Mike nodded, a considering little purse of his lips and set of his jaw, and then he tilted his head. "You got it. I'll drive out there tonight, check in with you every day if you want by phone?" He knew that a paper trail was dangerous, that even if he wrote the emails in code it was stupid to leave any evidence of his relationship with Mr. Belli. It was part of the reason that Mike got a new cell phone every three months, always a disposable-style GoPhone from a gas station or Walmart. He wasn't exactly a Candy Crush guy anyway, to say the least.
"I'll take care of this… if I can't find out what happened to your incubus, I'll find out who does know," he said without a hint of fear in his voice, and he took a few steps toward the doorway. "If I find out who it is…" he began, then paused, choosing his words carefully, "you got a particular way in mind on how I should handle it?"
They both knew Mike's preferred method, which involved nondescript warehouses and storage bunkers and more power tools than an aisle of Home Depot. But sometimes such things called for a bit more finesse, a little more subtlety.