Mission Impossible

Chapter 51 ~ Hatching a Plan

HARRY'S POV

  "What happened to Andrew Reid?" I asked the man in front of me. He was tied up to a chair in his flat, and scared out of his mind.

  "I don't know, mate, and that's the truth!" he pleaded with me. "No one knows." His panic seemed real, and he was way too disorganized to be experienced enough to fake it, so I trusted him when he said this. But all I had right now was fear, so my gun remained trained on him.

  "What do you know?" I responded.

  "A couple of nights ago, Andrew and a few of the bouncers just disappeared. We all saw a bird go up to the backroom with him, and just figured they had continued the party back at his place. The next night he didn't show up, so they brought me in," he retold the story. "That's all I know."

  "This girl, what did she look like?" I asked. The man in front of me widened his eyes and let out a breath. Yep. Had to be Clara.

  "She was right fit," he started off. "Brown hair, long legs," he listed.

  "Was she with anyone?" I questioned.

  "Besides Reid? No, not that I saw," he said. Despite this, I was sure it was Clara. It didn't matter if this man hadn't seen Zayn. It was Clara; it had to be.

  "Why would anyone want to hurt Reid?" I threw another question his way.

  "I don't know, slept with someone's girlfriend maybe?" he lied. 

  "A lie? Such a shame," I said as I lowered the gun to his pants. His eyes widened.

  "Alright, alright, relax! I don't get paid enough to lose my boys," he mumbled the later part. "Reid deals weapons with this guy named Dmitry. Real scum bag, too. I'm guessing things went South in the side business," he told me. "But that's all I know, honest."

  "We always know more than we think we do," I argued. "Where can I find Dmitry?"

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  I strolled up to Sal's Pizzeria, my gun tucked in my waistband, although I didn't think I would need to use it. I had a plan, and it was insane. Mostly because it did not require a gun. If it went well.

  I entered the restaurant and immediately noticed the lack of customers. The place was nice, and it was clear a lot of money had been put into it. But it was also clear that money wasn't coming from pizza sales. The host smiled at me, welcoming me into the pizzeria.

  "Welcome to Sal's Pizzeria!" he greeted. "Table for one?" he asked.

  "Two," I corrected. "Dmitry will be joining me." The warm smile on the host's face disappeared, and he nodded at me instead. He reached underneath the podium, and my instinct was to draw my gun in defense. But to earn their trust, I had to give mine.

  I heard the faintest buzz, suggesting he had clicked on a button. What this button summoned, however, was another obstacle. 

  I waited 32 seconds before two buff men exited the kitchen doors, yet something told me they were not the cooks. They held the door open and stepped back, signaling for me to come their way. I continued forward and entered the kitchen, glancing around to see a full yet try free kitchen. As soon as the doors swung closed, one of the men put his arm out to stop me, while the other one started to pat me down.

  "Waistband. In the back," I told him before he could reach it, hoping my transparency would convey a sense of trust. He removed my gun from my waistband and continued his search, coming up empty. No one in the kitchen even paid me any attention, which was fine by me.