The Con Man's Daughter Read Online Free

straight to the hardware. A Beretta M9 pointed at Eddie's face.
    Lukin moved between them, murmuring, "No, no, don't let them see this." Lukin assumed he was always being watched. He ordered the bodyguard to put the gun away but kept his huge hand on Eddie's chest until the gun was holstered. A smudge of ink, a Russian prison mark, stained the web of his hand.
    "Why you do that bullshit, Eddie?" the standing bodyguard said. "Pavel's just doing his job."
    "No, he wasn't," Eddie said. "I know what he was doing."
    Pavel's face was ashen. His left eye had already begun to puff up. He pointed up at Eddie and growled something that was clearly a threat in any language. Lukin ordered him to shut his mouth. Still sucking air, Pavel grabbed the wooden rail and pulled himself to his feet.
    The goons who surrounded Lukin had always made it clear they didn't like the non-Russian in the organization. But Lukin knew that Russian criminals changed alliances more often than their underwear. It was one of the reasons he'd hired Eddie. He knew that it was loyalty, no matter how misguided, that had forced Eddie out of the NYPD.
    Lukin motioned for Eddie to walk with him. They turned around quickly, heading back toward Coney Island. Lukin liked to stay in between Coney and Brighton to cut down on surveillance possibilities. Eddie flexed his right hand, examining the small, brittle bones. He could smell Pavel's cheap cologne on his knuckles.
    "No word on your daughter?" the old man asked.
    "Nothing," Eddie said.
    "And now you've come to find out who you should kill."
    Eddie didn't know what to expect from his former boss. The old man didn't owe him anything. Lukin had hired him after his forced resignation from the NYPD and Eileen's cancer diagnosis. These events, and other sins, had become nightmares Eddie could no longer drink away. Becoming Lukin's overpaid courier had given him a solid place to stand.
    "First, I'll get my daughter back," Eddie said.
    The bodyguards were behind them now, talking angrily in Russian. Eddie checked the back of his neck for blood. Pavel's fingernails had dug into his skin.
    "I have no one left to help you fight this animal," said the old man. "These two idiots behind us, maybe six others. He's taken everything else."
    "Then it is Borodenko," Eddie said.
    "Borodenko is in Moscow, but that means nothing. My sources tell me certain things today. He runs this show one hundred percent."
    "You still have sources inside his operation?"
    "For what I pay, they should kiss my feet."
    Yuri Borodenko was a flashy thug who loved to cruise the Brighton Beach nightclubs, showing off his stunning young wife, a former Russian model. Although in the United States only five years, he'd amassed a fortune through extortion and brutality. He was known to walk into local businesses wielding a cattle prod, announcing he was the new partner. An ethnic Russian, Borodenko got rich by terrorizing his own people.
    "Why kidnap my daughter?"
    "Snafu," the old man said. "My source is having breakfast with this braggart Lexy, who's telling him Borodenko calls him this morning from Russia. Very pissed off, Mr. Borodenko. This snafu made him cancel this important shipment due to leave today. A woman is involved in this snafu. Lexy says that Borodenko gives him strict orders to find Sergei, his man to fix this special problem. Lexy is an errand boy, but he's bragging. Big man. As if Borodenko is asking him to fix this problem."
    "This woman is my daughter?"
    "This is what I think."
    "I know Lexy Petrov, the bartender," Eddie said. "But is he talking about Sergei the Macedonian?"
    "No. Sergei Zhukov, a Russian. One of Borodenko's new lunatics. He surrounds himself with people without brains. But how much brains are needed to hit people over the head and say 'Give me your money'?"
    "Why would Borodenko's men be searching my house in the first place?"
    "Money. What else? There's an old Russian saying, Eddie. In English, it means 'The clock is ticking