Page 8 of Locked and Loaded

“Yeah, yeah, I saw her.”

Dragan grinned. Ali’s accent was pure New York. “When?”

“Dunno… A couple of hours ago now.”

“What did she buy?” Dragan asked.

The kid struggled and tried to get free, but Dragan held him fast. He knew if he let go, the kid would be gone in a flash.

“A pile of junk, man. Dresses, bags, shoes. A whole bunch.”

Dragan frowned. What the hell did she need this shit for? “Did she say where she was going?”

“No, man. She just said she had to meet a woman.”

“Nothing else?” Dragan demanded.

“Nah. Nothing else.”

Dragan let the kid go and stepped back.

Ali turned around, rubbing his arm where Dragan had held him.

“You see which direction she went when she left here?”

The kid had a sullen look on his face. “I got nothing else, man. Just go.”

Dragan studied the kid for a second and then pulled a twenty-euro note out of his pocket. “Where did she go?” he asked, holding the money in the air.

Ali’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Dragan as if trying to decide if he was fast enough to grab the money and run.

Dragan grinned. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’ll save you the trouble… You’re not.”

The kid shot him a snotty look.

He tucked the twenty back in his pocket. “I’ll give you a hundred if you tell me the rest of what you know.”

“Show me the money,” the kid demanded.

Dragan pulled a hundred out of his other pocket and held it up.

Ali watched the money closely. “Okay, man, she left here and went to the end of the alley and took a cab. The driver is Abdul.”

Dragan snorted. “Abdul. Yeah, sure. I’m not stupid, and you just lost a hundred bucks.”

“Wait! Okay! His name is Zayd Tahiri.”

“Call him.”

“I don’t⁠—”

Dragan took a step forward, and the kid immediately held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll call him.” He pulled out the phone and made the call. He switched to Arabic, but Dragan understood every word.

“The Royal Mansour? Aywa.” He clicked off the call.

“Thanks,” Dragan said and handed over the hundred.

“You understood that?” Ali asked, surprised.