I moved forward and grabbed the kid’s hand, tugging it away from his body. He resisted, but it only took me seconds to get his hand splayed out on the step ladder. “Here?” I asked.
My brother nodded and raised the mallet. “On the count of three. One. Two.”
“Wait,” the kid said, his voice cracking.
Mallet still prepared to strike, Michael eyed the kid. “Wait for what?”
“Can I talk now?” he asked.
Michael eyed him. “Depends on what you have to say. Better not waste my time.”
“I… I don’t know his name, but I can tell you what he looks like.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The dude who hired me.” The kid tried to pull his hand back, but I held it firm.
“Start talkin’,” Michael growled.
“D-d-dark hair. Not much taller than me. Maybe five foot five. Big guy.”
“That’s all you got?” Michael took a couple practice swings before lining up again. “You just described half the men in Vegas. Better give me more than that.”
The kid started trembling. “Guy who sells me blow told me about the gig. Said I’d score a free bag if I messed with a couple of cars in the lot.”
“Messed with how?” I asked.
“Slash a few tires, bust a couple windows, nuthin’ serious. It was all for fun. He said nobody would get hurt, and I needed a fix.”
His employer wanted to send us a messageandmake us look bad in front of our guests. We needed to find out who it was.
“Y-y-you see? Whatever you think it is, it’s not. I was just tryin’ to score a gram.”
Michael was still poised to strike. “Who’s your dealer?” he asked.
“I don’t know his name,” the kid said.
Michael made eye contact with me and I saw what he was about to do. He swung as I released my hold on the kid’s hand. The mallet slammed down with a bone-breaking crunch.
“What the fuck?!” the kid shouted, cradling his injured hand. His pinky was noticeably flatter than the rest of his fingers. “Goddamn, you didn’t have to—”
“Who’s your dealer?” Michael asked.
“I told you I don’t know his name.”
“Dom,” Michael said, nodding to the kid. My brother could be a scary motherfucker when he needed to be.
When I reached for his hand, he shook it away from me. “I’m tellin’ you the truth, dude. I don’t know his name. Nobody does. He just goes by Lucky.”
I only knew of one Lucky in Vegas. Giacomo “Lucky” Borghi wasthepoint man for the Durante’s drug operation. Could it possibly be that easy to connect this kid with our enemies?
“Where’s your drop point?” I asked.
“The Columbian. Lucky has a room there.”
Yep. The Columbian was one of the two casinos owned and operated by Maurizio Durante himself. No doubt he’d ordered his drug man to find a junkie desperate and stupid enough to mess with us. If the kid got caught, he could finger Lucky, but that wouldn’t hold water with the families. They’d need more than some junkie’s confession. But something still didn’t make sense.
“Why him?” I asked, gesturing at the kid. “If Maurizio wanted to make us look bad in front of the De Luccas, why not just send soldiers and shoot the place up?”
