“But . . .” Javy says as I hand the now empty Uzi back to him. “I mean—”
“This isn’t some goddamned Stallone movie where our guns have magic magazines that never run out of rounds!” I interrupt, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and jamming the Uzi into his chest. “And you don’t have any spare mags for your gun! What are you going to do, tell everyone to stop while you hand-load spare rounds one by one into your mag? Put Charlene down.”
Javier’s pissed, but he does as he’s told. Eric, who’s been with us from the beginning, just chuckles and follows behind, climbing in the back and closing the door. Marcus gives me a chagrined look. “Sorry, Ryker. Thought he was smarter than that.”
“He’s young. He’ll learn. As long as he’s a good hand in the fight, I’m not worried about him being a bit cocky. Come on.”
We climb into the van, and I see that Eric’s already climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving shotgun for Marcus and the back for Javy and me. The engine starts up and we pull out, Javier and I looking at each other across the back of the van.
“Mr. Ryker?” He finally says to break the silence. He sounds different this time. Maybe he’s ready to actually learn. “I’m sorry,” he says simply.
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get this done. Tonight, we can take this city.”
“You mean you take the city,” Javier says, and I shrug.
“Every unit has to have a leader. At least I still remember what it was like looking forward to my state-paid-for lunch at school and my cheap shit government beans and cheese dinner. I haven’t forgotten the hustle. And I haven’t forgotten how to get my hands dirty.”
Finally, he looks up. “Okay then. My bad about Charlene.”
I offer my hand, and we shake before we sit back. The staging area is a good way from the Lucky Seven, and it takes us a while. Finally, Marcus speaks up from the front. “There it is, Ryker.”
I scoot forward, looking out the front window as I see The Lucky Seven Tavern. The sign is practically a fucking advertisement for what goes on in the back, a pair of dice showing a four and a three superimposed over a martini glass, but the cops don’t give a fuck. They play their games and we play ours.
“Okay, pull up to the side entrance down the alley. That’s where the casino door is,” I say. I take a second and look around at the others. “Remember the plan. Hit them hard and fast. No casualties other than the three fucksticks we’re after, if it’s possible. We clear?”
Everyone nods, and Eric pulls the van up in front of the casino door. “GO!”
I know there’s a security camera, so we don’t have much time as we throw open the sliding door on the driver’s side, Eric and Javy getting out first. Marcus has the slowest route, having to come around. “Down!”
The Saiga roars, the twelve-gauge deer slug hitting the door near the locks and punching a hole through. Steel core doors aren’t shit for a slug fired from eighteen inches away. With a kick of my boot, the door flies open and I fire again into whatever the fuck’s in the way.
Javy’s first, his ego and machismo making him break discipline, and he pays for it, the shot from the bodyguard inside taking him high in the left shoulder. It doesn’t matter. My shotgun makes quick work of him half a second later while Eric’s already doing his job, spraying the poker table in front of us with an entire forty-round clip while Marcus and I shove through the door.
Somehow, miraculously, Sal Francisco is still alive, his hands over his head, pressed down against the table after Eric’s sweep with his gun, and I take him out first, blowing him out of his chair. Julio Gonzales is on the floor, but Jimmy’s up, his reflexes a lot faster than a man his age normally has. My next shot takes Jimmy in the hip, destroying his ability to walk while spinning him to the floor and adding his screams to the overall insanity. Down and neutralized, I fire again, putting him down. “Hold!”
Eric takes a little longer. He’s been firing longer, and he finishes out his current magazine before he stops and we survey the damage. The table, which at one point looked like it might have been dark oak covered in green felt, looks like firewood with green puffs of fuzz on top, and the metal chairs have been twisted into strange, fantastical shapes as rounds have blasted them into scrap. The stench of burned gunpowder overpowers everything, although the smell of blood is already starting to undercut it and make its presence felt.
Through the wall, I can hear a little bit of reaction from the patrons of the Lucky Seven. The walls are soundproofed but not that well. Miraculously, I can hear a woman’s whimpers, and crouched down in the corner is a girl who was obviously here for entertainment purposes after the poker was finished, if her Playboy Bunny outfit is to mean anything. She’s covered in a mist of blood, we all are, and when I go over to nudge her with the toe of my boot, she screams, looking up at me with bright green eyes. “Please! Please don’t kill me!”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I reply softly, squatting down. Eric’s already pulling back, pulling the injured Javier with him while Marcus covers me, making sure there’s nobody playing possum. “I need you to deliver a message to someone for me, though.”
“Who?” the girl asks, her voice like a little girl’s from the shock. Not what I intended, but at least she’s uninjured.
“Tell them . . . this town is Ryker’s island,” I say softly, standing up and shouldering my Saiga. “Tell them that if they don’t know that now, they’ll find out soon enough.”
The girl nods and I turn, walking out casually through the door.
I turn my attention to Javier, who’s panicked and in shock from the gunshot. Luckily for him, I prepared for this. “Chill, Javy. The doctor’s just a few miles away. He’ll get you fixed up. In the meantime, just chill, lie back, and think of the stories you’ll get to tell about this. Besides, chicks dig scars.”
Javier tries to smile, but it hurts, so he just grimaces and nods. “Sorry, Ryker.”
“No sweat, man. We’re gonna get you stitched up, you’ll rest up a little, and then you’ll be back in no time. You showed guts, which is number one. We’ll work on getting those guts under control later.”
Nobody says anything else until we get to the doctor’s place, dropping Eric and Javier off at the underground clinic while Marcus and I head off to ditch the van. As I drive, Marcus rides shotgun, his eyes constantly sweeping the streets around us. “So, Ryker, about Doc . . .”
“Yeah?” I ask, and Marcus looks over.
“You do know that he’s not a real doctor, right? He was just a Navy Corpsman who went to State on an ROTC scholarship.”
I nod, giving my brother a smirk. “I know that. You know that. Javier doesn’t need to know. He’ll be fine. Now, on to business. After tonight, we’ve got to be ready to move and move fast. The next hit’s going to be at the funeral for Sal Francisco. If we’re lucky, we might even get a shot in on Jacob Waters himself.”
Marcus nods, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “We’ll be ready.”
Chapter 4
Sarah
Breakfast is light, which I’m glad for. After getting the news that Sal Francisco was killed along with a bunch of other men in his group, Jacob’s been on edge. I’m eager to finish and stay out of sight. Stanzie, on the other hand, hasn’t been as lucky as me. Her left eye is half-closed from the slap he gave her last night when she looked at him wrong. I should feel bad for her, but I don’t. I know it’s wrong, I really do, but I’m practically numb to what Jacob does to us now.
The only good thing is that he’s been busy. The hit was messy, according to what the men who’ve come to the mansion have said. They gossip almost constantly whenever they get a chance. They’re worse than old women that way. There’s a name they keep saying too . . . Ryker. It’s a name I’ve heard more and more over the past few months. Apparently, he’s some sort of street gang leader. They say that he and three of his boys hit the card game that Sal Francisco, Jimmie Clausen, and Julio Gonzales were playing at.
From the way they’re talking, Ryker took out at least two of the three men himself. Until the hit on the game, Jacob talked about Ryker like someone would talk about a particularly annoying fly. Not anymore.
“I said after the funeral, I want the best men in town to hunt that motherfucker down and bring me his balls in a silver bowl!” Jacob yells into his phone. He’s pacing back and forth, running his free hand through his silvery gray hair, looking like neither the distinguished tough, bargaining real estate tycoon nor the bad ass mob boss. Instead, he looks like he’s just this side of unhinged. “I don’t care if it gets messy! I don’t care if he’s got every street rat from the South Side to the Tracks to the Narrows on his side. I want him dead!”
I cringe and quickly go to my room, seeing that I’ve got about ninety minutes before we need to leave for the funeral. Stanzie joins me soon, but I wave her away. The poor woman has been through enough. She should do like me and stay hidden. “Go rest, Stanzie. Is the house clean?”
“Yes, Mrs. Waters,” she says. “Thank you.”
Watching her leave breaks my heart. She’s grateful for even this little bit of reprieve, and the first inevitable dark thoughts start to fill my head. Stanzie’s still fighting, but she’s only been around a little while. I wonder how much fight’s going to be left when she’s been here as long as I have.
There’s no escape. I know that, and she will soon.
I start to get dressed, thoughts as dark as my dress swirling around my head, and I’m so deep in thought that when Jacob puts his hand on my shoulder, I’m lucky that I don’t screw up my lipstick.
“You surprised me,” I say softly, putting the lipstick away. “I was thinking about the funeral.”
“I can see that,” Jacob says, looking at me in the mirror. He doesn’t say anything yet, but I can see from the look on his face that he doesn’t approve. Nothing new there.
I look at myself in the mirror, and I don’t think I look bad at all. Sure, the lipstick isn’t deep maroon or something, but it’s not like I’m wearing fire engine red or bubblegum pink. “I just wanted to look pretty today.”
Jacob glares at me in the mirror. “Show some respect. You need to be in mourning. Sal Francisco was more valuable to me than you ever were or ever will be. At least he knew how to be loyal, how to do what his betters demanded. Although . . .”
Jacob grabs me and kisses me hard, smearing my lipstick all around my face and ruining everything. When he pulls back, he laughs. “Now maybe you’ll do it right.”
His words should sting. I should be upset. I should be wanting to cry, but for some reason . . . I just can’t.
Five years, four months, and seventeen days is all it took to burn every bit out of me, I guess. He started on our wedding night. That was when he ‘got rough’ for the first time, as he called it, and since then, I’ve had it all burned out of me.
Instead of protesting, I look in the mirror, where I can see both of us. I can see the flash of silver at his waist, and I know what it is, the Smith & Wesson pistol that he never leaves the house without. I’ve seen the terrible things he’s done with that gun.
Jacob looks at me as if he’s waiting for an answer. So, I look at him with my cold, dead doll’s eyes. “I’ll be in mourning.”
His grimace disappears into a bit of a smile. “Good girl. Well then, I’ll let you finish getting ready. We leave in twenty minutes. Meet me in the foyer.”
He leaves, and I look at my face in the mirror, reaching for the towel next to my makeup kit with robotic arms, not feeling anything at all as I wipe all traces of makeup off my cheeks and mouth before carefully reapplying it. I use a different tone from before, more conservative, more subdued, with nothing for my cheeks at all. I still look beautiful, but I also look like I’m in mourning.
I guess I am, but not for the reason Jacob wants me to be. I’m mourning the woman I could have been. I don’t want to sound too much like Brando, but I could have been somebody. I could have made the transition to legit actress. I should have had a loving husband. I could have started a family already. I didn’t deserve this.
I use eighteen of my twenty minutes to try and find a reason to work up tears on the way to the funeral, but I can’t. I can be in mourning. I’m still a decent enough actress to do that, but it’s going to have to be the ‘stunned yet stony-faced mourner’ bit. Works well enough when you don’t know the man being buried beyond him being one of your husband’s business associates and occasional poker buddy.
We get in the limo to ride to the church and after that, the cemetery. We’re about a third of the way there when Jacob looks over, evaluating my face. “Good girl.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, trying to do anything I can to avoid looking at him. “I also have a hat with a veil.”
“Good girl,” Jacob repeats, and I can see a grin form on his face out of the corner of my eyes.
“That’s it, baby. See? You listen and things go well.”
Chapter 5
Ryker
A different warehouse, and a different time of day, but the idea’s the same. I look out at the assembled group, this time a crew of ten. The danger levels are off the charts right now, but there’s a reason that Marcus and I picked these men to come with us. Every one of them has a personal reason to hate Jacob Waters but is also professional enough to do their job without fucking around on a personal vendetta.
“Remember, the idea is to cause carnage,” I brief, pointing to the chalkboard where I’ve drawn a diagram of the action.
“Now, everyone, let me be very, very clear: Nobody is to take a shot at Jacob Waters. Today’s plan is to hit another of his lieutenants and to snatch his wife.”
“Why not just put one in his head?” one of the guys asks, and I sit down on the table, knowing we’ve got a few minutes. Marcus doesn’t look happy about it, but that’s okay. We’ve got a little bit of time.
“If we just cut the head off the beast, the remaining lieutenants are going to be strong enough to try and fight us. Hell, he’s still popular with the police. What do you think’s going to happen to our neighborhoods if the cops go rampant citywide because we shot one of their most popular crooks? No, we must remove his support, peel each group from him, and make his underlings recognize that he’s not strong enough to protect them anymore. We make them realize that the real power lies with us so that when we do take him down, he’s going to be friendless.”
“Now, let me wrap things up,” I say, glancing at my watch. There’s still time, but I can see Marcus is getting antsy. Better to keep him calm until it’s time. “The target that has to be taken down is this guy, Soo-Young Pak. He’s the connection Waters has with the Asian gangs overseas, so if we take him out, we take away his overseas drug and money operations. That leaves the wife, Sarah Waters. She’s mine, plain and simple. Nobody touches her. I’ll snag her. Is everyone clear?”
Nobody says anything, and I turn the rest of the briefing over to Marcus, pretending that I have to go take a piss. The reality is that I’ve got to get my head right. Last night, after Marcus had gone to bed, for some reason, I’d pulled up an old episode of Sarah’s television show. I can’t seem to wrap my ahead around the fact that the girl I was so fucking into back then was a fictional character, not the real-life woman who got my father killed. Still, as I shake off and tuck myself back into my suit pants, I can’t get that old fantasy of fucking her in that school girl outfit out of my head.
I come out, looking over the group. “Okay, any last comments, concerns, gripes, or bitches? Now’s the time.”
There are no more questions, so we split up, five vehicles this time, ranging from a pickup truck to the Caddy that Marcus and I are taking. As soon as we roll up the door on the warehouse, I see that the rain’s starting already, and by the color of the clouds, it’s just going to get worse. “Well, well, that’ll make things even easier.”
“It’ll be hard for folks to not want to take a shot at Waters,” Marcus warns me. “Is that why
you went with pistols?”
“That and hiding a shotgun under a suit coat is really fucking hard,” I reply with a chuckle. “But I do want that fucker to die by my hand.”
When we get to the graveyard, I put on a dark, wide-brimmed fedora to match my coat and to keep the rain out of my eyes while Marcus peels off to approach the gravesite from another direction. We’re just in time as the main procession arrives minutes later and the first problem shows up. I’d expected there to be about ten cars in the burial party, but there are nearly twenty-five, which means a lot more people at the graveside.
As the crowd gets out, I see Jacob Waters getting out of a stretch limo, a better ride than even the deputy mayor, who at least had the humility to drive his own car to the graveyard. They follow behind the casket, which is carried in the old-fashioned way on the shoulders of six men who struggle a little in the now wet, slick grass.
I see my guys start to blend into the crowd, and I’m reassured when I see two of them get close to Pak. They’ll have the drop on him. But I have a problem with my position. Waters is being careful. I can see that in addition to his wife and himself, he’s got a small entourage with him, three guys who are more muscle than brains, but they form a human wall behind Waters as everyone gathers around the gravesite for the final service.
The priest, his vestments already soaked from the rain despite someone trying to help him by holding an umbrella over his head, starts his speech, his voice carrying over the sound of the rain hitting the casket in an almost machine gun-like rattle. Sal Francisco was a millionaire. Why the hell he decided to get buried in a cheap, shitty, hollow aluminum casket is beyond me.
If I can’t get right behind Sarah Waters, then I’m forced to move. I put myself between them and the limo, as close as I can dare without drawing attention. Then, all I can do is wait for the signal, which comes from the priest himself.
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