make some phone calls?”

“Weren't you going to call the unimpeachable source?”