“Pizza delivery.”
The familiar voice broadcast through a hidden speaker in the small security office. A yellow LED on one of the security consoles flashed, indicating someone had sent an “open” command to the front gate.
Yoshi Watanabe checked the surveillance monitors that overlooked the sprawling apartment complex. One of the video feeds showed the north security gate sliding open, allowing the Domino’s delivery person onto the property.
There was nothing unusual about a pizza delivery. Ten p.m. was a little later than normal, but not overly late, and Yoshi recognized the delivery man’s voice—he’d heard the same voice several times a week for nearly a year. But this time, there was something about the way the driver had spoken that caught his attention.
Had the man’s voice quavered just a bit?
The hairs on the back of Yoshi’s neck stood on end.
He scooted his chair closer to the monitors and scanned the images for the delivery car. There were nearly two dozen different motion-activated video cameras dotted throughout the property, but it took only moments to find the Honda with a Domino’s emblem on its side, parked in front of Building 3. There was no one in the driver’s seat, yet a plume of exhaust came from the back of it.
Yoshi shook his head. “That’s how you get your stuff stolen.”
But then he spotted a gray blob lying next to the car. He zoomed in several times, and the gray blob suddenly turned into a person with bright-red hair.
It was the Domino’s delivery guy. No doubt about it.
His heart racing, Yoshi flipped through Building 3’s other cameras. He caught a man wearing a ski mask racing from one of the apartments, a child’s limp body draped over his shoulder.
He checked the feed: first floor. And the man had run out of the third apartment from the end.
Yoshi’s breath caught in his throat.
Apartment 1C.
That wasn’t just any child. That was the granddaughter of Shinzo Tanaka, the leader of one of Japan’s largest crime syndicates.
“No!” he yelled impotently at the screen, waking the other security guard.
“What? Who?” The bewildered guard was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes as Yoshi raced from the security office.
Sprinting across the courtyard toward the security gate, Yoshi grimaced when he heard the two-ton gate begin to move. He arrived in time to see the back of a late-model Honda fishtailing away from the apartment complex, the exit gate yawning open behind it.
Gritting his teeth, Yoshi spun on his heel and raced toward Building 3.
He was greeted by one of the security guards. “Yoshi? What’s going—”
“Shut up and call the police. There’s been a kidnapping! Building 3, apartment 1C.”
A chill raced up the middle of Yoshi’s back. If they had gotten away with the child ... what had they done to her mother?
###
Ryuki Watanabe took the first available flight to Tokyo after his brother, Yoshi, called with the news. Ryuki had been instrumental in getting Yoshi placed at the apartment complex to watch over the girl, yet he couldn’t let his brother take the blame. The kidnapping of Tanaka’s granddaughter was Ryuki’s responsibility.
Now, late in the evening in downtown Tokyo, he waited alone in a conference room on the top floor of the Tanaka Building. He’d hoped that this day would never come, yet he felt unusually calm as he sat at the conference-room table waiting for the chairman to arrive.
He shook his head as he panned his gaze around the room. He preferred the traditional decorations of his Japanese ancestry: low-profile tables around which people would sit seiza-style, hanging scrolls with Japanese calligraphy, and silk-embroidered art. But Tanaka favored a Western style. The room smelled of the twenty black leather high-back chairs, and the long table they encircled was made of black wood that gleamed with a heavy polish. Ebony, perhaps.
The far door opened, and Shinzo Tanaka strode through the doorway. The man was in his mid-sixties. Bloodshot eyes betrayed a depth of emotion beneath his otherwise stone-like expression. Two bodyguards followed one step behind him, closed the door, and effectively blocked the exit.
Ryuki felt a surge of anxiety as he waited for his long-time boss to speak. As Tanaka’s second-in-command, Ryuki had known the man for nearly a quarter century, yet he’d never seen him look as haggard as he did this evening.
“Ryuki.” The elder’s gravelly voice was heavy with emotion. “How ... how did this happen?”
“I’m sorry.” Ryuki bowed his head as he nervously traced the outline of the knife in his front right pocket. “It all happened very quickly. The man broke into the apartment, the child’s mother was knocked unconscious, and the child was taken, all in less than a minute. The American police are involved, and I have our people looking into it as well.”
Tanaka’s face darkened as he pressed his lips into a thin line. “You promised me that my granddaughter would be safe in America.”
“I did.” A cool sense of resignation washed over Ryuki as he bowed before his boss. “I’m prepared to give a most sincere apology.”
He drew from his pocket a knife, a packet of gauze, and a pristine white silken cloth, then laid them all on the table. He placed his left fist on the middle of the cloth with his pinkie extended, and bowed his head with a deep sense of regret. This was his first time ever disappointing the man. He prayed it would be his last.
Gritting his teeth, he picked up the knife, flipped open the razor-sharp blade, and sliced heavily across the last knuckle of his pinkie.
The knife sliced through the fibrous tendons, and he felt them snap like rubber bands. He tightened his core and barely suppressed a grunt of pain.
When the deed was done, he used his right hand to bundle the severed tip of his finger in the white silk. His head still bowed, he gave the grotesque offering to Tanaka, who grimly accepted the apology.
The wound flared with heat, and Ryuki wrapped the injured finger with a gauze impregnated with a clotting agent. With a fresh cloth, he cleaned the blood from the table.
Tanaka pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Ryuki, we must find my granddaughter. She’s my son’s only child.”
Ryuki felt the man’s pain even through his own. Tanaka had already lost his son—killed in the US in a drive-by shooting—despite having kept him from their life, just like Ryuki had sheltered his brother. And now the man feared he would lose his granddaughter too.
“I will get more of our people on this,” Ryuki said.
Tanaka leaned forward and slid a note across the table. Ryuki retrieved it with his right hand.
“I’m giving you permission to reach out to the Italians in our American territory,” Tanaka said. “There is one there that I’d trust with this.”
Ryuki cringed at the slight. The implication was that he himself had fallen out of trust, at least with regard to Tanaka’s granddaughter.
“Before approaching him,” Tanaka continued, “get permission from his superior. Promise whatever you need to acquire his help. I’ll cover the expense.” He stood, and the bodyguards opened the conference-room door. “Take the next flight and arrange this with the head of the Bianchi family from New York City.”
Ryuki stood as well, and Tanaka placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Bring my granddaughter safely back to me, Ryuki. She’s my only living heir.” His tone brooked no argument. “Nothing else is more important.”
Ryuki bowed, and Tanaka gave him a light shove toward the exit. “Go!”
As he strode quickly down the hallway, Ryuki unfolded the paper and looked at the English name scrawled on it.
He pressed the button calling for the elevator and wondered who Levi Yoder was.
###
Levi woke to the pre-dawn sounds of New York City rising from several stories below his Park Avenue apartment. With a luxurious stretch, he yawned and stumbled out of bed. It was just before five a.m., earlier than he normally liked to wake up, but as he padded out of the bedroom, he couldn’t help but smile at what he saw.
Standing next to the wall-mounted bookshelves, bathed in the warm glow of an antique Italian lamp, was a statuesque woman in her early thirties. She was wearing nothing but one of his button-down shirts as she thumbed through a thick three-ring binder of old medical journals she’d pulled from a shelf. She had straight shoulder-length black hair and mocha-colored skin, both of which contrasted beautifully with the white shirt.
Last night was the first time he’d brought Madison to his apartment—an apartment owned by the Bianchi family, one of the largest of the New York Mafia families. It was a baby step into his secret world.
“You’re up early,” Levi remarked.
Madison looked up at him in silence for a few long seconds. A smile creased her delicate features.
“What?” He frowned as he looked at himself and then back at her.
“You’re just cute. I didn’t think anyone still wore pajamas to bed anymore.” She tapped a finger on the binder. “You’ve got a strange collection of books. Is reading medical journals a hobby of yours?”
He shrugged, walked over to Madison, and kissed her on the cheek. “Good morning to you, too. Hopefully, you’re good with eggs, because that’s the only breakfasty stuff I have in the fridge. I’ll go make us some ham and cheese omelets.”
Madison huffed loudly. “Levi, don’t ignore me. What’s with all this medical stuff? It seems like odd reading material for someone to have unless, well, you know—you’re a doctor.”
Levi grabbed a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and spoke over his shoulder as he prepared breakfast. “Well, I’m obviously not a doctor. You know about how I had cancer a dozen years ago? At the time, the docs all said it was a terminal case, yet obviously I managed to cheat death. But I eventually realized that I didn’t come out of that time in my life totally unscathed.”
“What do you mean?” Madison now stood at the entrance to the kitchen, and she sounded concerned. “Are you saying the cancer has come back? You haven’t relapsed, have you?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s hard to explain. Back then, so many things had happened at once: my wife died in a car accident, I had terminal cancer, and I was struck with a debilitating fever that really knocked me out. And then, suddenly, all on its own, the fever broke and my cancer went into remission. And other things were different too.
“The world seemed to be filled with more colors than I’d ever noticed before. The sounds that had always been there, in the background, were more obvious to my ear. Hell, even the smells of the city were stronger and more distinct. At first I wrote it all off as a strange side effect of the cancer. But after a while, some ... other things ... became hard to ignore.”
“Like?” Madison rested her chin on Levi’s shoulder, watching as he deftly cracked eggs into a mixing bowl. He felt the warmth of her pressed against him and wondered how much he could say without her thinking he was nuts.
“Well, it was little things. Like I could remember random facts without even trying. For example, I could tell you that the restaurant two blocks north of here had chicken piccata on its Daily Specials menu ten days ago, and it was $10.99. The only reason I know that is because I was walking past the place and saw the sign. I can tell you the license plate number of the Uber driver who brought us here. Hell, I know the ticket stub number for the opera that I attended with a friend of mine two weeks ago.”
Madison took a step back. “Are you serious?”
Levi poured the beaten eggs into a pair of hot skillets. “Yup. That’s one of the reasons I started combing through those books, trying to figure out—”
“Why didn’t you just go see a doctor?” Her voice took on an excited tone. “Are you seriously saying you can remember everything you’ve ever seen?”
Levi nodded as he sprinkled chopped ham and cheddar cheese onto the half-cooked eggs, and carefully flipped each of the omelets onto themselves. “Pretty much. Go ahead. I know you’re dying to test me.”
Madison reopened the three-ring binder, which was an assembled collection of old issues of the American Journal of Medicine, and flipped through the pages. “Okay, this one’s from October, 2015. It’s an article about fevers of unknown origin—looks like you bookmarked it. What’s it say just above table one?”
With a flick of his wrist, Levi flipped both omelets over and sprinkled a bit more shredded cheddar cheese on top. In his mind’s eye, he recalled the image of the green-hued medical journal and mentally turned the pages to the appropriate article. It had been one that had particularly intrigued him. He recited the text word for word:
“Petersdorf also classified fevers of unknown origin by category, that is, infectious, malignant/neoplastic, rheumatic/inflammatory, and miscellaneous disorders. Fevers of unknown origin also may be considered in the context of host subsets, for example, organ transplants, human immunodeficiency virus, returning travelers.”
He looked over his shoulder as he turned off the stovetop’s flame, and Madison stared open-mouthed at him.
“Holy shit, that’s amazing. Why haven’t you become a doctor or something?”
Levi laughed as he grabbed two large dishes from the cabinet and slid a perfectly cooked omelet onto each of them. “It doesn’t exactly work like that. Just because I can remember things doesn’t mean I understand everything I’m reading. I’ve got other books on those shelves about electronics, physics, and other subjects. So yeah, I can tell you what a resistor or a capacitor is, but I don’t know beans about what to do with them. Well, maybe I sort of do, but not really.”
“So basically you have a photographic memory.”
Levi shrugged. “I guess. In those journals I learned that photographic memory—they call it eidetic memory—it’s not really something adults have. Sometimes a real small percentage of young kids might have it, but it goes away before adulthood. The only instances of eidetic-like memory in adults were associated with people with some form of traumatic brain injury. And I didn’t have anything like that—at least not that I know of.
“I don’t know, maybe the fever, or the cancer, or both, did a number on me. Anyway, the memory thing does come in handy sometimes, but it’s not exactly a key to being a genius. I’m far from it.”
He sprinkled a few finely chopped scallions across the omelets and motioned toward the dining area. “Let’s get you fed. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”
Madison’s gaze followed Levi into the dining room. “Levi, you’re really full of surprises. I’m sorry, I should be helping—”
“Nonsense, you’re my guest. Grab a seat. I’ll go get some orange juice.”
Levi hustled back to the kitchen and smiled to himself as he thought of the beautiful half-naked woman in his living room. It was strange for him to share private aspects of his life with someone. His biological family knew nothing of what he’d just shared, and his mob family only knew small pieces.
He couldn’t help but wonder what the future might hold for the two of them.
###
Levi stood at the back of the common room in Harlem’s YMCA with Carmine and Paulie, watching Madison leading her class. She wore a white gi with a black belt cinched around her narrow waist, and she was putting a group of nearly two dozen neighborhood kids through several basic martial arts forms. Her students ranged from around five years old to late teens, and represented the rainbow of races and cultures that made up the neighborhood and New York City itself.
To Levi, Madison was the personification of grace and beauty in a slim five-foot-ten-inch package.
He had to admit, their relationship was complicated. To say they were friends was to make too little of it, but to say they were a couple ... well, it wasn’t quite that either. They didn’t even live in the same state—she lived in DC, he lived in New York City.
But it was their jobs that truly made their relationship complicated. After all, she was a covert operations officer for the CIA ... and he was one of the leading members of a prominent Mafia family. She didn’t know that part, but she did know he was involved with some less-than-savory characters. And that was enough to make things awkward from time to time.
They’d met nearly a year earlier while Levi was overseas, taking care of some private business. He found himself in a situation that ended up forcing him to cooperate with people who turned out to be agents of the CIA—including Madison. He’d been smitten from the moment he first saw her.
It was hard to imagine a more unlikely pair. He wasn’t sure where their relationship was going, but she had his undivided attention. That was undeniable.
“You know,” said Carmine next to him, “if she really wants to teach kids, I could probably find her a nicer place uptown.”
Carmine and Paulie were the mobsters who’d accompanied Levi here.
“Nah,” said Levi. “She knows the guy who runs this place and wanted to do him a favor. The way I understand it, this guy saved Madison from an orphanage in Okinawa back when she was a kid. He got her together with her grandma who lives out in LA.”
“Okinawa? She doesn’t look Japanese ... no, you know, I take that back. I guess I kind of see it now. I figured she was Hawaiian or something. You know, like one of those hula dancer types.”
Levi smiled. “Not even close.”
His friends had certainly been surprised when he showed up yesterday at the mob-run apartment building with a girlfriend on his arm. They were naturally curious about her, especially since Levi tended to keep that side of his life fairly quiet, but he hadn’t really talked to any of them about her yet.
“I think her mom was Japanese and her dad was a black GI,” Levi explained.
“Nice,” Carmine said, though following his gaze, Levi wasn’t sure if he was talking about Madison or about the group of Latina moms who were across the room watching their kids practice karate.
“Is this what she does, teach karate?” Paulie asked.
Levi craned his neck to look up at Paulie, who stood nearly six foot ten. “This is just a hobby, something she’s been doing since she was a kid. She works out of DC doing political analysis and stuff.” Political analyst was Madison’s official cover, since her real job title was strictly confidential. “We don’t talk too much about work. It saves some awkward questions, if you know what I mean.”
Paulie nodded. “Yup, it can be tough. My Rita and I have been married for almost ten years, and she still thinks I’m an accountant. It’s just easier that way.”
A door opened and a tiny Asian girl walked in. She couldn’t have been more than five years old, and she wore a yellow dress with a wide black belt and puffy sleeves. Her black hair was pulled back into two ponytails, each of which was tied with a matching yellow ribbon. In her hands, she carried a small box tied with red ribbon. She scanned the room, and when her gaze landed on Levi, she walked directly to him.
Curious, he knelt so that he was eye level with her. “Hi there. Is there something I can I help you with?”
With a serious expression, she bowed and began speaking in rapid Japanese.
Levi blinked with surprise and wondered how she knew he’d understand her. After all, with his dark-brown hair, blue eyes, and a rather pale complexion, nobody would have confused him for Asian. But he had lived in Japan for a handful of years and was fluent in the language.
Levi smiled as the tiny doll of a girl related her memorized message.
“Yoder-san,” the girl said, “my name is Kimiko and my father wishes you good health and prosperity. He hopes to invite you to visit so that you and he can talk in private.” With both hands, she presented the box to him.
Levi took the box, returned her bow, and said in Japanese, “Thank you, Kimiko.”
He untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills and a rolled-up parchment. Levi thumbed through the stack of money and whistled with appreciation. Then he unrolled the parchment. It was a formal, handwritten letter, its Japanese calligraphy gorgeously done with a brush, in a traditional style.
Yoder-san,
I have contacted Don Vincenzo Bianchi, and he has given me permission to reach out to you.
I am Mr. Shinzo Tanaka’s US representative and would very much like to have a meeting with you. I would not ask this unless I felt the cause was justified. There is an innocent life at stake, and I humbly request your assistance on behalf of my superior.
I’ve enclosed something to compensate you for your time. I hope to hear from you tonight.
Sincerely,
Ryuki Watanabe.
The rest of the note was repeated in English, and gave an address and a time later that evening. It was signed with a reddish-brown thumbprint whose hue resembled the color of dried blood.
Levi looked at Kimiko with curiosity as she tapped at Paulie’s leg. “Sir?” she said, staring wide-eyed at the large man.
With an amused expression, Paulie leaned down. “Yes?” He spoke very softly, with a warm and friendly tone.
“You’re very tall,” she said matter-of-factly, in perfect English. “Can I sit on your shoulder so I can touch the ceiling?”
Levi watched with wonder as the giant man engaged with the guileless little girl. For a man who could tear a person apart limb from limb, Paulie was very gentle with Kimiko as he lifted her onto his right shoulder and stood.
Kimiko reached up, touched one of the ceiling tiles, and let out a peal of high-pitched laughter. “I did it!”
Laughing, Paulie carefully set her back on the ground.
She held out her hand with a serious expression and shook his hand. “Thank you, Mister. I’m going to tell everyone at school about you, but I don’t think they’ll ever believe I saw a giant.” Then she shifted her gaze to Levi and again spoke in Japanese. “I have to go. My dad’s driver is waiting for me. Maybe I’ll see you later?”
“It’s possible,” Levi replied in Japanese.
The girl ran out of the common room just as the class began to disperse.
Levi felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Madison smiling at him. “You made a new friend?” She nodded toward the exit.
“I suppose so.” He shrugged and gave her a peck on the lips. “We all done here?”
“Pretty much.” Madison snaked her arm under his suit coat and around his waist, giving him a squeeze. “Though I think next time, you should teach the class with me.”
“I don’t know, I kind of like watching you do it. So—what time do you need to be at Penn Station?”
“I’ve got an early day tomorrow, so my train’s scheduled to leave at three.”
They walked toward the exit, and the YMCA staff began moving the furniture back into place.
Levi glanced at his watch and sighed wistfully. “Maddie, these weekends go by too quickly.”
She tightened her grip around his waist and leaned her head against his. “I feel the same way. But hey, unless something happens, I should be off for two weeks right around Christmas. If you think you can deal with me for that long, we should plan something. It’s only a little over a month away.”
Carmine had already gone ahead to get the car, but Paulie had hung back and now chimed in. “You know, the wife and I had a really nice time at the Poconos for our fifth anniversary. The resorts are all probably booked, but I know a few people. I can probably get you guys into one of those two-story champagne tub suites and stuff. It’s nice and romantic.”
Madison bumped her hip against Levi’s. “Hmm, romantic sounds nice.” She gave Levi a quick kiss on the cheek. “Let me go change and I’ll be right back.”
Levi’s gaze followed her as she darted past a few people talking in the hallway. He imagined what it would be like to be with Madison in a hot tub filled with bubbles.
He looked up at Paulie. “Okay big guy, if you have some strings you can pull, I’d appreciate it.”
Paulie grinned. “Not that it’s any of my business, but you two look good together. I think you guys should make a more permanent arrangement.”
Levi laughed and shook his head. “It’s complicated.” He pictured the giant mobster playing the role of Yenta, the matchmaker from the Broadway play Fiddler on the Roof.
He glanced again at his watch. “Hey Paulie, can you go out there and make sure Carmine knows we’ll need to head straight to Penn Station before going to the Helmsley? I’ve got to talk business with the don, and Madison can’t be around for that.”
###
Driving along Park Avenue, the sedan rolled just past East 86th Street and pulled up to a stately old building with two marble columns on each side of the entrance. The words “The Helmsley Arms” were emblazoned in gold leaf above the ten-foot doors.
As Levi hopped out of the car, the cool damp of the late fall in New York City hit him. The earthy smell of fallen leaves and exhaust filled the air, an unmistakable signature of when and where he was.
The doors opened as he approached the building’s entrance, and Frank Minnelli, the head of security, appeared in the doorway. He was in his early forties, the same age as Levi, and was dressed in an almost identical tailored suit.
He motioned to Levi. “Come on. We’re waiting on you.”
Together they walked past the two burly mobsters who were guarding the entrance, across the building’s marble-floored foyer, and into the elevator to the top floor.
“So,” Levi said, “I’m guessing someone reached out to Vinnie?”
The elevator doors slid open, and they started down a short wood-paneled hallway.
“You better believe it,” Frankie said with a snort. “But I’ll leave that for Vinnie to tell.”
Two more mobsters hopped up from their chairs and opened a set of double doors. Frankie and Levi walked through into Don Bianchi’s parlor.
Levi couldn’t help but be amazed at how far up his friends had come since they all started out together in Little Italy over twenty years ago. The huge room had two fireplaces, was finished with ornately carved wood paneling, and was well-appointed with beautiful paintings and a museum-quality marble statue of the Venus de Milo.
At the far end of the room, Don Vincenzo Bianchi, the head of the Bianchi crime family, sat at his large mahogany desk, wearing reading glasses and poring over a sheaf of papers. As the two men walked in, he motioned for them to approach.
“Come in, guys. Frankie, you and I need to talk about a few things, but first let’s all get this Tanaka syndicate business out of the way.”
Levi took a seat in one of the two reddish-brown leather armchairs in front of the desk, and Frankie sat in the other.
“Vinnie,” said Levi, “what’s this about someone getting your permission to reach out to me? Who are these people? Are they some new Asian outfit?”
“They’re hardly new.” Vinnie removed his reading glasses, tossed them on the desk and rubbed his eyes. “Frankie, how many made men and connected guys do we have right now?”
Frankie frowned. “I think with Carlo Moretti last month, we’re at a hundred twenty-seven made men, and I’m not sure on the complete number, but we’ve got right around one thousand earners in total.”
The don drummed his fingers on the desk and turned back to Levi. “I got a call this morning from the number two guy in the Tanaka syndicate. They’re a pretty serious group out of Japan. In the last handful of years they’ve expanded beyond the island and have been muscling in on some of the Tong businesses on the West Coast. Heck, they even have a presence here in the city.
“Levi, you and I have both agreed that it’s best you not be part of the day-to-day business dealings of the family, especially with some of the stuff you’ve been doing with the feds. But you know what we’re dealing with when it comes to these other groups. Let’s just say this Tanaka syndicate has ten times our manpower, and they’ve got resources everywhere.”
Vinnie leaned forward and poked his finger in the air for emphasis. “They’ve made us an offer contingent on your helping them out with something. And it’s a really serious offer.”
“The message I got said something about an innocent life,” Levi said. “Do you know what they want from me?”
Vinnie shrugged. “I have no idea. What I do know is these Yakuza types are vicious when angered, and I’m not interested in sending you into a meat grinder. This Ryuki guy, the syndicate’s number two, he said that he’d guarantee your safety—that he just wants an opportunity to have a sit-down with you. He was extremely polite, like a lot of those Asian types are. But frankly, I don’t like it.
“Levi, you and I go back to the beginning. I love you like a brother, and I’ll tell you, I don’t know what to make of this. This guy was really vague—he wouldn’t even tell me why he was looking for you specifically. So what I’m saying is, if you don’t want to go, you’ve got my complete backing on that. It’s your call.”
Frankie cleared his throat and frowned. “Levi, I did a little checking on this Tanaka syndicate—or tried to. Their main guy is a man named Shinzo Tanaka, but there’s almost no record of him. I can see that he was denied entry into the US a handful of years ago, but that’s about it. The man’s a ghost. This Ryuki guy, his number two, is the same. No record. No beef with the local or Japanese law.
“But that’s official records. Word on the street is different. There, everyone knows these two. And the word is, stay away from these Yakuza nuts. These guys make us look like choirboys.” He jabbed his finger in Levi’s direction. “So be careful. I can’t read this one, and that makes me a little crazy.”
Levi heard their warnings, but his curiosity was gnawing at him. Why did they want to talk to him specifically? How did that little girl manage to pick him out of a crowd of people at the YMCA? And how did she know he understood Japanese?
He looked at Vinnie and smiled. “Is the offer they gave for my help worthwhile?”
Vinnie returned the smile. “I wouldn’t have told him how to reach you if it wasn’t a sweet deal.”
Levi hopped up from his chair and rapped his knuckles on the desk. “In that case, I guess I shouldn’t keep the man waiting.”