XAVIER HICKMAN RAN ROLLO’S WEST-SIDE operation from a warehouse on Clifton Avenue in Avondale. One of Bishop’s hackers pulled information on Hickman and found that he owned a rental property with six units on Cornell Place, four blocks from the warehouse. He also discovered the city recently cited the property with seventeen code violations and smacked Hickman with thirty grand in fines.

Little Freddie parked his Volvo in front of the property and dialed the number Bishop gave him. Xavier Hickman answered the line.

“Hello, this is Ryan Thomas, with the Avondale Building and Zoning Department,” said Little Freddie. “I need to see you at your Cornell Place property. Can you meet me here?” “That’s bullshit,” said Hickman. “You guys told me I had six weeks to clear that up. It’s only been two and a half.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Hickman, but I’m not following up on your initial report. I’m responding to a separate complaint.”

“What complaint?”

“I can’t discuss it over the phone. That’s why I need to see you in person. Can you meet me at the property in fifteen minutes?”

“Fine,” said Hickman. “But after this, I don’t wanna hear from any of you until after my six weeks.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” Little Freddie hung up the phone.

TEN MINUTES LATER, A CADILLAC Escalade parked behind Little Freddie’s Volvo. Little Freddie sat on the building’s front stoop with a clipboard in his hand. Hickman climbed out of the SUV and walked toward the front door.

“All right, what’s this all about?” said Hickman. “I’m so sick of dealing with you guys.”

“Toxic mold,” said Little Freddie. “One of your residents called the department to file a complaint. They said they’d mentioned it to you before but that you never did anything about it.”

“I never heard anything about any toxic mold. That’s bullshit. I already got calls into a contractor to fix that other stuff, but no one said anything about mold.”

“Well, someone filed a complaint with our office, and I need to investigate it.”

“What, you want to go in and look around?”

Little Freddie shrugged. “Actually, I can’t,” he said. “I need to have a certified mold inspector come out. They have to wear special suits and everything. If they do find evidence of mold inside the building, you’ll have to have it removed. And that requires a specialist.”

“That’s just what I fucking need. Another specialist.”

“I just need your signature authorizing us to schedule the inspection.” Little Freddie flipped through the paper on his clipboard. “Damn, I thought I had the right form here. I think I have it in my car. Follow me and I’ll get you out of here in a few minutes.”

Little Freddie walked to his car and opened the trunk. Hickman followed. Little Freddie handed Hickman the clipboard. “Can you hold this for a sec?”

Hickman grabbed the clipboard as Little Freddie looked around the street. Then, he leaned into the trunk, pulled out a tire iron and slammed it into Hickman’s stomach. Hickman doubled over and grabbed the car’s bumper to stay on his feet. In one quick motion, Little Freddie grabbed Hickman’s ankles, lifted him into the trunk and slammed the trunk lid shut.