I motion for Vladimir to hand me the small plastic bag he’s holding and look it over. There are a dozen white pills inside. “Have you tried this?”
“No . . . I . . . I’m not into drugs,” the man says, then whimpers when I apply more pressure to his hand.
“So you brought them here to sell. Very wise.” I throw the plastic bag back to Vladimir. “Take this to Doc. We need to check what’s in that crap.”
“What should we do with the dealer?” Vladimir nods toward the man on the floor.
Based on the panicked look in the man’s eyes and the shaking of his hand, it wouldn’t take long to break him. I could take him to the storeroom and question him. But we have rules in the Chicago Bratva, and my scope of work doesn’t include information extraction.
“I think he would enjoy a little chat with Mi
