Hunted

Chapter 1

They called him the One-Eyed Dealer.

Between the clouds of smoke in the dark, good-timey atmosphere of the Downtown Memphis bar, Leon Nowak wasn't much to look at. Just under six feet tall, short gray hair with a widow's peak. Scowling. An angry gray eye, the left one concealed behind a black eyepatch, courtesy of his former pakhan.

Leon, however, possessed information on a man. A man that Nico Spadaro was going to kill.

He'd been watching Leon for a while now across the bar, unnoticeable in part to the packed patrons on a Friday night, the cold not enough to keep anyone away. When an hour passed, Leon fell into a typical pattern of smoking, drinking, and checking his watch. He glanced about and checked his burner phone, his agitation evident in the tic of his pale jaw. He slammed down the empty beer glass, signaling to the bartender to pour him a fourth round. Nico had been counting.

"Can I get you anything?" Another bartender asked him.

"Nothing for me, thanks." Nico's mind was clear, sharp, and focused. He needed to stay that way. After all, this was a dangerous man to deal with.

He swallowed down the rest of his water before sending a text to Leon's burner phone.

Meet me in the Center Lane alley.

Leon snuffed out his cigarette then headed for the stairs. Smoking wasn't allowed on the bar's first level. Nico noted the unsteady steps despite the cool, composed demeanor. It was game time, as they say, for Leon, but his body wasn't cooperating as well as he wanted.

Another five minutes went by before Nico followed after him, down the stairs and out the bar, away from the loud music and press of warm bodies. He huddled into his coat as the chilly night air seeped into him. Leon hadn't carried a coat with him, instead dressed militarily in a black turtleneck sweater, dark camo pants, with boots. Nothing else despite the forty-degree weather. Then again, winters in Russia were much more brutal.

Nico strode past the security guard too engrossed in conversation with pretty girls to notice him. He tucked his gloved hand against his right side, undoing the pistol holster attached to his hip. His breathing steady, Nico made a turn into the alley, surrounded by brick on all sides. The stench of rotting trash from the dumpsters up ahead clogged his nose, threatening to water his eyes.

Leon turned his head, noticing his presence. "It's about time you showed up," he huffed, his clipped, accented tone punctuated by thick white breaths. "We were supposed to meet hours ago."

Nico approached, avoiding the stationery cars of patrons unable to find parking elsewhere downtown. "Sorry, I was delayed."

Leon squinted, his face made harsher. "I know you—"

Before he could reach behind him, Nico aimed his Glock at Leon's face. "Don't think about it."

Leon held his hands out at his sides in plain view. He chuckled. "The Spadaro kid."

Nico tucked the barrel of his gun against Leon's chin and freed the pistol from the waistband of the dealer's pants. He took two steps back, his aim returned to Leon's face, his arm steady. He locked eyes with him, telegraphing the deadly intent coiling every muscle in his body like a spring waiting to launch if he didn't get what he wanted. It'd taken too long to plan this rare meeting.

Nico was not about to fuck this up. "Tell me where Misha is."

Leon snorted.

Nico struck out, the butt of his gun connecting with Leon's nose.

The man groaned as blood gushed out instantly, stark against the hand he pressed to staunch the flow. "Blyad!" he swore, his teeth stained red. "Zhopu porvu margala vikoliu!"