“Yeah, I’m ready. You gonna tell me if that was your vampire or not?”
“No.”
“No, he’s not, or no, you’re not gonna tell me?”
“Both.”
“You’re sweaty.”
“Let’s go home.”
Mickey helped Pops into the busted sedan and locked up the garage. The drive home was thankfully devoid of any further vampire talk, and it was easy to get Pops back into bed for a nap. Mickey finally took the shower he’d been longing for, but the itch he’d needed scratching was already sated.
Goddamn Roger.
He wondered why Roger was living in a storage unit. He recalled Cold had said something about Roger having some gambling debts he was paying off through unpleasant means. Mickey had a nasty imagination, and he suspected Roger might have been selling himself to pay the debt.
Knowing it was a Luchesi lieutenant only made him more sure. In Mickey’s experience, those holier than thou big macho bigots were usually giant hypocrites. They did a good job of hiding it, was all.
So, he mused, what happened?
Roger was giving it up on the sly to some Luchesi fuckwad and Cold decided to pay off the debt? Cold had a weird knack for helping people out in a bind, but it still didn’t explain where Roger was living. Cold had more than enough resources to put Roger up somewhere.
Mickey didn’t get it.
He spent the rest of the day cleaning, working out, and making sure Pops took his medicine. He had to meet with Duncan tomorrow to prepare for the job, and that was another situation he didn’t understand.
Something was up with Duncan. He’d been a little anxious for as long as Mickey had known him, but this was getting silly. Mickey suspected it could be nerves about the big takeover, and he needed to make sure Duncan was fully on board.
It didn’t look good for him to be questioning Cold and acting like a little jackass. It was suspicious, for one, and decreased Cold’s probably already dwindling confidence in him. Mickey resolved to have a long talk with Duncan tomorrow and went to bed certain everything was going to be fine.
He wasn’t going to bother with Roger again, and he was gonna set Duncan straight.
Everything was going to be peachy.
When he lay down to sleep that night, his thoughts drifted toward a certain blond, and he ran his tongue over his lip.
He swore he could still feel Roger’s teeth as he fell asleep.
Morning came, and he got ready for work. He fixed breakfast for Pops, sneaking in his bedroom to leave it on the bedside table without waking him. He wasn’t in the mood to chat.
His mind was already starting to play the many possible scenarios ahead of him for the hit. He had to make it look good, but he couldn’t actually kill Mr. Ricci.
Maybe he could nick an ear?
Quick spray of blood, non-lethal, and very convincing.
Eh, Cold probably wouldn’t like that. Hitting an ear didn’t qualify as missing since he’d still technically be hitting the guy, lethal or not. He continued to ponder it over on his way to the park to pick up Duncan.
Duncan hopped in the passenger seat as soon as Mickey pulled up, and he seemed to be in a better mood. He was smiling, less twitchy.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Mickey. How’s it going?”
“Fine. You ready?”
“Hell yeah. Let’s go get ourselves ready to not kill someone!”
