Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

Turned out Pudge was at none of his usual haunts. "Well," Aidan said as he peered through a pair of binoculars, "this is far more civilized than I imagined for a wannabe mobster called Pudge." Across Grand Avenue, Patrick Mason was among the finely dressed one-percenters eating canapés and sipping champagne in Broad Plaza. The mini park next to LA's contemporary art museum had been decked out for the holiday charity gala, with fairy lights in the trees, fake snow on the ground, and giant ornaments at the corner nearest the museum's entrance.

"It's a lot of people," Jamie said from the driver's seat where he was looking through his own set of lenses. " His people. He's protecting himself."

His people was right, Pudge's parents the sponsors of tonight's gala. When there'd been no hits on Pudge's credit or bank accounts, they'd scoured his and his parents' social media feeds, seeing the event tonight mentioned on both. Sure enough, Aidan watched as the freckled man with chestnut hair and blue eyes chatted animatedly with the blond stunner on his arm and another couple. Pudge was thin, like White had described him, like the pictures Sutton had showed them, but seeing him next to others, the strength in his wiry limbs was more obvious, his posture impeccable. Upbringing and muscle tone and no evident discomfort at having been shoved into a tux for the evening. "How the hell did this guy get tangled up with the mob?" Aidan wondered aloud.

"Rich kid looking for a thrill," Matt speculated from the phone in the dash holder. He and Rick were parked at the other end of the plaza, at the bottom of the stairs that led to the surface and access streets that ran along and below the plaza.

"Probably how it started," Jamie said. "As for how it's going, that's the boss's daughter on his arm."

Aidan nearly dropped the binoculars. "That's who she is?" He hadn't had nearly enough time with Sutton's file to do a deep dive. "Little boss or big boss?"

Jamie flipped through said file and produced several surveillance photos of the couple. "Big boss. That's Lara Russo, Orlando Russo's only child."

"Is Russo here?"

"Near the ornaments," Berat radioed from where he was stationed on the plaza, dressed as one of the party's hired security guards. "Late fifties, five-ten, salt and pepper hair. Fit too, like he spends too much time in his home gym."

Aidan raised the binoculars again and located Russo, a brick of an older gentleman in a tailored tux, chatting with several other patrons, one a celebrity in an all-black tux that Aidan vaguely recognized but couldn't quite place. It took another few seconds to find the happy couple again a dozen or so feet away, mid-crowd with a different couple. Judging by their resemblance to Pudge, Aidan guessed they were Patrick's parents. "Bet Russo likes being seen with the city's big-money players."

"Makes him seem legitimate too," Matt said, echoing the direction of Aidan's thoughts.

Aidan continued to watch the scene unfold. Black ties, glittery dresses, crystal, and caviar. LA's elite and the mob wanted a piece of it too. All of that made sense. One thing, however, did not. "Why would any of these people deal with someone like Darien White?"

"It's like with the kids," Jamie said. "What's missing?"

"We'll have to figure it out later," Berat said. "Something's up."

Aidan whipped his binoculars back up. Pudge had stepped away from his parents and Lara and stood on the edge of the crowd, facing away from them with his phone to his ear. Shoulders hunched, Pudge plowed a hand into his hair, ruining the gelled do.

"Something didn't go as planned," Jamie said.

And continued to go south as Orlando hustled Pudge's direction, the boss flanked by two guys even bigger than him. Orlando grabbed Pudge by the biceps and hauled him farther away from the crowd, out of hearing range. Whatever he said, it was short, not sweet, and made Pudge turn ghostly pale. Orlando snapped one more thing in Pudge's face, spittle flying, then practically threw the younger man at his guards. He disappeared back into the crowd, leaving his muscle to drag Pudge the opposite direction, toward the back plaza stairs. "Matt, Rick, you're up."

"I'm trailing," Berat said.

"We're pulling around," Jamie said as he cranked the car and pulled into traffic, crossing lanes to turn left onto 2nd Street. "Think that was about White?"

"If it was," Aidan said, "then I'm more confused than ever, because that looked like Pudge getting chewed out for not following orders." Jamie was right; they were missing some piece of the puzzle.

"They're taking him down the stairs," Berat reported. "On foot."

"Matt, Rick," Aidan said. "Move in on foot." He reached through the seats for his vest, then hauled it on and tightened the straps. "We have to get the jump on the muscle if we're going to take Patrick without word getting back to the boss it was us."

"Roger that."

"We're swinging around onto Hope Street," Jamie said.

"Going silent," Matt reported, followed by Berat's, "They're turning onto GTK Way."

"That's the access street below the plaza," Jamie said as he pulled the car to the curb just shy of the street's entrance.

Aidan reached across the console, palming his knee. "Whiskey, I need?—"

"Me to stay in the car, I know." Jamie hauled him in by the vest strap for a quick, hard kiss. "Be careful. I'll block the entrance here."

He exited the car and darted into the lower-level access street, hanging close to the left side wall, in the shadows so as not to attract attention. At this hour, though GTK was mostly empty, just staff cars and delivery trucks waiting to load up after the party in the plaza was over.

Up ahead, Matt and Rick were on the far side of an alcove opening, Berat the side Aidan was approaching from. Matt signaled for Aidan to fall in behind Berat, who was holding a wine bottle he must have snagged from upstairs. This close, Aidan could hear the struggle inside the dark alcove—grunts, curses, fists connecting with skin and bone.

They didn't have time to waste.

Across from him, Matt nodded his agreement and drew his weapon. Once he and Rick were in similar ready positions, Aidan whispered, "Now," to Berat.

The detective tossed the bottle into the street, the glass shattering.

One more crack of bone, one final grunt, then the commotion inside the alcove ceased.

The person who emerged was not the one Aidan had expected. Bloody and bruised, bow tie gone, flecks of red dotting his torn white shirt, Patrick "Pudge" Mason hobbled out of the shadows, one arm dangling from a shoulder that was clearly out of its socket, his other fist raised, ready to go again if he had to.

"Patrick Mason?" Aidan called.

Pudge wiped his split lip with the back of his fist. "Who's asking?"

"Special Agent Aidan Talley."

"Oh shit." He spun on his heel, then wobbled to a stop when a groan sounded from farther back in the alcove.

"There's nowhere to run, man," Matt said. "Do you want to be on your own or with us when they come to?"

"Patrick," Aidan said. "We can help you."

"Fuck," Pudge cursed, then with a groan of his own dragged himself the rest of the way out of the alcove. "You can't take me to the station. I'll be dead for sure, then."

"You don't think you are already? "

He coughed, then winced and grabbed at his shoulder. "I don't even know what the fuck is going on."

"We can sort it somewhere else," Berat said. "We need to move before Russo realizes everyone's missing."

Matt tipped his head toward the street's exit. "I know someplace nearby."