“What do you say, C?” Frank asks. “This standoff is going nowhere. I’ll take Zoe home, and we can negotiate in a better location. I won’t let anything happen to her while she’s staying with me. My word on that.”
“It’s up to Zoe,” C says.
I stare at him, unsure what he wants me to say. His face gives nothing away. Finally I close my eyes. I don’t want to go with Frank and Dennis, but I don’t want Connor or myself to get hurt and I can feel Dennis getting increasingly impatient. He’s always been a hothead, so I don’t trust him to do the logical thing.
“Okay,” I say, opening my eyes. “I’ll go back to Frank’s.”
“I’ll come with you,” Connor says.
“You’re not getting in the car armed,” Frank says.
“Understood,” C says.
I shake my head. I trust that they won’t hurt me, their leverage, if they plan to negotiate with Connor. I don’t trust that they won’t hurt us if they have us both.
“That’s a bad move,” I whisper. “Don’t come.”
“Let’s get going,” Frank says quickly. “Connor, walk in front of us, so we can watch you.”
“At my back? I don’t think so,” Connor says, walking parallel to us on the end near Frank.
We go around the corner and into the parking lot. I spot Frank’s silver limo at the back of lot.
“I know Dennis hit our van. I guess Mangia was with him. But who tipped us off that money was stashed at Zoe’s? I can’t see Dennis doing that, since it meant we retrieved the part of the take he held back,” C says casually. “If he’d wanted her to take the blame, there were other things he could’ve left. The money wrapper and Little Joe’s wallet. Did you know they took Joe’s wallet?” C laughs softly. “That’s a low-rent move. And the execution was sloppy as hell. Your standards are slipping, Frank.”
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Dennis says, dropping back and turning.
“No!” Frank yells.
The crack of a shot rings out, and Dennis’s head jerks back. He falls, his own gun discharging, the bullet slamming into a car’s side mirror and shattering it. Frank lets go of me and dives between a pair of cars.
Connor grabs me and jerks me behind a truck.
I look back to my left and see Dennis on his back, eyes open, a wound on his forehead and blood draining from the back of his head. My stomach churns, and I look away.
Connor’s dropped down to the ground and is looking under the cars. There’s a gun in his right hand. He shakes his head. “Slippery son of a bitch.”
He rolls onto his side and is up, holding out his left hand to me. I take it.
“Stay low,” he says, guiding me. We exit the lot between buildings, and the Rover is idling on the street. We get in, and Anvil is driving. He goes around the corner and turns onto a residential street.
I don’t understand what we’re doing, but say nothing. Eventually we back into a dark driveway and he kills the lights.
“Caldwell. 2118,” Anvil says.
“Yeah,” C says softly as he texts.
Then we wait. After a few minutes there’s a rap on the truck. I jump, but C shakes his head that everything’s okay.
The back opens partway and a figure rolls in, panting. He pulls the gate closed. Anvil starts the Rover and pulls out. I peer into the back at the masked, hooded figure.
He pushes the black hood off and drags the black ski mask off. It’s Trick. He remains on his back.
“You were early, C,” Anvil says. “Sanders got a shot off.”
“Way wide,” Connor says.
“Trick had to scramble.”
