Oliver pushed the bike behind a duster bin before he circled back to the jewelry store. The broken back door was taped, but one look inside confirmed that the owners had been allowed inside, probably for inventory and securing the gemstones. He inspected the brick wall around the door. With luck, he would find what he was looking for without having to risk a glance at the front in the street.
"We need to find a way to add a camera to your gear, Arrow. What are you doing?"
"Add it to your shopping list. I'm looking for marks."
"What kind of marks?"
Oliver completed the left section of the wall and moved to the right. "You've heard about the Mano Negra?"
"The extortion mark from the mafia? Yes…"
"The Russian mob uses an equivalent system."
He heard quick typing, and guessed Chloe was researching organized crimes. He explained his reasoning while she double-checked his saying on the internet. "Since Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee were more about redecoration than filling their pockets, I kind of wonder if they were here to deliver a message."
"Here's what you're facing if you refuse to pay?"
"Something like that."
Oliver swore under his breath when he spotted a black circle with a vertical line barring it sprayed on the door frame.
"You've found it."
"Yeah. Yeah I did."
"And now you verified your suspicions, what are we going to do with this information?"
"I don't know yet. I'll head back now."
The line went dead for a millisecond while she digested he just said that he was going home after only half an hour. Then Chloe replied, "Understood Arrow. Watchtower out."
Oliver took one last look at the door before he turned away toward the place he'd hidden his bike. He counted in his head while he fired the engine. The comms chirped at four. He expected no less from Chloe.
"Oliver, is everything all right?"
They'd connected their personal phones to the system as well so the lines were secured, even if he preferred using codenames during missions.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm not on the top of my game after yesterday so I could use some downtime. I still have two reports to go through as well. How about you?"
"I'm fine."
"How much sleep did you get in the past two days, Chlo?" he asked softly. The noise cancellation system almost masked the small sigh in her voice.
"Not much. I'm used to it…" The bike skidded on the wet pavement. Oliver shifted to the right to compensate. "Look, Chloe, I'm there. I'll give you a call tomorrow, all right?" So he could apologize for what he was about to do.
"Sure. Good night, Oliver."
"Sleep tight, Sidekick."
The night was over for the Green Arrow. It was time for Oliver Queen to reconnect with his old ways. He parked the bike in its corner then picked up his phone, all the while shedding leathers and gears. "Hey, I need some backup…"
Oliver crooked an eyebrow at the goon at the door. The bass which echoed across the cavernous room behind them was pulsating like a bad toothache at the back of his jaw. The bad music, the smoke and the mixture of perfumes were things he definitely didn't miss from his party days. He fought to keep his bored playboy billionaire expression firmly in place. Hal played the wingman to a T.
"He's not on your list, so what? You know who he is, man."
Oliver reached into his pocket. Hal placed one hand on his arm. They'd played that number so many times it was almost automatic.
"He had a bad day, just want to unwind a bit. Seriously, you don't want him to call your boss."
The Russian fridge in front of them crunched his forehead. He wasn't paid to think, but he most likely knew what awaited him if he screwed up. And stopping Oliver Queen to access his boss' underground party had plokhoy juju written all over it.
"Da. You have dobro pozhalovat, Mister Queen. Enjoy your night."
"Spasibo."
He offered his trademark smile to reassure the man he knew he was only doing his job.
The heavy door clung in their backs, leaving him and Hal in a dark corridor. Yells, grunts and clapping could be heard at the end of the tunnel. Hal squinted to see past the long corridor. "You're sure about this?"
Oliver clasped a heavy hand in Hal's back to avoid suspicion if anyone was spying on the unexpected guests. They'd left Hal's ring at the penthouse to be able to avoid being bound by its truth spell. No ring, and no arrows meant they had to be careful. Walls had ears in places like this one. Hal changed course immediately. "So we're here to…"
"Drink good vodka and reconnect with friends, of course."
"I have a bad feeling about this…"
They finally got to the main room and saw the cage. One of the fighters was down. The other still stood, so bloody and bruised he probably didn't have the energy to crumble. The crowd booed or congratulated themselves on wages well placed. Waitresses navigated between the rows with trays filled to the brim. Bills changed hands.
Oliver rolled his shoulders backward, unease trickling down his spine. 'Yeah, me too.' He kept that part for himself.
"You realize Blondie is going to be beyond pissed when she realized where you disappeared tonight, don't you?"
"A tennis bracelet can go a long way with a scorned woman. I was already thinking about getting her a little something anyway."
Nothing short of a satellite was going to thwart her fury after this. He'd be lucky if he escaped with all his limbs more or less attached to his person. "I walked by that jewelry store I told you about, but it's close apparently. They got burglarized or something. Hopefully Evgeni can direct me somewhere nice. No one make exquisite jewelry like the Russians… "
"That's because Russians understand Romance like no one else. Oliver… It's been a long time."
"Too long, Evgeni. My apologies for dropping by unannounced. How are you doing?"
The man's business ventures included illegal gambling, prostitution and drug rings. In Oliver's mind, it made liking the man impossible. At least he didn't try to play any character and stayed well away from the Slavic archetypes. His heavily accented English was the only thing who betrayed his eastern origins. They shook hands, and Oliver noticed a tattoo poking up from under his cuff, the discreet mark of a promotion. Apparently, Nabokov's patience and connections had paid off.
"Not as well as you, friend. I've heard Queen Industries is blooming. And you know you're always welcome."
"I am only trying to make my parents proud."
Nabokov bowed his head in respect. "I am sure they are. Are you here to watch, or to blow off some steam?"
He wasn't exactly looking forward facing any of Nabokov's current Patsans. He'd fought one only yesterday, and had escaped with only a couple of gashes in the back because he was fighting as the Green Arrow. Oliver Queen was good, but not that good. Entering the Cage promised a bloody mess. Oliver kept his smile friendly. "The night is still young. Why don't we see how it goes?"
"Of course, of course. Come. We'll have drinks."
The Russian guided them toward a table in the upper levels of the arena. From there, Oliver could see most of the crowd. From the ruckus downstairs, the next contestants were preparing for their fight. The smaller of the two nodded to his handler. Something that look like a needle appeared and disappeared. Nabokov noticed Oliver's narrowing.
"A little something to help the outsider."
"I am surprised you allow that. It won't be a fair fight."
Nabokov bellied a laugh. "Have you seen my champion? The fight would be over in a wink. This is only to give him the will to battle."
When the "champion" stepped forward, Oliver got their host meaning. The man was built like an industrial fridge on steroids. No one in their right mind would want to be caged with that. The fight had "massacre" stamped in blood letters all over it. But what got Oliver's attention was the familiar silhouette shaking hands with the handler.
Hal caught his eye. His friend shook his head slightly. Oliver picked up his vodka and saluted their host. Then he chugged it down and called for another round.
