And that hits the fucking mark like nothing else can. “I miss you too. Listen, there’s a call I have to take. Let me call you back.”
“All right.”
I swipe over to C.
“Fuck, Trick. Since when do I have to call twice?”
“What’s up, C?”
“Come to the house.”
I straighten, wondering what’s wrong. “I’m pretty hammered. Shouldn’t drive.”
“Hammered on what?”
“Jack and Coke.”
“No worries. I’ll swing by and pick you up. Thirty minutes.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I call her back, while gathering some stuff. “Hey, I changed my mind. Will you come tonight?”
“Yes, I’d love to.”
“I’m going to C’s. Could be a lot of basement meetings for me, but no one will bust in unannounced and you’ll be safe there if I have to go out. Not your favorite spot in Coins, I know, but if you come, you can name your price.”
“My price? You can’t buy me.”
“Can I rent you?” We both laugh. “Kidding. Listen, I promise to get us back to the apartment as soon as I can. But I really want to see you.”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Text me when you get on the road.” I end the call and toss more stuff in a bag.
I check my gun and strap it on, then put on a jacket. Grabbing the packed duffle, I head down five minutes ahead of when C’s due. Laurelyn’s ring is in the glovebox of the Rover, and I want it on me.
Retrieving it, I shove it deep into my pocket. Coming out of the cage, I glance around. An engine’s humming somewhere, but it’s not the other crue truck. Someone getting back to the building or about to leave maybe? But also, maybe not. The duffle’s not in my right hand, but I drop it nonetheless. Two hands, just in case.
Un-clicking the holster, I step out so my view’s not obstructed by the cage around the car. A figure rises from between cars. Black mask. Gun raised. He’s ready. I’m not.
Jerking my gun free as he fires, I try to move off center to my right. The bullet catches my left arm. I get off two shots as I fall.
Rolling over and over again, I move close to a line of cars for cover. I look through the spaces beneath undercarriages. Tires block part of my line of sight.
Where are your legs, you son-of-a-bitch?
Then I clock him. He’s flat on his back, unmoving. Shuffling to my feet, I walk over. The first shot was off, clipping the side of his head, maybe an ear. But the second was on the mark, the bloody hole in the mask is exactly where I intended. The black trousers and black sweatshirt are wrong for someone who works for the Palermos. Bending forward, careful to keep my left arm back so I don’t drip blood on him, I push the mask up with the tip of my gun.
Fuck.
Milt fucking Schager. FBI agent gone rogue. Again.
I transfer the gun to my left hand a second and pull his hood back into position. Then I step back. The left arm of my jacket’s getting heavier as I bleed into it.
C pulls up, levels a gaze on the scene, then gets out of the truck.
“Ambushed me.”
