Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
He has the nerve to look pissed off.
“And how the fuck did you hit your head?”
Otto frowns and reaches for his baseball cap. “How—”
“Forget it, I don’t give a shit.” I point my machine gun at him. “Stay away from her.” I leave him with that warning and throw Brad a shotgun before hurrying back downstairs. “And get more guns,” I yell back, entering the club again, seeing James still with Drake.
I pass the girls at the bar. “Danny, what’s going on?” Rose calls. “Danny!”
“You move from that stool, Rose, I swear to God . . .” I stop and show her my incensed eyes, and she wilts, knowing now is not one of the times she should push me. Thank God. I toss the belt over my shoulder and load, ignorant to the attention of those who have noticed The Brit striding through the club armed with a fully automatic AR15.
I make it onto the street where Des is alone, guarding the entrance, a Heckler outnumbering the unarmed Russians.
None of which I recognize.
Not Volodya. Not Sandy. So . . .
“The Ox,” I say, taking in the guy up front in a badly fitted gray suit.
“The Brit,” he purrs, smiling. “Is this how you greet all your guests?”
“Ones I want to kill, yes.” I smile and hold up the gun, dipping into my pocket and pulling out my Marlboros. I grip one with my teeth, slide it out, and light it, never taking my eyes off him. “You deal in guns, and yet you turn up here unarmed,” I say.
“I told your Black friend here, I come in peace.”
“There is no peace in my world, never will be, so what the fuck do you want from me, except certain death?”
“I am a fair man, Black. I want to do business and exist in peace here in your fine country. You returning to Miami has upset my balance.”
“Perhaps some yoga will fix that.” I pout, exhaling smoke, hearing the other men join me, all now armed.
“You’re supplying the Mexicans,” he says.
“Correct. Are we done?”
“You’re undercutting me. Practically giving away the guns for free. Go back to wherever you were.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Ox, I would love to, but some fucker dug up my pops from his resting place. You know anything about that?” I lift the gun a fraction more.
Hands up in surrender, he takes a step back. “I think I can help you there.”
“You have information on my father?”
“Yes.”
I nod, lowering my gun, pulling on my cigarette and inhaling the nicotine deeply. “Why don’t you step into my office?” I ask, gesturing with the gun and moving aside, smiling my welcome.
Looking wary, as he absolutely should, he casts his eyes over me, James, and Otto, then indicates for his men to follow. I look across to the girls as I wander through, seeing both looking uncomfortably . . . comfortable. Like this is normal. Everyday life.
As I pass the DJ stand, I look up at the DJ, nodding my approval to the current track. Adamski Killer. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask. “Vodka? That’s what you Russians like, isn’t it? Or is that the Polish?” I look back at James, and he shakes his head in dismay, exasperated, but if I don’t adopt this style, I’m likely to make a mess of Hiatus.
“I prefer rum,” he grunts, as I let him in the office. All three of his men pass, all silent, not one having murmured a word yet. They can’t speak English.
Then my men follow, giving me questioning eyes as they step inside and I turn, closing the door. Just before the wood meets the frame, I see the DJ, his hand poised on the volume dial. I shut the door and face the room. “I’m assuming whoever dug up my father wouldn’t want to drag a dead body far,” I muse, almost thoughtful, holding up my cigarette and looking at the stick as it hisses, burning, glowing. “So I’m guessing we should be looking in the eastern area, because that’s where the cathedral is and that is where he’s buried.” I look up at The Ox. “Or was buried.”
“Correct.”
I nod, inhale, breathing out deeply. I see James, Otto, Brad, and Nolan in the edge of my vision move aside and hear the music in the club crank up. I slip my cigarette back between my lips. I’m done with his bullshit, outraged that he thought he could turn up here unannounced and tell me what I can and cannot do, where I can and cannot be and, worse, tempt me with knowledge of my father’s whereabouts.
I give no warning, no hint through my expression.
I turn and open fire, spreading the bullets between all four of the fuckers. Their arms lift and shake, like they’re fucking breakdancing, and I don’t stop until my belt is empty and my gun is clicking. I pull on my cigarette and breathe out, long and happily. I needed that. One less spider in the web. Or fucking animal in the god damn zoo. Whatever. But fuck . . . “What a fucking mess.”