"I wondered if the great Stephen Dagger would ever grace my humble business," Kubikov said with a heavy accent and a sneer that pa.s.sed for his smile. Kubikov slipped onto a seat in the chair opposite Ross in a manner much like Mo imagined a King would place himself on a throne. Big Joe stood at Kubikov's back.

"I eagerly await this time," Kubikov continued. "Search him." He double snapped his fingers and in response, one of the Joes pulled Ross up from the bench to pat him down. Then they pushed Ross back onto the bench seat.

"Search bag," Kubikov ordered.

Joe grabbed Mo's messenger bag from the bench beside her and dumped its contents on the table.

"What the fried eggs are you doing?" Mo started to stand and Little Joe-or was it Joe-forced her down with a beefy hand.

Ross started to get up as if he was about to come to her defense. She quelled him with a hand to the thigh.

"What is question? Fried eggs? Do we discuss the breakfast? I not understanding," Kubikov said. "The kitchen specialty, it is chicken wings. Not eggs. You wish wings?"

Mo had observed drunken patrons chewing on messy BBQ wings and licking the sauce off their fingers like they probably wanted to lick on the girls. Yuck. "No thanks. I'm not hungry."

Joe picked up Mo's camera and then fiddled with the controls, scanning the digital photos on the memory card. He said some words Mo didn't understand before tossing the camera down. Mo resisted the impulse to protest the rough treatment and opened her bag. She pushed the items off the edge of the table into it.

"Very cagey, Mr. Dagger," Kubikov said. He snapped his fingers once and one Joe produced a pack of foreign looking cigarettes and a lighter. After lighting up, Kubikov's first puff produced a stream of smoke into Ross and Mo's faces.

Mo resisted the urge to remind him that the law forbid smoking in public places.

"Search her," Kubikov snapped again.

This time Mo couldn't stop Ross from jumping up. "n.o.body touches her," he growled. Mo had never seen him look so dangerous.

"Okay, I agree," Kubikov said. "For now."

Ross subsided onto the bench again.

"You know I am Yuri Kubikov."

They nodded.

Mo didn't know what drew her attention to the area near the door to the club, but she glanced around one of the Joes and saw Gigantor enter.

"Tell Kubikov what is bring you here, Mr. Dagger."

"My name is Grant. Ross Grant."

"Ah yes. But is name Stephen Dagger everyone knows you. Correct statement?"

"I suppose so."

"Then no more games, Mr. Dagger. What is you want?" the Russian demanded with a flick of his hand.

"I think the question really is what do you want of me?" Ross asked "Mr. Dagger I tire. If you wish money then say to Kubikov face."

"I don't know what you mean."

Kubikov chuckled "I am understand you have copies of my doc.u.ments. And you tell me leave money at your girlfriend house. Correct statement?"

"No. I don't have anything of yours and I don't want money from you. What doc.u.ments are you talking about?"

"You know."

"What makes you think I have them?"

"Your fiancee," the Russian said with a nod toward Mo. "She works at investigation agency. Correct statement?"

"Sort of," Mo said, not correcting the fiancee part.

"You know someone from agency contact us, Mr. Dagger."

"Well, it wasn't me, was it?" Mo asked, hoping Ross didn't suspect her of something.

"No."

Relief.

"But your agency."

"Who at the agency?" Ross asked.

"This person use your name of Dagger." Kubikov's lip curled and his thick brows converged into one.

Mo thought about telling Kubikov that Clarence was using the Dagger name, but then what would happen to the receptionist? As angry as she was with him, she didn't want to reveal his ident.i.ty to a mobster.

One of the thugs whispered into the gangster's ear. "And who was squirrely guy at drop point tonight?" Kubikov asked. "He your accomplice too?"

Uh oh, Mo thought. Squirrely fit Clarence. Drop point? Must have been her house.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ross replied.

"I lose patience with game, Mr. Dagger," Kubikov said. "Give me doc.u.ments now and I not kill you and your fiancee," he said with a nod toward Mo.

Gulp.

"Maybe I am hungry after all. Could we both get an order of wings?" Mo asked.

"I am good host," Kubikov said, snapping his fingers in the air.

Joe came forward. The Russian mumbled a few words Mo didn't hear. Joe nodded and walked away.

"Why are you ordering dinner when he's threatening my life?" Ross whispered to her.

"He's threatening me too, you know. Besides, it got one of the henchmen to leave."

"Come now, Dagger," Kubikov said, impatiently. "I no want to kill you. I am businessman. I come to country to live American dream just like you, big film star. Just give me my doc.u.ments."

"I don't have doc.u.ments. How would I get your doc.u.ments?"

"Good question. I wonder same thing."

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Ross said.

"Come now, Dagger. Just give what you owe me. Give back what you take. No hard feelings. I get my American dream and you get your American dream. Everybody happy. I think fair, don't you?"

"Exceedingly fair," Ross said to the mobster before leaning toward Mo. "I think we need to get out of here now. It seems to me we've found out about all we can without being killed."

"Yeah, let's see what we can do," Mo whispered back. "Be ready to drop to the floor."

"What are you going to do, Mo?"

"Hopefully create a distraction."

"You have discussed enough," Kubikov said. "Now give."

"Could we order drinks first?" Mo asked as loudly as she could. "I know Stephen Dagger appreciates his fans."

Kubikov's eyes widened when she hopped up on the bench. "Hey, y'all, Stephen Dagger is buying drinks and signing autographs for the first twenty fans to get themselves over to his table."

Mo's words acted like a starter's pistol. And whether brought on by the promise of free booze or by the precious signatures, a melee of people rushed the table. Kubikov and his henchmen turned as one to confront the crowd. Unnoticed, Mo and Ross dropped to the floor and then crawled through the forest of legs.

In the treetops above them, insults and warnings screeched out. Gla.s.ses spilled and punches were thrown. Gla.s.s broke. Bodies were pushed, pulled, pounded. Beer, chicken wings, cheese covered nachos-and indeterminate substances-fell from the treetops onto their heads and backs. Mo and Ross reached a clear s.p.a.ce and then leapt up.

As they sprinted for the door, a voice came from behind them. "Where is Stephen Dagger? He owes me a drink."

Mo and Ross rounded the half-wall. The bouncer they'd encountered earlier remained at his post, blocking their path.

"What's going on in there?" the bouncer asked.

"There are some drunks demanding free drinks," Mo answered. "You better go in and help calm them down."

"Again?" The bouncer headed into the club's interior.

Mo grabbed Ross's hand and they ran for the door. Even in the parking lot, she didn't look back. Not until they were in the Mercedes and driving away, did she give a sigh of relief. When she glanced in the side mirror, she didn't see anyone emerge from the club.

"I don't see anyone behind us," Ross said.

"I don't either. We aren't being followed. That's a good sign isn't it?"

"I see nothing good about this situation."

Neither did Mo.

Chapter Twelve.

Clarence slammed his apartment door shut behind him and leaned against it, catching his breath. According to Mo, Kubikov hadn't paid. Worse, his goons might have seen Clarence while he had been staking out her house. They might be out front waiting for him right now.

Crossing to the closet, he took the phone from his pocket and punched in his girl's number. He grabbed the suitcase from the floor, threw it on the bed, and opened the top.

"Baby," he said when she answered. "I'm leaving town. Can you meet me here in thirty?" He nabbed an armful of clothes-hangers and all-and shoved them into the case.

"Do you have the money?" she asked.

Pausing, Clarence winced. "No," he said in a whisper. "He didn't pay. He just sent his goons to ransack the drop point."

"Then what are you calling for?" she demanded. "We need that half mil to make a new life. I can't get the money on my own or I would."

"We can leave town and start over anywhere," he urged. "We can do without the money."

"Start over with nothing? Are you kidding? You're as useless as my husband," she said, her voice shrill. After a moment, she asked, "Is Kubikov onto you?"

Yes, he thought. "No," he answered.

"That's something good at least," she replied.

"Will you come over?" he pleaded. "Or I could meet you at a hotel. Please, baby. You know how I crave your body."

Perhaps he could convince her to leave town with him if they were together in person. He could do without the money if he had her. Surely she would feel the same when she thought about it.

"Not tonight. I'm busy. I'll come by tomorrow."

"Okay, babe. Love you," he said even though she had already hung up.

Clarence plopped down on the bed, undecided whether to continue packing. He took the lipstick tube from his pocket and laid it on the bed next to his leg. As he continued to ponder his course, a knock sounded on his door. Must be his landlady.

He hesitated though. It could be one of Kubikov's goons...or the big man himself.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Relieved at the female voice he called, "Come in."

Almost immediately, the door opened and Heather Davies marched over the threshold.

"Why haven't you returned my calls?" she demanded with one hand on her hip. "You must have those photos by now."

"No." He slumped further into the bed. "Kubikov didn't pay up." Clarence didn't mention he'd pretty much abandoned getting the photos back anyway.