Devil's Advocate: A Dark Mafia Romance (Devil's Playground Book 1) by Vivi Paige (learn to read activity book TXT) 📕

When we got to the ports, we saw why soon enough. The lake was even choppier than it had been when we’d taken our plunge. I came up to the edge of the dock and spotted the graffiti Nicky had told us to look for: a Gangster Disciples symbol carved into the wood and then charred black with a crack lighter.

“This is the spot,” I said, peering over the edge. I shook my head in disgust. “Water’s probably freezing, and who knows where it got off to?”

Sophie’s jaw worked silently as she peered into the water.

“Indro, how much money do you have on you?”

I burst into laughter. “How much you need? I’m willing to blow my whole wad seeing as I’m about to go into the slammer for the next decade and a half.”

“How about blowing your wad to stay out of the slammer?”

I tried to press her, but I guess turnabout was fair play. It was her turn to be cryptic.

Chapter Forty-Six

Sophie

Indro Lastra turned out to be a far more complicated man than I’d given him credit for. He straight up made me feel ashamed with his generosity. I’ll admit, I’d always been one of those people who saw the homeless as guilty of some sin which had resulted in their condition.

Thanks to Indro, I was starting to see them as human beings. Who would have thought a mobster had something to teach me about morality?

We headed to the Scuba Sensations next to Warren Park. Indro cocked an eyebrow at all the different gear, his nostrils flaring.

“Smells like a rubber fetish shop in here.”

“You know what one of those smells like?”

Indro chuckled. “Ask no questions, and I’ll tell no lies, Counsel. Whatever you need, we’ll get.”

I perused the gear, starting with a good oxygen tank. I was looking at the most economical choices, since I didn’t figure on getting much use out of the gear. Indro was incredulous.

“What are we doing, looking at this cheap shit?” He thumped one of the tanks with a metallic ring. “Point us in the direction of the top of the line.”

“Indro, you’re talking about a difference of thousands of dollars.”

“Hey, my girl is not going down into the cold, murky waters of Lake Michigan with substandard gear. Nothing but the best.”

I flushed a little. “What did you call me?”

Indro frowned. “My girl. You know, I call everybody my girl. Except dudes, of course.”

A woman walked past us and he waved. “Hey, my girl, how’s it going?”

“I’m a lawyer, Indro. I know when you’re full of shit.”

“Oh yeah?” He cocked his eyebrow at me. “How can you tell?”

“Well, for one, I check to see if your lips are moving.”

“Zing!” He laughed without a trace of bitterness. “Look at you, Sophie. Busting my chops.”

I relaxed. If you ignored the fact we were shopping for gear so I could go diving for a corpse, it seemed like a fun excursion. Almost like a date.

“All right, we got your air tank, we got your wetsuit—with a hood, so your pretty little dome won’t get all frozen solid. What else we need?” Indro gestured at a spear gun assembly. “Something to fend off those monster catfish in the lake?”

“I don’t think I need to worry about catfish, Indro. I do need a salvage air bag to get the body back to the surface, assuming I can find it.”

“Salvage air bag, all right, all right, all right.” Indro bobbed his head in assent. “What about light? It’s going to be pitch black down there.”

“That’s next on the list.”

I cringed when I saw all the zeroes at the end of the receipt, but Indro didn’t bat an eye. They say crime doesn’t pay? Fuck that, it pays plenty. I was considered one of Chicago’s more well-off denizens, and I wouldn’t dream of dropping that much money for a one-day excursion. Then again, taking into context Indro’s life was on the line, it seemed a lot more reasonable.

We headed down to the IIPD and I started gearing up. When I was sufficiently dolled up, Indro whistled.

“Man, you look good in that suit. Emphasizes the, ah, lungs, if you catch my drift.”

I grinned at him. “Indro, you’ve seen me naked. A lot.”

“Yeah, but I can appreciate threads of all varieties. You’d make anything look good.”

“Put your hormones in neutral,” I said, staring at the wind-swept waters below the pier. “I need to concentrate. It’s been years since I did this.”

“Where’d you learn to scuba, anyway?”

“My old man had a winter home down in Daytona Beach. We used to go diving a lot. You remember that old Bond flick, Thunderball? My old man’s favorite movie. I think he was living vicariously through me.”

“Wait,” Indro said, his face creased in a frown. “Is this going to be dangerous?”

“Indro, I’ve been kidnapped—twice—threatened, shot at, and almost drowned. It’s a little late to worry about danger.”

I pulled the hood over my head and donned the face mask. I put the breathing apparatus in my mouth and flopped over to the edge of the pier. Indro handed me the Matjack inflatable salvage bag. I flicked on my light and stepped off the edge.

I hit the water a lot harder than I expected to. It had been years since I went diving, and the waters off Daytona Beach were a lot clearer than a churned-up Lake Michigan.

My light lit the way. The first thing I spotted wasn’t underwater life. It was junk. I swam downward, flippers beating the water as I descended into the murky depths.

I grimaced at the pollution mired in the mud. Absolutely revolting, the way people treat their planet. An orange medical waste bag with a biohazard symbol rippled in my wake as I swam a few feet above the bottom.

I spotted something, a black, longish shape. I finned over to it and my eyes widened. It was the right shape. It occurred to me that it may or may not even be the right body. Guess there was only one