Julie Beard - Touch Of The White Tiger

“Glad that’s over with, eh, Ricco?” called Sasha, his 25-year-old cousin, who stopped when he was close enough to clap Marco warmly on the back. His gruff smile notwithstanding, Sasha looked like an R.M.O. operative, with bluntly cut black hair, pale skin and dark circles under his eyes. His knee-length black shirt hanging over black jeans added to his mobster mystique.

“Sash, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Did the old lady beg you to kill Gorky again?”

Marco nodded and heaved a sigh as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

Sasha shook his head. “You have my sympathies. Aunt Natasha is one determined lady. Too bad she had to find out what really happened to Danny.”

“Yeah.” Marco nodded toward the canal. He had only recently found out himself for sure—Danny had been gunned down in an R.M.O.-related drug deal because he wouldn’t let Gorky buy him off. Danny had tried to make an arrest, but his crooked partner had provided no backup. Danny had been honest. Innocent. Now he was dead. “I’m going back.”

Sasha’s impassive face relinquished a concerned frown. “Uh, not yet, Ricco. I need to tell you something.” He glanced cautiously over both his bony shoulders, then leaned in close. “I followed you out here from the city so I could deliver a message. You have an appointment tonight at Falling Water on the Lake.”

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