“Sure, no problem.”
A tone went off, indicating the doors were about to close again.
“Now,” the bodyguard said.
Nate moved to the side.
As the guard passed him, Nate reached up, put two hands on the man’s back, and shoved him as far onto the platform as possible. The man stumbled out of the train and fell to the ground.
“What the hell?” Albina said.
He started to move to the door, throwing out a hand to keep it from sliding shut.
“Relax, Jorge,” Quinn said, poking the end of his concealed gun against Albina’s ribs.
As Albina froze, the doors closed. On the other side, his bodyguard was pushing himself up, but it was too late. The train had already begun pulling away from the station.
“Have a seat,” Quinn said.
Making no sudden movements, Albina turned around.
“Quinn?”
Quinn nodded at the nearest bench seat. “Right there is fine.”
Albina sat, then slid over against the window. Quinn glanced at the other passengers in their car. Only one man was looking in their direction, and he seemed more curious than anything else. Quinn signaled for Nate to keep a watch out, then sat down next to Albina.
“You know you could have just stopped by my office,” Albina said. “You didn’t have to get all secret agent on me.” He glanced down at the bulge in Quinn’s pocket where the gun was. “And you definitely don’t need that.”
“Yeah, but it got your attention, didn’t it?” Quinn asked.
“Why didn’t Peter just tell me it was you?”
“Because I told him not to. Thought maybe you wouldn’t be so interested in seeing me.”
“Why would you think that? We’re friends.”
“We’ve never been friends.”
“You didn’t have to say that so fast,” Albina said. “Okay, to you we’re business associates, then. I still consider us friends. Besides, I’ve been waiting for you to show up for a couple days now. What the hell took you so long?”
Quinn paused. “You were waiting for me?”
“Figured you’d want to talk to me at some point.”
“And why would that be?”
“Come on, Quinn. I know Markoff was your friend. I mean real friend. Not like me, I guess.”
“You knew Markoff and I were friends?”
“Why the hell do you think you were hired?”
“You
“Well, it wasn’t my idea.”
Again, Quinn paused before speaking. “Whose idea was it?”
“My client’s.”
“And who was your client?” Quinn said.
“Do we have to talk here?” Albina asked. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
They found a small cafe just off Market Street. No waitresses, just a counter and a condiments table. After they each got a cup of coffee, Quinn told Nate to have a seat on one of the chairs outside, then directed Albina to a table along the wall.
“Markoff and me, we did work on and off over the years,” Albina said. “He always treated me fairly, so I did the same for him. I’d feed him a little information, and for me, he’d look the other direction when it was convenient. Okay, so maybe we weren’t buddies, but I respected him. He was a good client.”
“He told you we were friends?” Quinn asked.
“He may have mentioned it.”
Not a real answer, but Quinn let it drop for the moment. “That doesn’t tell me how you ended up with his corpse on your dock.”
Albina ripped the tops off a couple of packets of sugar, then dumped the contents into his coffee. As he stirred the liquid, he looked up. “It was sent to me. By my client.”
“And who is your client?”
“Come on, Quinn. You know I can’t share that kind of information.”
Quinn leaned forward. “On the train you acted like you’ve been waiting to tell me everything. So who the hell is your client?”
