The Gun Runner(28)

“Cut their sleeves off and use ’em for tourniquets. Secure their phones, and search the vehicle.”

“Got it, Boss.”

“Keep eyes on the lot until the van is gone,” I said into the mouthpiece.

“Roger that,” Lucky responded.

I turned toward Svetli. My mouth twisted into a prideful smirk. “Sorry for the delay.”

He tossed his head toward the three men. “For fucking sake. Who are these fucks?”

I didn’t dare tell him of the problems I’d been having with Agrioli. “Italian mafia is my guess, at least they sounded Italian. Looks like they were trying to rob us of your weapons.”

“Agrioli?”

I shrugged, surprised he was knowledgeable of the mafia’s presence in Kansas City. “That’s my guess.”

He shot me a stern glare. “What you do with these fucks?”

“I’ll have him strip the vehicle of cell phones and weapons, and let the uninjured one drive them to the hospital. They can send a message to their boss that I’m not some half-assed wannabe weapons dealer.”

He cracked a smile. “No half-ass nothing. You are fucking gun runner, Tripp. The Gun Runner.”

“That, I am.” I liked the sound of it, especially rolling off of his Slav tongue. “We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

He tilted his head toward where Cap was standing guard over the Italians. “I want to take man with me. The one with no bleeding. Maybe for Svetli Slavonovich send his own message to Agrioli. Son of bitch.”

I saw no harm in it, especially knowing the other two men would return a message to Agrioli that the Russians took one of their partners. It was quite possible allowing Svetli to take one of the Italians as a hostage would divert some of Agrioli’s attention away from me.

“Fine with me.”

Cap approached us. “Found an ID in the vehicle. The two wounded don’t have any ID. But number three does. You’re going to love this.”

I shrugged. “What?”

“He’s an Agrioli. Name’s Peter.”

I chuckled at the thought of Agrioli’s butthole puckering when he found out one of his blood had been taken hostage. “Perfect.”

“Looks like he’s exactly who you want. Take him,” I said with a nod toward Svetli. “After you’re long gone, we’ll let the other two leave.”

“You are man of honor,” Svetli said.

I grinned as I holstered my pistol. “I do my best.”

I tossed my head toward the van. “Cap, secure the van. They’re taking it.”

“Roger that.”

I glanced toward the three men. Cap had duct tape across their mouths and their hands and feet bound with zip ties.

“Lucky, you still with me?”

“Affirmative.”

“Van’s heading out. After the Mercedes and van are out of sight, we need extraction.”

“Roger that.”

Svetli loaded Peter Agrioli in the rear compartment of his SUV, shook my hand, and then drove away with the van, his Mercedes following right behind him. A few moments later, Lucky pulled in the lot in his SUV.

“They gonna live?” he asked.

“They’ll be fine,” I said. “Nice shooting.”

“Semper fi,” he said. “Do or die.”

“Load the cash, their weapons and phones, and grab the ditty bag. I’m going to let them get medical attention. Fucking idiots.”

While Cap and Lucky loaded the SUV, I approached the two wounded men. “I’m going to let you two drive wherever you think you need to go to get medical attention, but not until we’re long gone. That’s a .22-250 round that tore through your leg, it feels much worse than it is. Ninety days of therapy, and you’ll be walking again. Now, listen up.”

Both men had obviously reached a point where they understood moaning and groaning wasn’t going to change things. As with most men who I had seen shot in the leg, myself included, after the initial shock, dealing with the discomfort became much easier with each passing minute.

With their eyes locked on me, I continued. “I realize you’re going to tell Agrioli whatever you want to, and expect that. But this is my promise to you, and you need to think about what I’m going to tell you. Really think about it. If either of you two make an effort to approach me again, for any reason, you’ll be killed. No questions, no options, and no counting to fucking five. Is that understood?”

A nod in the affirmative from each man provided me with reassurance that they at least realized what their fate would be if they made an effort to fuck with me again.

“I see you’ve got a watch,” I said to the first man who had been shot. “After we pull out, wait five minutes before you leave. The keys are in your vehicle. If you leave before five minutes is up, my sniper will put a bullet through your left eye socket. Understood?”