“A gun only makes this worse. I’ve got my phone. If this goes sideways, call in the backup. They should be here any minute.”
He took a deep breath and headed toward the front entrance. The last few hours felt unreal. That morning he had been a successful financier preparing to close the biggest deal of his career. Now he was walking into a meeting with gang members in a ruined pigeon loft on the edge of town, trying to save a son he had only just discovered.
The front door stood slightly open. Voices drifted out along with cigarette smoke. Stanton squared his shoulders, set his face into calm confidence, and pushed the door open.
Inside, the loft was dim and hazy with smoke. A single bulb hung from the ceiling on a wire. Four men of Middle Eastern appearance sat around a table littered with bottles and food wrappers. Another man lay passed out on a mattress in the corner. Conversation stopped the moment Stanton entered. Four pairs of eyes fixed on him with surprise and suspicion.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them asked sharply. He was built thick through the shoulders, around thirty, with a scar on his cheek. Stanton recognized Samir Gazi from the photo.
“Good evening,” Stanton said calmly, closing the door behind him. “I’m looking for a boy. Alex Keller.”
Silence settled over the room. Samir rose slowly from the table.
“And who are you to be looking for him?”
Stanton held his gaze.
“I’m his father.”
One of the men barked out a laugh.
“Hear that, Samir? This guy in a suit that costs more than my car says he’s Alex’s daddy. That’s rich.”
Samir kept staring at Stanton. There was cold curiosity in his eyes now, the look of a predator sizing up something unexpected.
“His father, huh,” he said. “Where’ve you been for the last fifteen years, Dad?”
“That’s between me and my son,” Stanton said evenly. “Where is he?”
Samir came around the table and stopped close enough for Stanton to smell cheap cologne and liquor.
“You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that. Trouble is, there’s no Alex here.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Stanton took one step forward. “I know you recruit kids to do your dirty work. And I know Alex got pulled in.”
Samir narrowed his eyes.
“You seem well informed. You a cop?”
“I’m a businessman. And I’m prepared to pay for information about my son.”
Samir grinned, showing a gold tooth.
“Businessman, huh? I’ve got a business too. But men at your level don’t usually have sons living in a dump on Lower Street.”
“Sometimes they do,” Stanton said, “when they make a bad decision and walk away from a woman and a child.”
Something in that answer seemed to satisfy Samir. He nodded slowly.
“All right then. How much are you willing to pay for information?”
Stanton took out his wallet.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Cash, right now?” Samir’s eyes flashed with greed. He glanced at the others. “Hear that? Daddy’s ready to drop ten grand. Kid must be worth it. Smart boy too. Could go far. If he lives long enough.”
Stanton’s heart skipped.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Samir smiled again.
“Our line of work is dangerous. Things happen.”
One of the men stood up from the table.
“Samir, quit messing with him. Tell him the truth. We don’t have the kid.”
“Shut up, Rashid,” Samir snapped. “I’m handling this.”
But Stanton had already turned to the speaker.
“What do you mean you don’t have him? Where is he?”
Rashid shrugged.
“How should I know?”
“He was here, though, right?”
