by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin
“So did you ever find another job?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I answered with a convincing sigh. “I had an interview a couple days ago, but it wasn’t very promising.”
“Are you still interested in some security work?”
“It would be my preference,” I said. “This last one I applied for was more usher than guard.”
“Well, I couldn’t really talk too much about it before,” Jim said, “but I might have an opportunity for you.”
“Really?” I smiled as I leaned back in my chair.
“Yeah,” he said. “I work for Brad Ashton – you know, the actor?”
“Yeah, I know him. Well, I know who he is, anyway.”
“As it turns out, we need a replacement security guy for an event coming up, and when he asked if we knew anyone, I remembered talking to you about needing a job. It’s not quite in time for the holidays, but you could start the first week of January. You interested?”
Too fucking easy.
All right, it wasn’t – there was a lot of work to make it happen, but it always felt good when it all came together perfectly.
Before I hung up the phone, I had a job lined up in Atlanta for just after the first.
There was just no way it could have gone more smoothly.
Chapter Five
Tense Situation
“Ten minutes.”
“On my way.” I dropped my cell phone into my pocket, grabbed my Beretta, and shoved it into the side holster under my jacket. Three minutes later I was in the car and heading to Moretti’s office for an impromptu meeting that was suspicious to say the least.
In fact, he sounded a little panicked, and the boss never panicked.
It was the day after Christmas, and Rinaldo had just received a tip that Gavino Greco and three of his goons were on their way to his office. Mario Leone had been unexpectedly called away on personal business across town, and there was no way he would get back in time. I was close, though I was going to have to hurry.
My tires screeched as I rounded the corner, ditched the car – door still open – at the back entrance to Rinaldo’s office building, and rushed inside. I took the stairs two at a time, and drew my gun out as I got to the fourth floor.
I paused, took a calming breath, and then quickly opened the door to the hallway.
Left.
Right.
Left again.
There was no one in the hall and no one besides me on the stairs. The elevator showed all cars on the first floor except for one, which was on the sixth. I listened intently, but the only sound was the usual noise from the heating ducts.
Walking backwards a few steps, I kept my weapon raised as I made my way to Rinaldo’s office. It was empty, but there was sound coming from the back of the room near the rear door, which was closed. I’d never been through it but always thought it was just a personal room for Rinaldo in case he ever needed a shower or a nap.
With silent feet I moved to one side of the door. I was about to knock on it, but it started to open slowly before I got the chance. The first thing I saw was the barrel of a gun, and my hand flew up on instinct.
The gun flew into the air, landed on the desk, and then bounced to the ground again. I grabbed the wrist that had wielded the weapon, twisted it, and shoved the body it was attached to against the far side of the door.
Which is when I realized it was my boss.
“Shit!” I jumped back, released him, and tried to come up with something brilliant to say. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know–”
“Shut up,” Rinaldo said. He reached over and rubbed his shoulder and wrist a little before he retrieved his gun and shoved it into the holster concealed by his jacket. “You got here quick.”
“You said ten minutes,” I reminded him.
“That was more like four.”
“I figured ten was more of a maximum.”
He laughed.
“I always liked you, Evan.” Rinaldo clasped his hand on my shoulder as he started to say something else, but I heard the distinctive ring of the elevator.
“Sir,” I nodded towards the door.
“Can you cover this?” he asked quietly. I glanced at the monitors which displayed the view from the security cameras back in the corner of the office. There were four of them, Gavino Greco included.
Greco was a man I had met on only a few occasions yet knew extremely well. His family had been around for a long time – back to the Capone days – and he had a lot more support overall in the mob world than my employer. Rinaldo Moretti had only arrived in Chicago about twenty years ago but had made quite a name for himself in a relatively short amount of time. He came from a well respected crime family back in the old country, as they say.
“This is a problem, Arden,” Rinaldo said as the four men moved swiftly down the hallway.
“I’ve got it,” I replied, hoping I sounded confident.
I felt confident…for the most part.
I usually did.
Of course, a lot of that stemmed from truly not giving a shit if I lived or died. The worst thing that could happen would be disappointing Moretti. Considering there was likely only two ways out of this – winning or dying – I wasn’t too nervous. If I disappointed him, neither one of us was likely to be around long enough to regret it.
Rinaldo nodded, placed his trust in me, and sat down in his high-backed leather chair. He rotated his shoulders and adjusted his jacket before placing his folded hands on the desk in front of him. I took the place to his right, since it would be easier for me to cover him from that area, and stood at attention with my hands behind my back.
“Greco, my old friend!” Rinaldo said with an overly enthusiastic smile. “You are all the way across town, out of your territories, and unexpected. I hope you bring me good news!”
I resisted the urge to glance sideways at my boss to get a better understanding of his words, and decided my eyes were best kept on my opponents.
My targets.
My potential victims.
Of the three surrounding Greco, I only knew one. His name was Craig Flannigan, and he used to be a gun runner in one of the smaller operations before Greco wiped them out. Flannigan was thought to have been the informant amongst the gun runners that made the hit easy for Greco. He was tall, redheaded, and had a thick beard to match his thick Irish accent.
The other two were dark-haired and dark-eyed with big muscles bulging out of their tailored suits. They could very well have been twins, but one had a scar across his cheek, and the other had a mustache. They didn’t speak but flanked their boss closely with their hands placed near their shoulder holsters. These two were Italian-descended and likely related to Greco in some way. Flannigan would rat them all out if the money was right or his life depended on it, but not these two. They would give their lives for Greco if it was necessary.
Loyal men.
Flannigan stood directly in front of me, blocking his boss from the known hit man. It was defensive, and though it made sense on some level, it showed weakness. It put a man between me and my target, blocking him from me, yes – but also providing me with a shield if I needed it. Flannigan wasn’t even looking at me, so he obviously didn’t consider me a major threat – not when they had numbers on their side.
He wasn’t prepared for me to be here, and it didn’t fit whatever plan they had. He wasn’t a bright guy, and impromptu wasn’t his forte. This gave me a significant advantage.
“I bring news, old friend,” Greco said. He didn’t bother to hide the menace in his voice, which wasn’t a good sign at all. It meant he had already made a decision and there would be no pleasant negotiating before he intended to carry out his plans. “I do not consider it good.”
“Do tell,” Rinaldo said as he leaned forward on his desk.
I wanted to tell him to lean back – he would be able to drop to the floor much faster if necessary – but of course I couldn’t.
“A shipment of heroin,” Greco said,
“a shipment with my hands already around it has gone missing from my docks. It is the third time in two months.”
“Unfortunate,” Moretti agreed. “Do you think these thefts of your property are connected?”
“I do,” he said. “I think they are connected to you.”
“That is quite an accusation,” Rinaldo snarled. “You speak without thought.”
“I speak with evidence!” Greco growled back. “Your own man found at the site with some of the goods still on his hands!”
“A mistake,” Rinaldo said. “Why would I do such a thing and spark war with my ally, hmm?”
“Because your supplier has been hit twice by the feds now, and you are losing money!”
“Why do you say this?” Rinaldo’s voice went calm, and he sat back in his seat, thankfully.
I tensed as Greco leaned forward slightly and placed his right hand on Rinaldo’s desk.
“Because your own man told me.”
“What man is this?” Rinaldo asked. “I would like to know who is claiming to be in my employ under such circumstances. Perhaps he had a Russian accent you failed to notice?”
The dig was definitely felt. Greco’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand clenched into a fist at the mention of the Russian spy who infiltrated his organization last year and killed one of his sons during a drug deal.
“There is only one mistake this time,” Greco said quietly, “and that mistake is yours.”
It was Flannigan who acted when Greco tapped his thick finger on the desk – a prearranged sign.
I moved without thought.
Flannigan was going for his gun inside his jacket, and I wasn’t going to be able to both outdraw him like an old western and protect my boss at the same time. Instead, I went with a more melee approach.
My hand moved out, knuckles forward, and collided with the center of his neck. The choking, raspy sound that emerged from his mouth was accompanied by bulging eyes and a rapidly reddening face. He dropped to the ground, and I kicked out at him while drawing my weapon from the back of my pants at the same time.
I didn’t bother with the other two men – there wasn’t time to actually shoot anyone. Their weapons were already out and aimed at me. I had to go with a more tactical approach, which meant pointing the barrel of the Beretta at Greco’s face.
Flannigan heaved in a breath, and in my peripheral vision I could see him drawing his weapon and pointing it towards my head. This wasn’t part of their plan, though, and he didn’t know what to do next.
With three guns pointed at various parts of my body, I remained completely still. My heart was pounding in my chest, and adrenalin coursed through my system, but I refused to let it show in my face or in the steady way I held my Beretta right between Gavino Greco’s eyes.
“You know you die if you pull that trigger,” he said quietly. The calm of his voice didn’t match the slight tremor in his fingertips, nor the tiny bead of sweat forming at his hairline.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“So why don’t I just have them fire?” Greco said with a sly little smile. “You’ll be dead before you can retaliate, and your boss there will follow you into the afterlife shortly.”
“No, sir,” I said. “If I get hit, even with an instant kill, my finger’s already tight against the trigger. With the angle and the trauma to my system, my finger will pull back in reflex. Yeah, I’ll be dead, but I’ll take you with me. Whatever happens after that…well, honestly? I don’t give a shit.”
Our eyes remained locked with each other. I could see the man’s eyes as they looked for lies within my face, but he could find nothing. He obviously played more cards than he watched the Discovery channel, and I could see him ask himself – was I holding aces or deuces? Was my knowledge of physiology accurate?
He had no idea, but he was self-centered enough to not take the chance.
“A misunderstanding,” he said softly. “I’m sure the Russians must have been behind it.”
“Let’s put it behind us then, shall we?” Rinaldo’s voice floated from my right, but I could hear the odd tenor in the sound. He still wasn’t sure – he didn’t know if we had won or not, but I knew we had.
Just the battle, not the war. This was far from over.
“Put those down, boys,” Greco said. “We don’t want to be late for dinner.”
Three guns dropped towards the ground, but I didn’t alter my position at all. Even as all four of them backed out of the office, turned and raced for the elevator, the business end of my Beretta stayed trained to his face.
I did not take chances.
Never again.
I stood still as my heart pounded, and the adrenaline in my system started to sour. My eyes stayed locked on the hallway, daring one of them to try to come back. The lighted numbers at the top of the elevator showed their descent back to the first floor, and I still watched to make sure none of the elevators started to rise again. When they didn’t, I listened for the echo of footsteps on the stairwell.
“I think they’re gone,” Rinaldo said.
I didn’t move.
“Arden, they’re not coming back. Look at the security cameras.”
My fingers twitched on the handle of the gun, and my index finger flexed slightly.
“Evan.”
“Just making sure,” I said simply.
“Well, I’m pretty sure.”
I nodded, took a step back, and lowered my weapon. When my eyes turned to the monitors, I could see them in a long, black car leaving the parking lot.
“They knew you were going to be alone,” I said.
“Yes, I think that’s correct.”
“Who knew Mario was across town?” I asked.
“A handful,” Rinaldo replied. “There were six others besides Mario and myself in the room when he had to leave. All loyal men, though.”
I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.
“One of them isn’t.”
He nodded.
“Apparently.”
Rinaldo went through the list of people who knew about Mario’s sudden absence, and it didn’t make me feel any better at all. Two were family in the quite literal sense. Another pair dealt with some of the side businesses – money laundering, mostly. Jonathan and Terry were also on the list.
I couldn’t consider either one as definitely innocent or definitely guilty – I was too biased against both of them, just in different directions. If I found out about Jonathan being treacherous, I’d have to kill him. On the other hand, I wanted to find out Terry was a rat because he was annoying and I wanted him dead, anyway. I’d shoot first, never bother to ask any questions, and then get burned later if I was wrong.
It was probably best I didn’t get involved in this one.
“I need you to do a little side job for me,” Rinaldo said.
He must have been reading my mind, but not in a way I considered favorable.
“What about Ashton?”
“When do you plan to take him out?”
“In Atlanta,” I said. “He’ll be there next week.
“Ashton can wait,” Rinaldo said. “I need this sooner.”
Shit.
His mind was set, and there was no way I was going to change it.
“Whatever you say, sir.”
“Do some spying, do some watching – all that shit you’re extra good at. What do you call it? Recon?”
I nodded.
“I need your top three picks,” he said. “The top three guys you think might have said something to Greco. I want to know why they’re your top picks, and then we’re going to bring them all together for a little party.”
“What about family?” I asked quietly.
Rinaldo’s eyes darkened.
“Your top three picks,” he repeated. “I don’t care whose cunt they’ve been in or come out of, you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He turned towards me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“
I can’t let this go, Evan,” he said. “I need some closure on this one. I can’t take out Greco. I’m not positioned to do that just yet, but I need this – I need this fixed.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I understand.”
“You will do this for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now?”
“Now?” I repeated. The look in his eyes didn’t indicate he was going with the equivalent of sometime soon. “As in, right this moment, sir?”
“Find the rat scurrying around in my business, Evan. Find him and bring him to me. I don’t care about his relationships or how long he’s been here; I need to know who he is.”
“Three top men?”
“You bring them to me,” he said. “I’ll make sure I get the right one.”
“Today?”
“Right now.”
I swallowed, and my still tense body tried to relax enough to think. If this wasn’t a test, I didn’t know what was. This was it though – this was the real way I got back into his graces. I could read between the lines, too. Don’t fuck up, Arden. Not again.
“I will be counting on you, then, Mister Arden.”
I nodded, turned, and left the office.
There was a lot of work to do if I was going to have any chance at coming up with the right three people as quickly as he wanted them. I also still wanted to make the hit on Ashton in Atlanta – I’d already done so much work to get ready for that, and changing the hit to another place was going to make it ten times harder. I’d practically have to start over again, and I hated to waste work.
I had to move fast, but I had to be careful, too. Bringing in the wrong people would be just as dangerous and career-ending as being late. I had to know I was right, which means I had to go the fastest route possible.
First and foremost – alibis.
Usually I would use Jonathan Ferris and his computer skills for such work, but I was going to have to do this one on my own. It wasn’t my strong point, but I had resources people didn’t know about.
I walked into Walgreens and picked up a pre-paid cell phone which I paid for in cash. I examined the packaging as I headed back outside. As soon as I stepped out of the revolving door, I had to jump back against the building to avoid some guy doing a duck-walk down the sidewalk. He had a cup of something in his hands, which were clasped behind his back. With every step he took, the liquid sloshed out of the cup and onto the cement. A nearly burnt-out cigarette stuck between his lips completed the scene.