24. Logan

CHAPTER 24

LOGAN

Stan and I are settled in our usual booth at the back of the sports bar we frequented when we were both on the force. I still do, just not as often, and this feels like a trip down memory lane. The air is filled with the scent of stale beer and sweat, accompanied by the typical noises you’d find in an establishment like this. The raucous laughter of buzzed patrons and the pounding rhythm of rock music from the speakers. A plate of extra greasy chicken wings sits between us, forgotten in favor of our shared silence.

"How are you holding up, brother?" Stan asks, his voice barely recognizable above the racket.

"Okay," I reply, clenching my jaw and avoiding his gaze. "Hanging in there."

"Cecilia was a good woman," he says, sadness clouding his tired eyes. "She’s in heaven now. Believe me. If angels are real, your mom is getting her medal now from the Man himself."

I nod, unable to find words. More silence follows as we pluck some food from the plate and dip it in sauce. But the truth is I have no appetite.

"Logan..." Stan begins, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "What’s going on? This dinner isn't about old times, is it?"

"Nah."

His expression turns serious, a knowing crease forming between his brows. "I didn't think so. What's really happening?"

"Was hoping I could get some intel."

"What kind of intel? You know I’m not Google. Can't give out everything."

"I know… I need information on the Russians in the city–their moves, their people. Specifically, a guy with a golden tooth."

Stan's face hardens. "You work for the Russians. Why are you asking me?"

"You know who he is? The man with a golden tooth?"

Stand leans in closer, lowering his voice to the point where I have to read his lips. "Why do you need this info, Logan?"

There is a loaded pause while I’m struggling to weigh my trust in him against the danger of revealing too much. Eventually, I say nothing. He’s my friend. One of the best and one of the very few who stuck around despite all the shit I had to take from the department and the co-workers when I was booted off the force. But I have a feeling that telling too much to too many people may put those people in jeopardy.

"Alright," Stan concedes, seeing as I’m not willing to share. "The man you're looking for…they call him Shtyk. He used to work for Yuri Solovey. Was his enforcer."

This bit I already heard from Vlad.

I pluck another chicken wing from the pile in front of me to occupy my mouth with something instead of spilling what I shouldn’t. Because this secret I now share with Sasha wants to come out. All these emotions inside my chest—wrapped around my heart—want to burst free. And it’s harder than I thought—pretending like nothing is going on in my life.

"From what we've gathered so far," Stan begins, taking a swig of his beer, "Shtyk is trying to take over the gun trade and routes down south from Vlad." He pauses, narrowing his eyes as if considering whether to continue. "He’s also talking to Toro and Toro isn’t exactly friends with Vlad."

The puzzle in my head just had more pieces added to it, but the picture is still unclear.

I nod, filing the information away. Toro has been on every law enforcement agency’s radar for years now and nobody’s been able to pin the asshole down. Carefully, I press further. "Is there any truth to the rumors about Vlad being involved in his father's death?"

Stan gives a strange look. "Where did you hear this?"

"You know, people talk."

Stan exhales slowly, his expression thoughtful and conflicting at the same time. "I don't know for sure, brother, but I wouldn't be surprised if that were true."

"Why not?"

"Vlad's been making some moves lately too," my friend explains, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle. "He’s in bed with the rival Arellano cartel, for one. And Toro hates their guts. Although Vlad's business tactics are way different than his old man's. Most of his businesses are legit now."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Stan confirms, taking another swig. "Your employer condones human trafficking. I think he even spoke out against it at some event last month. And Shtyk is supposedly knee-deep in selling his own youth to the highest bidder. He handled it for Yuri too."

I consider this new information, wondering how it fits into the puzzle I'm trying to solve. It's clear that the power dynamics within the Russian mafia are shifting–and not necessarily for the better.

"Thanks for the intel, man."

"Anytime," he replies, draining some more of his beer. "Just be careful, Logan. I don't want to see you get mixed up in something you can't handle."

I nod, appreciating his concern even as I steel myself for the dark path ahead.

The rock tune thumping in the background only adds to the chaotic atmosphere reigning inside my brain.

"Sounds like this Shtyk is a real scum," I comment.

"Couldn't agree more," Stan replies, leaning closer so he doesn't have to raise his voice. "The guy's bad news all around. I wouldn’t dig any deeper if I were you."

"Think he'd have a valid reason to openly attack Vlad?"

"Possible," Stan admits, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "Considering Shtyk still thinks Yuri's businesses should've gone to him. But listen, man, with Vlad in hot water right now because of the Arellano cartel, you're in danger too."

"I know," I reply tersely, fully aware of the risk I'm taking just by asking these questions. "But I’m already in this shit. Might as well prepare myself for what’s coming." Or what’s coming for Sasha .

"Alright." Stan's expression is serious. "Just be careful, Logan. I mean it."

We lapse into silence for a moment before Stan continues sharing more of the intel he's gathered. "Solovey was a fucking plague. Had his hands in all sorts of dirty dealings–blackmail, extortion, torture, taking out rivals back in Russia. Taking out public figures who spoke out against him. My buddy at the Bureau says everyone is happy he’s dead. Be it Vlad’s doing or someone else. They deserve a fucking medal."

I clench my jaw at the thought of all the bad shit Yuri Solovey did. I can’t fathom how a man like this made a son like Sasha. They are nothing alike. My father had always warned me about people like Yuri, always told me to be wary of the ones wearing expensive suits.

"If it really was Vlad, he might've had a good reason for wanting his old man out of the picture," Stan adds, his words heavy with implication. "And honestly, the more I think about it, the more it appears that you may be right. Isaac Thoreau disappearing and Vlad suddenly getting his crew and his club looks fishy to me."

"True." I recollect the chaos surrounding Thoreau’s exit last year. It was all over the news. "No one's seen him since Yuri's death?"

"Nope. Nada. The man vanished."

"What about that FBI agent they said went rogue?"

"Same. Gone."

"Shit, that’s messed up," I mutter, my mind racing as all this new information comes in. There's more to this situation than meets the eye. But it’s not mine to deal with. My job is to protect Sasha and my gut tells me to focus my attention on Shtyk and not people no longer in the picture.

"Look, Logan," Stan says, his tone firm but caring. "I'll help you however I can, but don't go poking your nose where it doesn't belong. You've already been through enough."

"Appreciate it," I reply, feeling a surge of gratitude for my friend's unwavering loyalty. "It means a lot."

We lift our beer bottles in unison, clinking them together in a silent toast before taking long swigs.

Every fiber in my being tells me to follow my friend’s advice and leave it alone. But can I leave it alone if the truth can help me keep Sasha safe? I know full well that the path to this truth I so want to find is paved with danger–and that sometimes, the only way out is to dive headfirst into the darkness.