not the only one,” Christie admitted. “Look, I’m going to get Sean secured. You need to call your girl at the DA’s office. I think she’s got news.”
“Really?” Oh wow. Jackson really could accomplish a lot without running around getting his ass sliced. He snagged his soda from the fridge and decided to make an event out of it by getting one of those nice glasses Ellery kept in the freezer, along with some ice. Ooh. This could be like dessert.
“Yeah. I can’t go into it now, but call her.”
“Will do. Update me when you have K-Ski secured.”
“Deal.”
“Oh!” And let’s hear it for clarity. “The guy in the coma…?”
“Still in the coma,” Christie muttered.
“Has he been identified? And is he still under protection?”
“Yes and yes.” Christie blew out a breath. “And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. Avi Kovacs—brother to Alexei Kovacs.”
Jackson frowned. “Should I know that name?”
“Only if you work organized crime in Vegas,” Christie muttered. “That’s the thing. Avi’s third cousin or whatever to one of the biggest mob bosses in Sin City, but we have no idea what he’s doing here.”
All the air went out of the room, and Jackson remembered what Galen had said about a bigger picture. “Besides being involved in some sort of power transfer or takeover or whatever between Vegas and here?”
“Oh dear God.” Christie sounded shocked. “You’re right. Fuck me. Fuck this shit. We are in Mobland now. Goddammit, I did not want to be in Mobland with Sean in the hospital. Fuck me. I’ve got to go to our lieu and tell him all the fucking things.”
“I’m… sorry?” Jackson wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, Christie was right; Mobland was not the place anybody wanted to be. On the other hand….
“Don’t be sorry,” Christie said tersely. “You probably saved Sean’s life. Fucking Mobland. I’ll scramble the troops, hit up the organized crime division, and ask about your trafficking case. If the DA’s office doesn’t have answers for you, maybe my guys do.”
“Affirmative, and thank you.”
“Try not to get shot again.”
“That too. Later.”
“Later.”
Jackson hit End Call before adding ice to the frozen glass and then poured the cola. The charge of sugar on his tongue was sort of amazing. Just like the commercials promised, right? He took his little glass of heaven to the table and sat gingerly, pulling up the DA’s office, human trafficking division, next.
Mira answered.
“Jackson? How you doing, sweetheart? Word on the street is you almost got your ass shot off!”
“More like fileted,” Jackson admitted. “But it’s mostly still there. How about you?”
“Well, you sure have been keeping us busy,” she admitted. “We’ve got Tage in protective custody, but we tried again with his parents, and they still refuse it. I think they’re trying to keep their extended family safe, but honey, I don’t see good things happening there. If they won’t cooperate, we can’t even ask for guard duty.”
“Do we have a lead on where Siderov is? Or Ziggy?”
“Well, Ziggy is pretty hot, but we’ve had a couple of sightings of him around town. Although not, oddly enough, at the high school.”
“Do Ziggy or Baldwin Schroeder have a younger brother or sister?” Jackson asked. “Or maybe the SRO at the school, also named Schroeder? I need someone with a contact to, say, someone on the cheerleading squad or the swim team?”
“Let me check on that,” Mira muttered, obviously working on her computer. “Why?”
“Because Henry flashed Ziggy’s picture to a coach we think is implicated right before someone took a shot at us. I’m thinking—”
“He texted this person and they got hold of a gun?”
“Probably from the person who activated him—or even his or her own locker. Cleats too. Whoever shot at us had oversized cleats on—not their own shoes—and then disappeared into a group of kids who were just getting done with activities. And whoever it was, they weren’t that smart or that good. The shots were off, the execution was bad. The only thing they did well was ditch the gun and blend into the crowd of kids. So I’m thinking Baldwin Schroeder, the coach, has a younger sibling, or his cousin the SRO whose first name I don’t know does. Or it’s Ziggy Ivanov. Someone who could respond to that text immediately but….” He paused for a drink of soda. Bliss!
“Not expertly,” Mira said. “I get it.” He heard her tapping for a moment. “Okay, now I’ve got some news for you, but it’s weird news.”
“Is there any other kind?”