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your body. They were ready to decapitate poor Braydon.”
    “I’ve dealt with Russians before. I know what they’re capable of. Which makes me wonder, why did Donald call you, of all people, to bail out your brother?” I asked.
    “You see, I run this pretty little antique store called the Angel’s Trumpet down in New Orleans. However, the Angel’s Trumpet also provides a service. I’m a fence for stolen goods. I’ve been in business with the Russians for a while. We had a good arrangement going where I’d bring their stolen goods to the black market and receive top dollar for them in return. I ended up taking a fifteen percent cut out of all transactions. The Russian’s were happy and I was happy.”
    “So you informed the Russians that you’d no longer do business with them if they killed Braydon?”
    “No. That threat alone wasn’t enough leverage to free Braydon from his predicament. I needed something more. I’m a very cautious man and sleep better at night knowing I have an insurance policy, should things ever go south with the Russians. What I did was map out their entire organization. It all starts with the runners, the people the Russians hired to bring me inventory. Now, there are two things about runners which I know to be consistent: first they want to get paid as soon as possible and second, they want to instill confidence to their superiors that they haven’t run off with either the merchandise or the money.
    “Usually after visiting the Angel’s Trumpet, a runner immediately returns to the handler. The handler then immediately goes back to a captain who immediately reports back to a boss. I tailed a runner one night and from there, was able to figure out their entire chain of command. I mapped out all the key players, their family members, and where they all lived within a matter of days.”
    I was surprised. Perhaps Beau wasn’t the idiot that I thought he was. “You know, the FBI’s been trying to lay out the entire Russian organization for years, without any luck.”
    Beau laughed. “The FBI refuses to dig around in shit for the dollar. Meanwhile, I’ve lived in it all my life.”
    “So what did you do next?”
    He grinned. “I brought the Russians pictures of the bosses daughter and told them to let Braydon go, otherwise I’d introduce her to an underground dealer I know who specializes in trading women. They took the offer and I saved my brother’s life. Now, he owes me one.”
    There was still one aspect to this story that required resolution. “The Russians are unforgiving men. You threatened the boss’s daughter. I’m surprised you’re still breathing right now.”
    “When’s the last time you heard of any Russian mob related activities in the past couple of years?” he asked.
    “I didn’t hear a thing.”
    “I gave Braydon the detailed Russian Mafia org chart, including addresses and frequent places of visit. Braydon organized every member of his club, from Niagra Falls all the way to Alaska, and had the Russian’s completely eradicated from the Americas.”
    I was surprised. “Your brother has that type of sway with his club?”
    “Remember who our father was,” Beau said. “Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if guile, charisma, and cunningness are genetic traits that are inherited.”
    I thought of my own father and which of his qualities I’ve inherited. Patience was definitely not one of them.
    “Well, it’s good to know that your brother isn’t a complete hack. From the stories you’ve told me thus far about Braydon, I don’t have the greatest impression of him.”
    “The stories I’ve told you are two exceptions to the fact.”
    “And what fact was that?” I enquired.
    “Braydon is one of the toughest sons-of-bitches I know. To this very day, hearing Braydon’s name makes any Russian—including Mr. Putin—piss vodka into their pants. If you want Lincoln rescued, Braydon will find a way to do it.”
    “So you’re confident he’ll listen