[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Jqhg9Zb.png[/img][/center] [b]Brooklyn, NY[/b] Parker sat in the rental car and kept his eyes peeled on the street traffic. The meeting spot turned out to be a park. The odds of hitting Mal in the park were bad. Taking him hadn't been the plan, but Parker would not object to doing it here if an opening presented itself. Middle of the night, there wasn't much going on but Parker still watched the cars that passed and the few parked on the street with him. The piece Graves gave him rested on his lap. Lights flashed across the windshield as an SUV turned a corner and pulled on to the street. Parker ducked down to avoid lights hitting him and watched the SUV idle for a few moments in the street. The windows on the car were dark, but Parker saw movement inside. Several figures inside the car were moving. The back passenger window rolled down slowly. Parker saw Mal Resnick, fatter than he remembered, squinting out in the dark. Mal said something to someone in the car and rolled the window back up. The SUV's tires squealed as it sped off. Parker counted seconds. At thirty, he started the car and whipped around in the street to follow the fleeing SUV. He caught up with the car as it turned on to the highway. Parker slowed and followed from a distance as Mal's car headed into the city. --- [b]Center City, WA[/b] Tracy walked through the darkened dance floor of the nightclub. Even though it was eight in the morning, a half dozen people writhed in time with the strobe lights and thumping electronic music. It was too dark for Tracy to see their faces, but he was certain they would have the pinned eyes that came with a coke high. The clubbers gave him a wide berth as he passed through them on his way to the VIP. The club was called Elysium, and one of Hyde's guys ran it. The guy in question was sitting in the VIP section in the club's rear. Fat Ricky Fat was rail thin with spiky black hair. Elysium's clientele ran towards the college crowd, the trust fund type that blew all mommy and daddy's money on drugs and danced the night away. From what Tracy gleamed, that was the type of kid Linda Flynn was. "Tracy Lawless," Ricky said in that thick, fake ghetto accent he liked to put on. "Sup, dawg?" Ricky sat in a booth in the VIP section's far corner. Cash and drugs were scattered across the table, the drugs in little baggies and the cash in hundred dollar bundles. Speed, weed, X, and coke were among the varieties of shit Ricky pushed to the kids who frequented his club. Tracy saw a pair of high-heeled feet sticking out from under the table. Scumbag Ricky always liked to exchange blow for getting blown. "What brings you here? I be paying Hyde his dues. I be paid up this month, he ain't got no cause to fuck with me." Tracy didn't say a word until he was sitting across the table from Ricky. He pulled a photo out of his jacket, it was Linda Flynn with her parents. He slid it across the table to Ricky and let him look at it in the dim light. "She had your number in her room. You know her?" "I be knowing her," he said before groaning. "Damn girl, do that again... uhh..." He looked at Tracy and nodded. "Yeah, this bitch be coming into my club and dancing and coping." "She come in last night?" "Yeah, I saw her with a couple of bitches. They left pretty early." "What's early?" "Before three." "You ever do a trade with her like you're doing now?" "Nah, dawg. That be for the girls who be lacking funds. I wanna hit it, but that bitch always be paying, even when I offer to trade. I don't wanna stick it, I wanna lick it." Ricky flicked his tongue at Tracy. A second later, Ricky gripped the table and shut his eyes as the girl under the table finished her work. Tracy felt his annoyance growing as Ricky rode out his climax and the girl came up out the table. He tossed the girl a baggie of coke and pointed towards the door. "Bathroom be down the hall, bitch. Wash your mouth out." She scampered off as Ricky zipped his fly up. He looked at Tracy and shrugged. When Tracy didn't speak or move, Ricky scowled and grew agitated. "What the fuck? I told you what I be knowing, dawg. What you want?" "I want you to tell me what you know," Tracy said slowly. "And I want you to speak properly. Stop the ghetto talk, Ricky. You're Asian, and from fucking Portland." "Man, fuck you! I ain't know a goddamn th--" Tracy came up over the table and grabbed Ricky by his thin neck with one hand while the other went into Ricky's mouth and pulled on his tongue. Ricky squealed as Tracy pulled on his tongue and shoved him hard into the table surface. His head banged hard against the table and he bit his tongue, drawing blood. "Gahbbammit" He shouted through his injured tongue and reaching for something in his pants. Tracy had his own gun out and pointed at Ricky before he could even get close to his own piece. "Give, Ricky," Tracy said calmly. "Give right now or I shoot you in the heart, pull out your tongue and shove it up your own ass." "Okay, okay!" Ricky sobbed, trying to catch the blood dripping from his mouth. Tracy noticed the ghetto accent was gone. "Look... I... there were these Russian that came to me last week. Mean son of bitches and they... they asked about that girl, okay?" "What did they ask about?" "They wanted to know how often she came to the club and she was with and what times she came. They gave me a number to call the next time she came in. They gave me ten thousand dollars to do it. I called them last night." "Give me their names and the number you called right now...," Tracy said before he added. "Dawg." --- [b]Manhattan, NY[/b] Parker pulled into a parking spot across the street from the high-rise apartment. He'd trailed Mal's car to the place and watched from halfway down the block while Mal and three goons got out the car and went inside the building. Parker drove around the block and scoped the area out. The building's front door was the only access point and it was guarded by a door man who probably had a panic button near by. The place was a fortress, and he needed to figure out how to break in. A man walked down the street toward Parker's car. He watched him warily. His suspicion turned to disbelief when a street light shone on the man's face. "No way," Parker said as the man stood beside the driver door. "Yes way," said Agent Graves. "Sorry to interrupt the hunt. Wanna grab a cup of coffee, Parker?"