“What’s this?”
“Oh!” Ragus said, recalling something that had slipped his mind in the excitement. “That satellite phone of yours has been ringing like crazy.”
Conor was concerned. “You didn’t answer it did you?”
“No,” Ragus said, as if the idea was absurd. “You’ve told me a million times not to. I just wanted to let you know as soon as you got back that someone must really want to speak to you.”
Conor disappeared into the Faraday room and opened the satellite phone. There were dozens of calls from a single number, all Ricardo. Conor turned things over in his head. He was exhausted and in a lot of physical pain from the ordeal of the last week or so. He couldn’t even count the various pains that tweaked his nerves like banjo strings. He planned on medicating himself and tapping out. But what did Ricardo want? Did he even want to know?
He punched redial and sat down in a worn desk chair while it rang. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the desk and settling his weary head into his palm. Ricardo picked up the third ring.
“Conor Maguire,” Ricardo said. “Where you been?”
“I’ve been out. I saw that you called?”
“Yeah, a time or two.”
“Ricardo, I’m exhausted. I just wanted to see what was up since you’ve been bombing my phone.”
“Blowing up,” Ragus mouthed from across the room. “The expression is blowing up.”
“Blowing up,” Conor corrected.
“It’s about that thing you called me about,” Ricardo said. “I spoke to my JAG buddy. He said The Bond is an organization they’re monitoring at some of the Midwestern Army bases. It’s a loose alliance of soldiers with ties to street gangs. Supposed to be run by some character named Thomas Warner with ties to Detroit. Rumor is they’ve been stealing weapons to arm their old gangs.”
Conor didn’t know what to say. “Thanks, Ricardo. Appreciate you getting back to me on that.”
“That’s all? I thought you would be interested in this information. You don’t seem very excited about it at all.”
“That was about a week ago. I just got home tonight from killing them all.”
The line went silent for a long moment. “Uh...okay,” Ricardo finally said. “But it was kind of large group. More than a hundred. How many did you get?”
“All of them.”
“Hmmm...good to know. I’ll pass it on to my JAG friend. That’ll be one less thing for them to deal with when things get back to normal.”
Conor didn’t reply. This wasn’t his business. He didn’t wipe out The Bond for Ricardo or for the JAG officer or for the benefit of the government. He did it for his community. “Well thanks, Ricardo. I appreciate you getting back to me. I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Ricardo said, rushing to get Conor’s attention before he could hang up.
“Yes?”
“I’ve definitely got a job for you. When are you available?”
“I’m honestly too tired to know, Ricardo. I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll call next week. That be okay?”
“I guess so,” Conor said, smearing a hand down his tired face. “I should be healed up by then.”
“Good. We’ll talk details next week. Be working on a price.”
“It’ll be high,” Conor said.
“I would expect no less, Mad Mick. Nighty night.”
Conor clicked the phone off and dropped it heavily on his desk. He settled back into the chair. Who the hell said “nighty night” to an assassin?
“What was that about?” Ragus asked, stepping up to the door.
Conor was already asleep, slumped back in his chair. Ragus went to the couch and grabbed a blanket off the back. He spread it over his friend and turned off the lamp. “Good night, Conor.”
Brutal Business: Book Three in the Mad Mick Series Page 37