Antonio managed his anger by drawing in a deep breath—something Vinny had seen him do a lot around Marco lately.
“That half-cremated lump of shit is a warning wherever he goes,” Antonio said. “And now his time has come.” He looked at his watch, then cracked a half smile. “You were too young to remember when the Vegas first came here, so let me tell you a story.”
Still in diapers, Vinny wanted to say.
“The two brothers were like orcas when they first came to this city. They hunted and killed together. But now they have bad blood. Now they will kill each other for territory. Why do you think I made a deal with Esteban?”
Marco still didn’t reply.
“It’s just a matter of time before they go to war,” Antonio said, “and we get to sit by and watch them cannibalize each other. As we speak, the Vegas are wiping out the Bloods across the city.”
“What!” Carmine gasped.
“Esteban sent his sicarios to finish off another of our enemies,” Antonio said. “When it’s over, they’ll be weakened, and I’ll use Mariana to draw Miguel out and finish him off.”
Vinny marveled at his uncle. Their leader hadn’t risen to power through brutality alone. He had done it by being smarter than everyone else.
“For now, we sit and we wait,” Antonio said. “Play cards. Get drunk. Fuck your girlfriends or wives. Do whatever you want, because soon I will need you all.”
No one said much after Antonio left. Distant sirens suggested he was right about the Vegas and the Bloods.
The men all looked up from their cards, listening. A battle was being waged, but the only one the Morettis were fighting tonight was at the poker table.
Vinny checked his two cards: two kings, his best hand of the evening.
First to act, he threw out triple the big blind, making the bet three hundred to go. The other players folded, around to Yellowtail and Marco, who both called the bet.
“Careful there, cuz,” Marco said. His perfect teeth seemed to glow in the lights. He popped the top off his fifth beer, chasing three shots of whiskey. By the time the first three community cards were down in the middle, he had guzzled a third of the beer.
Vinny glanced at the cards in the center of the table. Queen, king, ten.
All hearts.
The beautiful sight made his heart kick. He kept calm, careful not to show any emotion.
He tapped the felt. “Check.”
Yellowtail picked up chips, paused to count, then pushed ten black hundreds into the pot.
Marco flicked a yellow thousand chip into the middle, then went back to his beer.
Vinny made his decision fast, following his cousin’s quick reaction to make it look as if he were on a draw. He hated the three hearts and the straight draw, but if another queen, or ten came in the community cards, he would have a full house, beating any straight or flush that Marco or Yellowtail might have.
The fourth community card came down, but the turn was no help to Vinny. The six of diamonds. He checked again with a tap of his finger. So did Yellowtail.
Marco looked down at the board, then tossed three yellow thousand chips out. He finished his beer and banged the bottle down.
“Come on, guys, one of you has to call me,” he said, grinning. “I can’t win two hands in a row, right?”
Vinny, still convinced he probably had the best hand, tossed in three yellow chips.
After a quick thought, Yellowtail did as well. He was drawing to a straight or a flush, maybe even both. No way he already had it, unless he was better than Vinny thought.
The next card came. The queen of diamonds.
Bingo.
Vinny had the fourth-best hand possible now. Only four queens, a straight flush, or a royal flush could beat him. But all were highly unlikely.
Vinny reached for chips, and Marco seemed suddenly more alert.
“Make it twelve thousand to go,” Vinny said.
Yellowtail cursed and tossed his cards down, but Marco just smiled.
“Bad move, cuz.” He held Vinny’s gaze for a quick second, then said, “All in.”
Vinny checked the board again. Was it possible his cousin really had a straight or royal flush or four queens?
Can’t fold here. You can’t. Chances of him having either hand are next to nothing.
Vinny pushed the rest of his chips in.
He flipped over the kings the same moment Marco showed his cards. A king, the last one in the deck, and a queen.
“Full house,” Marco gloated.
“Me too,” Vinny said. “And mine wins.”
The other men laughed—even Christopher, who shouted, “Oh shit!”
“That’s rough, Marco,” Yellowtail added.
Doberman reached over and threw Vinny a high five.
Marco didn’t seem to notice. He was still looking down at his cards as if he couldn’t comprehend not having the best hand.
“Guess you were right,” Vinny said. “You can’t win two hands in a row. Not against your cuz.” He smiled for the first time tonight and reached forward to grab the chips. The thirty-six-thousand-dollar pot was a nice win.
Marco’s empty bottle shattered against the wall behind the table.
“You son of a bitch, Vinny!” he shouted. “Why you always got to show me up? Why you always got to embarrass me?”
Vinny held up his hands over the pile of chips. “Jesus Christ, man, it’s a game. Settle down!”
“Chill out, Marco,” Christopher said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Marco replied, still glaring at Vinny.
Christopher stood, his hard eyes getting harder.
“You’re out of line,” he growled.
“You’re not my boss,” Marco snarled, finally glancing over. “None of you fuckers are. I’ll catch those fucking Saints on my own. You’ll see.”
And before anyone could react, he stormed off.
“Marco, get the fuck back here!” Carmine called after him. “We want more of your money.”
Yellowtail chuckled uneasily while Vinny and his dad shared a glance. Neither of them joined in the merriment.
Christopher settled back into his seat and picked up the deck of cards.
“Kid’s just fucked up from the other night,” Yellowtail said. “I still remember my first kill. It was private, unlike that shit show.”
Carmine ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, maybe Don Antonio should have eased the kid into it a bit.”
Christopher put a chewed-up cigar back in his mouth. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell us what the don should’ve done, yeah?” he said.
“You’re right, Chrissy, my apologies.”
They went back to playing cards in uneasy silence as sirens cried in the distance. The same tension seemed to have the whole city on edge.
Vinny switched from beer to water. Maybe he should just go home. Maybe Carmen wouldn’t be in a ball-breaking mood.
A motorcycle rumbled in the courtyard below, followed by shouting and the squeal of tires.
Vinny sprang up and hurried over to the railing with Doberman.
“You stupid son of a . . .” Vinny whispered.
Doberman announced, “It’s Marco, on his crotch rocket!”
The others joined them at the railing. Marco rode his bike toward the opening gates.
“Stop him!” Christopher shouted.
The guards, realizing their mistake, tried to close the gate, but Marco gunned the engine through the gap.
“Fuck. I’ll go get him,” Vinny said.
“It’s not safe out there,” Christopher said. “You heard your uncle—the Vegas are fighting for zone three.”
“This is my fault,” Vinny said. “I’ll bring him back.”
As he walked past, Christopher grabbed his arm. For a second, he thought his dad was going to hold him back, but he just said, “Be careful, Vin. Bring that dumb kid home in one piece.”
“I will,” Vinny said. “I have a feeling I know where he’s going.”
<
br /> -24-
A small black dot crossed the sky, growing in size until it became a helicopter. Ray watched it from the driver’s seat of his car. It wasn’t just any helicopter.
An Iron Eagle with a contrarotating main rotor roared over the city, drawing the eyes of everyone on the ground.
And that, of course, was the point. The military wanted everyone, including the crime families, the gangs, and the cops, to see them coming.
“What the hell are they doing here?” he muttered.
You know exactly what they are doing.
The Morettis had wiped out the Nevskys and killed a bunch of cops, and the Vegas had gone to war with the Bloods, racking up dozens of civilian deaths.
Add in all the other violence in the past few days, and Ray figured the empty-suit politicians out east had decided it was time to send in someone to check on their investment.
“Bad move,” Ray muttered. The last time the military set foot in the city was eight years ago, when they were on their way out after helping the LAPD take back the streets from the gangs.
If they were back, then things were worse than Ray had thought. It also meant he might have some more outs.
He watched the Chinese-built chopper cross the skyline and finally descend over central Los Angeles, which told him it was headed for LAPD headquarters.
He went over his plan. Mikey the Mutant was running out of patience, and Ray had only a few more days to make good on his promise.
But he didn’t need days. His work was almost done.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed Alicia. His wife and kids were still at their aunt’s place across town.
“Ray?” she said. “Ray, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, baby. I’m taking care of everything. I promise, everything is going to be fine.”
His wife’s voice cracked on the other line. “I’m really worried, Ray. When are you coming home?”
“Soon, baby. Just got some stuff to take care of. I love you.”
“I love you too. Please come home to us soon. The kids are worried.”
“Give the kids a kiss for me and tell them not to worry.”
He hung up the phone and got out of his Audi to do what he had come here to do.
You got to do this. For them. Ray pulled the black leather jacket over his black tank top, concealing his pistol. The parking lot was full of cars but almost empty of people.
His heart felt heavy in his chest. The detective part of his mind kept telling him what he didn’t want to admit: that his brother was a Saint. He had pretty much known since the kid at the hospital described a guy with antlers driving a pickup, but when the guard at Processing Center 4 didn’t know Andre or Dominic, that clinched it.
Still, Ray needed to hear the truth. And that was exactly what he had come here to do.
He covered his face with his breathing mask and wrapped a bandanna over his freshly shaved head. Then he got out of his car and set off across the parking lot toward the courtyard of a three-story apartment building with an empty concrete pool. The streetlights actually worked here, and he avoided the glow by keeping to the shadows.
He jumped the fence when he got to the entrance of the building. Two stairwells led up to the apartments overlooking the pool. According to the info he had looked up at the station earlier today, the guy he was searching for lived on the second floor.
Reaching into his coat, he grabbed his P320.
Two guys were smoking on the balcony across the complex.
He walked slowly, hoping they would finish their cigarettes soon. While they gabbed, he climbed a stairwell and waited until they went back inside.
Then he hurried over to the apartment he was looking for. One of the lights was on inside, and several candles burned on an entertainment center.
Remember who you’re doing this for . . . Images of his family popped into his mind, fueling him with the courage he needed to shoot the lock and kick the door in.
A scream sounded as he raked the barrel of his pistol over the living room. He nearly pulled the trigger when he saw a woman. She held her belly with one hand and held a boy no older than four behind her with the other.
The man he was looking for came bolting around the corner, and Ray aimed the gun at the woman’s head.
“No one says a fucking word, or I’ll do ’em both right here,” he said. It was a lie, of course. He wasn’t here to kill the wife and kid, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to shoot this man in front of them, either.
Son of a bitch. What are you doing, Ray?
The bronze-skinned man raised his hands. “You can take whatever you want,” he said. “We don’t have—”
Ray cut him off.
“I want you, Namid,” he said.
A flash of realization passed over the Mojave Indian’s eyes. He licked his lips and seemed to consider his options. Then he slowly walked over, hands still up.
“I’ll go with you. Just please don’t hurt my family, I beg you.”
Ray waved him to the doorway.
“Where are you taking him?” the woman cried.
“Shut up,” Ray said. His heart pounded, not from fear but from anxiety. This was wrong. All so wrong. This family could have been his own, held at gunpoint by someone like Mikey.
But that was the problem.
You’re doing this for Alicia and the kids.
“Put these on,” Ray said, giving him handcuffs. Again Namid seemed to consider fighting back, but the moment of hesitation passed, and he followed the order.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ray said.
“Easy, man,” Namid replied.
Ray led him out of the apartment with the gun pointed at his head. He had come here to interrogate and kill this man, but something had stopped him. Now he wasn’t sure what he was doing.
Stepping onto the balcony, Ray turned slightly to look at the woman and her child.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
* * *
Antonio had told his men not to disturb him while he was in the basement of the compound. It was good they were playing cards and drinking. They needed a break from what came next.
But there was no break for Antonio. He was ready to implement the final part of his plan.
Turning on the lights, he entered the dark abandoned kitchen. No one came down here anymore who wasn’t a soldier or an associate. And tonight, the only guards were the two at the door behind him.
They had insisted on joining him, but he wanted to be alone.
“We’ll be right here if you need us,” one had said.
Antonio pulled a cleaver from its magnetic wall mount and went to the decommissioned freezer where he had once kept some captured Vega soldiers. It hadn’t gone well for those men.
Right here, before letting Lino have revenge, he had waterboarded a man with gasoline.
War required evil actions, and Antonio knew evil well. It was a required part of his business, just as putting out flames was required of a firefighter.
Grabbing the latch, he opened the freezer to look in on a woman also known for evil acts. The barbaric and brutal narco queen was so evil Antonio had a hard time replicating it when he framed her for killing a bunch of cops over eight years ago.
Something Chief Stone never found out about. That was good, because it was the first time Antonio broke the deal he’d made about not touching cops.
Holding the cleaver in one hand, he opened the freezer door with the other. Light flooded the dark space, and Mariana recoiled like a vampire in the sun.
The filthy woman no longer looked like the barbarous demon she was known to be.
Crouched in the corner, she squinted into the light.
Antonio walked into the freezer, keeping the door open.
The smell of urine and feces hung in the air, and he pulled out his handkerchief, putting it over his mouth. A bucket in the corner was the source of the stench.
There was blood on the floor too, from when his men beat her
several times to get intel on the Vega brothers. Even from inside the House of the Devil, she had connections that would have given her access to such information. But through the torture, she hadn’t said a word.
That was okay. He didn’t need her to give the location, anyway. She was now the bait.
Antonio bent down and ripped the tape from her mouth. As she winced in pain, he put a finger to his mouth and held up the cleaver.
“Don’t scream, or you’ll make things even more unpleasant,” he said.
She bared her teeth like a dog, then seemed to cower.
“The time has come to send you back into the wild,” Antonio said.
Mariana licked her lips and spoke in Spanish.
He picked up a few words. Something about war and a king. Probably something about how he would never be king.
I’ll be king, all right, and you will help crown me.
He held up the cleaver, and she pulled away. For a moment, he considered hacking her up and sending her to Miguel in separate boxes, one a day for a week, until he left his underground dungeon and came to Antonio.
But keeping her alive was the better option.
Antonio brought his hand down in a gesture of peace.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Miguel bought your freedom.”
Mariana tilted her head.
“That’s right, he still loves you,” Antonio said. “I’ve made a deal with Esteban and Miguel—a deal with new borders. And with the Nevsky family wiped out and the Bloods on the defensive, it will be just the Vegas and Morettis now.”
“Lies,” she growled. “Esteban and Miguel haven’t spoken for months.”
Antonio didn’t react, unsure whether this was truth. It was the most she had said about the brothers since they brought her here.
“They have reconciled,” Antonio said. “Right after we freed you, actually. But the plan was always to sell you to Miguel, and now that time has come.”
He reached down again, fingering the air, when a shadow loomed across the floor.
“Who’s she?” said a female voice.
Antonio turned toward his wife’s voice. “A special guest,” he replied.
Lucia stepped up closer, just shy of the doorway. When the putrid air hit her, she buried her nose in the crook of her elbow.
Sons of War 3: Sinners Page 29