George took an RF scanner similar to the one Pike owned from his desk, and ran it over Pike from his sunglasses to his shoes. Pike didn’t object. He would have been surprised if George hadn’t checked him. When George was satisfied, he put the scanner away.

“Old habits.”

“No problem.”

“Would you like a cup of tea? I have the black tea. From Georgia. Not your Georgia—ours.”

Pike didn’t want his tea and didn’t want to chat.

“I’m good. You still in with the ROC, George?”

George pursed his lips. Annoyed. The deadliest man Pike knew was pissy.

“It’s Odessa, and I’m not in with them. I’m not a member. I consult on a freelance basis. I’m my own boss.”

This seemed important to George, so Pike nodded.

“I understand.”

“That being said, if you want to discuss Odessa business, I can’t.”

“I don’t care about Odessa. I want to know about the Serbs.”

“So Jon told me. A hard people. Very tough. I fought them in Chechnya.”

“Not there. Here. Can you talk about the gang sets here in Los Angeles?”

George nodded, but a vagueness came to his eyes as if he had suddenly noticed something a thousand yards away.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. They do their thing, Odessa is something else. Like with the Armenians. The same, but different.”

“You know of a Michael Darko?”

George rocked back in his chair, the body language telling Pike that George was uncomfortable talking about Darko.

“He killed your friend, Frank Meyer?”

“Looks that way.”

George grunted.

“I know who he is. A hard man.”

“What does hard mean?”

“You understand the word, pakhan?”

“No.”

“A boss. Middle management for now, but he’s on the way up. These people aren’t given their promotions, they take them. Like cannibals eating each other.”

Pike saw disdain in the pale eyes, and realized George felt superior to the gangsters who employed him. Maybe this was why he was adamant that Pike understand he was an independent contractor, and not part of Odessa. All of them might be killers, but George had come out of Spetsnaz—the rest were just animals.

“What kind of crime does he do?”

“A finger in many pies, like all these guys. Girls and sex, hijacking, extorting his own people. He’s aggressive, and trying to expand. Quick with the trigger.”

George made a pistol with his hand and pulled the trigger.

Pike said, “Know where I can find him?”

“I don’t.”

“A place of business? He must have some kind of front operation. He’d need that for taxes.”

“I’m sure he must, but this man is just a name to me. Like I said, different circles. I’m a lamp salesman.”

A lamp salesman who could put a bullet through your head from a thousand meters away. Then George continued.