Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
The boys scrambled to search the motherfuckers again, and I refocused on Lucas.
“I think it’s superficial,” he gritted out. “He got me with a knife.”
I carefully pried away his hand and lifted his sweater. Yeah, the blood was pretty much gushing out, but it didn’t look awfully deep. “Let’s get you into the car. I have a medic kit. We’ll patch you up on the way.”
It took me about five minutes to get everyone into the car, the Italians and their dead friend getting cozy in the back, and call for cleanup. There was blood on the ground, and it needed to be gone before first light.
Eric, Finn’s left-hand man—if I was his right—was our resident computer whiz, and he would have to search the area for surveillance too.
I side-eyed Lucas next to me as I got back on Constitution Avenue. “You good?”
He nodded jerkily, struggling to open a pack of gauze.
I reached across the center console and took over, keeping one eye on the road. “What did your pop tell you tonight was gonna involve?”
“Uh, recon. Possibly assisting you and your crew,” he answered.
I shook my head to myself and pressed a wad of gauze on the wound. “Pour one of those small bottles of disinfectant over the gauze and press your hand to it. At least it’ll be clean. The rest will have to wait till we get to our next stop.”
When we got to the warehouse, I met up with Finn and Eric, and the three of us dragged the two Italians who were still alive into one of the prepared areas we’d used several times before. Once upon a time, it’d been a factory of some sort, and it had a handful of offices in the back that were easy to cover in plastic and carry out interrogations.
The air was cold and damp, and our breaths misted in the dim lighting.
“Ford, your Italian is better than ours,” Finn grunted.
I wasn’t interested in making them talk at the moment. They were mostly hurling insults at us under their breath, and fucking let them. I wanted to take a swing at Old Phil first and foremost.
“Is the kid okay?” I asked.
Lucas and the other boys had gone into another room, presumably where Phil was. I’d heard Eric mentioning that Shan was here too, which worked in Lucas’s favor. Shannon knew how to treat wounds.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Finn responded.
Eric rose from the floor after finishing tying the Italians’ feet to their chairs.
I got up too, once I’d secured their hands behind their backs.
“I gotta go check in with Colm and Mikey,” Eric said and stalked out of the office.
That reminded me. I removed my earpiece. I’d put it on mute anyway.
“Hey.” Finn took a step closer to me and furrowed his brow. “What’s got you seething? Did something happen?”
I chuckled humorlessly and pulled out my smokes. “Yeah, you can say that.” I didn’t say another word until I’d lit one up and taken a long drag. I caught the two greaseballs watching me quietly, and I wondered if they were bright enough to know they weren’t getting out of here. Like the guys Colm had spotted, these two weren’t new in the field either. They looked like typical made men, suits and nice shoes, not a hair outta place, wedding rings. Midthirties, I guessed.
“We gotta retire Old Phil,” I stated.
Finn straightened a bit. “I’m listening.”
I took another drag. “He’s supposed to run Snyder and everything south of Whitman, and that includes the docks and the shipyard—except for your properties. But how well is that working if we’re flushing out five motherfuckers from Italy there on the same night? And you know it ain’t the first time. And then—he sends his goddamn kid and his friends. It’s one thing if Lucas had come to me and expressed interest in joining, but fucking nothing. He’s greener than Max.”
And now Lucas had killed a man.
“I hear you.” Finn nodded slowly and lit up his own smoke. “It’s not like we haven’t discussed it in the past.”
Exactly. We only had two old-timers left. Well, three if we counted Shan… But the other two were actually old. Old Phil was over seventy, and he had nine or ten kids. Plenty of options for a successor if he didn’t want someone I chose. The other crew bosses had taken the opportunity to retire when Finn rose to take the top seat, and most of those crews were performing better under the leadership of the old-timers’ sons.
“Last I heard, he lost Snyder,” Finn said. “Strip mall, right?”
I nodded once. “To that small Vietnamese chapter outta Baby Saigon.”
Finn sucked his teeth. “Whoever we choose as Phil’s successor better put those annoying motherfuckers in their place.”
“That’s what I’m saying. They got their own turf.”
We whipped our heads toward the door when we heard some hollering echoing from the main warehouse, so we headed out there to see what the commotion was about. Perhaps Colm had returned with—