Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Atlas headed toward the front doors, his mind shifting from dinner to the darker events that lay ahead of the night.

He met Albert out front, talking with the valet.

He turned, sensing Atlas’ presence. One look at his face, and he seemed to know what he was off to do.

“Shall I prepare anything for your return?” he asked simply.

“Nah. Just divert any and all calls that come through to my office here. I’m not to be disturbed.”

Albert raised a knowing brow, and Atlas wonderef how many times the butler had seen his own father rush out like that.

“Business to handle, sir?”

Atlas’s lips curved into a cold smile. “You know how it is. Don’t breathe a word of this to grandma.”

Albert simply nodded and watched as Atlas walked down the front steps to one of the sports cars waiting out front.

He drove to the industrial edge of the city. Here were the most abandoned parts, though that was only to the untrained eye.

A few warehouses stood among the old buildings. And they all belonged to him.

He found Dean waiting outside one of them, puffing clouds of smoke into the night.

“There you are,” he said once he saw Atlas.

“Any progress?”

Dean shook his head. “We roughed him up a bit, but we haven't asked him anything . Figured you'd like the honours.”

Inside the warehouse, dim overhead lights cast long shadows across stacked crates and concrete floors.

Four of their men stood in a loose circle around a fifth figure strapped to a metal chair, a black bag covering his head.

Atlas approached the man slowly, taking his time, allowing his footsteps echo through the large warehouse. Allowing the man to anticipate and dread his coming.

Dean whispered, “Guy tried selling one of the goods to a fence. But the guy got scared, because I put the word out when our shipment got missing. He reported it right to us.”

“Sweet,” Atlas said, just as he stopped before their captive.

The bag was yanked off his head.

The man gasped, sucking in panicked breaths, eyes darting here and there in the low light. One of the men switched on a bright torch, shining it directly into the culprit’s face. He flinched, trying to twist away from the light.

Atlas crouched slightly until he was face to face with the man.

“I’ll go straight to the point,” he told him. “Who hired you?”

The man mumbled words that he couldn't understand, still staring left and right. Atlas sighed and stepped back.

One of his men took the hint, moved forward and drove three successive hard punches into the captive’s stomach. The man doubled over as much as the ropes allowed, coughing violently.

Atlas waited for a few seconds, then repeated the question. “Who hired you?”

“I don’t know!” the man gasped.

“Hit him again.”

“I swear I don't know! I don't, I don't !”

“Then how'd you know about my wares?”

“It was an ad…There was an ad, on an anonymous site. We get our jobs from there…you know, lifting, maiming, things like that. Look, I did what I was told. Get to the docks and lift the goods by 11 PM.”

“Ah, I see.” Atlas cocked his head. “And you figured you could get a piece of it for yourself.”

“I'm sorry…I'm sorry…” The man was sobbing now. “I just figured that I-I could…I needed the money. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know-”

“That they weren't yours to steal? Of course you knew that. You just happened to run out of luck.”

Atlas straightened and turned to the men. One look at them, and they understood the assignment.

“Well, he's not much help,” he said to Dean as they walked away.

Behind them, the man started gasping again as fist after fist fell on him.

“No, he's not,” Dean agreed. “l

“Let them keep at it,” Atlas instructed. “If there’s anything else, he'll cough it up before dawn. If not, and he's still alive, he'll learn to never fuck with the docks again.”

Outside, Dean lit another cigarette and puffed more clouds of smoke. He offered one to Atlas, but he declined.

“Whoever did this isn’t very smart,” he said, staring out at the dark lot.

“Or maybe the person is smart enough to use disposable people through anonymous channels,” Dean countered. “They didn't know each other. Separate guys, no direct links. We need to find the other guy and recover the rest of the artifacts before my uncle starts asking questions.”

Atlas nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

Dean frowned at him. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“My grandmother…already knows about the raid.”

Dean froze, the cigarette halfway to his lips.

“Fuck, that's bad.”

“Have you been talking to people you shouldn’t be?”

Dean looked genuinely offended. “Come on, you know me better than that.”

“Just checking.”

“What about your butler? He knows about all of this right? Maybe he talked.”

Atlas shook his head. “No, not Albert. He's been quiet about it all, since when my father was in charge. No reason to switch up now.”

“so, we got a rat.”

“Might not even be a rat. Maybe someone who talked too much. We need to be more careful.”

Dean flicked ash from his cigarette. “What’s the play?”

Atlas didn’t answer immediately. His thoughts drifted back to the villa, to Elara sitting at that table. He wondered if she would approve, should she gain knowledge of his activities.

‘Oh my God, who cares?’ he thought.

He pushed it aside and turned back to Dean.

“First, we tighten security on the remaining routes. Double-check every contact. Second, we have to track the other guy. He might sell to a fence, he might decide not to. Whatever the case, he must be found.”

Dean rubbed his forehead. “That means I've got to get in touch with the cops.”

“They won't be so bad. I'll speak to someone for you.”

“Doesn't matter. I hate cops.”

“Well,” Atlas tapped his shoulder. “Try liking them for one day.”