The chipped porcelain mug warmed my hands, even though the coffee inside tasted like burnt regret. Rio Montana, they called me. Sounded fancy, right? Like a goddamn Western movie. Truth is, I mostly hunted overdue library books and stray cats. Tonight, though, something real had walked through the door of the Rusty Nail – a whisper of a contract, a missing girl, and a payout big enough to finally fix the leaky roof over my head.
The bartender, Roxette, wiped down the sticky counter with a rag that smelled vaguely of bleach and desperation. She glanced at me, her eyes the color of week-old whiskey. “Heard you took the case, Rio.”
“Heard,” I echoed, stirring the sludge in my mug. “Heard the girl’s name is Mia Cazadora. Vanished from her aunt’s place three nights ago. Aunt’s a hysterical mess, rich as hell, and wants her back quiet-like.”
“Quiet-like” usually meant someone wanted to bury something along with Mia. I didn’t care *what* they wanted buried, as long as the money was green and the paperwork wasn’t too stained with blood.
“You’ve met her aunt?” I asked Roxette. She’d been around long enough to know everyone’s secrets, even the ones they tried to drown in cheap tequila.
“Once. She smells like money and expensive perfume. Makes a woman like me feel… small.” Roxette’s voice was tight, laced with resentment. She’d probably been shortchanged on a loan or two.
I shrugged. “Small’s good. Makes them desperate. Desperate pays better.”
A flicker of movement caught my eye. Troy, one of my less-reliable informants, was nursing a beer at the corner table, looking like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. He’d promised me a lead on Mia, a rumor about a rival hunter sniffing around the case.
“Troy,” I called out, keeping my voice casual. “You got anything for me?”
He hesitated, then sauntered over, his eyes darting around like a trapped rat. “Heard old man Hemlock’s been asking questions. Says Mia was running with a bad crowd, some kind of underground fighting ring.”
Hemlock. The guy lived in a shadow, dealing in information like a dealer peddling poison. If he was involved, Mia wasn’t just missing; she was *in trouble*.
“Fighting ring?” I raised an eyebrow. “Mia?”
“That’s what I heard. Small, brutal. Mostly kids. She was good, they said. Real good.” Troy leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale cigarettes and desperation. “They say she pissed off someone powerful. Someone who doesn’t like loose ends.”
My gut twisted. This wasn’t just a missing person case anymore. It was a goddamn hornet’s nest.
“Powerful how?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“Don’t know. Just whispers. They say she took money from someone who wanted her to throw a fight. She didn’t.” Troy shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “She walked out with a wad of cash and a target on her back.”
Great. So, a pissed-off gambler with a vendetta. Just what I needed.
I drained my coffee, the bitter taste clinging to my tongue. “Thanks, Troy. You’re a gem.”
“Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, backing away. “Just… be careful, Rio. This one feels different.”
Different how? I wondered. More dangerous? More complicated? Or just plain stupid?
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through Mia’s file. A few grainy photos, a scant description: blonde hair, blue eyes, lean build. She looked like a street rat, quick and nimble. The kind who could disappear into a crowd.
“Emma,” I texted. “Mia Cazadora. Underground fighting ring. Check her connections.” Emma was my tech whiz, could dig up dirt on anyone with a pulse and a Wi-Fi connection.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. “Mia’s been training with a guy named ‘Hayley.’ Ex-pro fighter, runs a gym downtown. Clean record, but…” Emma’s message trailed off.
“But what?” I typed back.
“Hayley’s gym is funded by a guy named Viktor Volkov. Russian mob ties. Known for ‘disappearing’ people who cross him.”
Volkov. That name tasted like ash in my mouth. The guy was a ghost, a whisper in the underworld. If he was involved, Mia wasn’t just missing; she was *gone*.
I grabbed my coat, the chill of the night seeping into my bones. Time to pay Hayley a visit. Time to see if Mia Cazadora was still breathing.
The rain started to fall as I stepped out into the street, turning the neon lights of the Rusty Nail into blurry streaks of color. The hunt had begun. And I had a feeling it was going to be a long, cold night.