“I’m okay, Boss.” Mickey tried to smile. “Thanks, though.”
“As you wish.” Cold turned his glass up and rose from his chair. He was heading to the stairs, but he paused. “I hope you know that when this is over, I’m going to pay for your grandfather’s funeral. Whatever his final wishes were, I would see them fulfilled.”
The offer took Mickey by surprise, and he was once again hyper-aware of the keys in his pocket. “I appreciate that, Boss. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m gonna head over to the safe house if that’s all right. See how Crybaby’s doin’. See if Val and Thirdsies need any help.”
“And wait for Roger?” Cold smiled.
Ah, there was that heat again.
“That too.”
“Go on. There’s not much we can do right now. I’ll contact you if there are any new developments.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
“Stay safe, Mr. Tamerlane.”
Mickey left and drove the Nova over to the safe house. He was excited about the new job waiting for him, eager for a chance to take out more of the Luchesi trash. He wanted another chance to kill Salvatore, but that cowardly shit was still on Cristian’s side so they wouldn’t be seeing him anytime soon.
He hoped Cold didn’t have any plans that involved keeping that bastard alive because Mickey wanted to handle that blood debt personally.
And preferably very slowly.
Daydreaming away of terrible carnage, he parked the Nova around the back of the safe house. Valdemar’s rusty Volkswagen van was here, as was Doc Brown’s sleek Jaguar. Being a doctor for the mob was apparently quite profitable.
Mickey knocked at the door, waiting for someone to let him in.
Valdemar answered it, and he greeted, “Ah, hello, dear boy! Come along, come along!” He ushered Mickey inside. “What brings you here?”
“Cold told me I’m staying here,” Mickey reminded him. “Thought I could see if I could help.”
“Ah, of course!” Valdemar shut and locked the door behind them. “The boy does well on his own, but we’ll be sure to ask if we need anything.”
Mickey found Thirdsies at the rickety dining room table with some tools, bits of gears, and some wires. He had changed out of his suit back to his hoodie again. He was hard at work on some troublesome looking device, and he didn’t even raise his head up when he spoke. “Watch the cord.”
Glancing down revealed Mickey had nearly tripped over the cord for a soldering iron. “Thanks, kid.”
“Yup.” Thirdsies’ eyes remained glued to his work.
Mickey headed into the parlor where Crybaby was set up, still hooked to a bunch of tubes and machines. She was sitting up, bright-eyed, and her color looked good.
“Hey, Mickey.” Crybaby waved. “How the fuck are you?”
“Better than you,” he replied fondly.
“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t take much.” Crybaby rolled her eyes.
“How’s it goin’?”
“Can’t complain. Wouldn’t do any fuckin’ good if I did.”
“Fair.” He came over to her bedside and gave her a firm handshake. “Damn good to see you.”
“I’ve been right here! You coulda come seen my gorgeous mug anytime you wanted.”
