The Divorcee Murder Club

Sesenta Y Tres ~ 63

               Street lamps illuminate parts of the sidewalk like spotlights on a stage. In the shadows is a man's silhouette, but when he steps into the light, I can see his jacket collar turned up, guarding his face against the drizzle. Every few steps, he disappears into the darkness, then reappears under another street lamp further ahead.

It's just too bad Evan has no idea I'm watching him with binoculars or that Sammy is following behind him in an SUV, ready to snatch him.

He thinks he's meeting Chloe for drinks, but she's just the bait. 

When I told her about the photos of Evan with the detectives, her porcelain skin turned even more pale, and she looked like she was going to vomit on my sneakers. Without hesitation, she agreed to ambush him. 

So now here we are. 

Evan looks both ways before stepping into the street and raises his hand to hail his Uber, a.k.a. Sammy. He has no idea that two of Sammy's men are waiting in the backseat for him, and I can see the surprise in his body language when he opens the back door. However, he doesn't have time to question anything because he's yanked inside the SUV, and Sammy speeds off.

I type out a text to Angie.

Me: I'll be late for supper tonight.

∆∆∆

The basement of this secret mob house is dark and cold, with only one lamp shedding light. I stand in a corner, bathed in shadows, with my back pressed against the masonry. Evan sits in a chair in the middle of the room, his arms tied behind his back and a pillowcase over his head. He jerks this way and that way when Sammy pulls up a chair, the legs screeching against the cement floor.

"What do you want!?" he shouts, but Sammy ignores him and presses the barrel of his gun to Evan's thigh.

"Do you know what this is?"

"No..."

Sammy clicks off the safety. "It's a gun with a silencer pressed at an angle to shoot right through your kneecap. So we're going to play a game where I ask a question, and you answer. If you lie to me, I pull the trigger. Got it?"

"Why are you doing this!?"

"No, no. I'm the one asking the questions," Sammy tuts. "Why have you been speaking to the cops? And think very carefully before lying to me."

"I haven't!"

Sammy sighs, "Wrong answer, Evan. I'm giving you the count of three to tell me the truth. Why have you been meeting with Detective Shapiro and Detective Archibald?"

"Fuck you, asshole!"

BANG.

I flinch as a bullet ricochets off the basement floor, and Evan screams. 

"That was a warning," Sammy says. "The next one blows off your knee. One... two..."

"They ambushed me!" Evan exclaims. 

"Where?" 

"Outside of my therapy group."

"When?"

"About eight months ago."

My breath hitches at his reply, and my back goes completely rigid. Eight months? That was way before this whole thing with the Sisters began. Something doesn't add up, and I'm more confused now than before.

"Why did they approach you?" Sammy asks. "What do they think you know?" 

"I don't know, man! They asked about what happens at my work, but I don't know shit about no cocaine getting passed around the construction site."