Mickey snorted. “Glad to see your head is back in the game.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Duncan smiled weakly. “I just get a little in my head, you know? It’s hard to keep my mouth shut when all these thoughts come tumbling out. I’m nervous, you know? Cold makes me nervous. All of this does. I get all worked up, and then I can’t shut up—”
“Duncan. I got it.”
“Right.”
The office building sat directly across from the massage parlor, and the rear emergency door was broken. It would not lock nor would the alarm actually go off when it opened. The third floor was empty, and they didn’t see anyone in the stairwell on the way up.
Most of the furniture was covered in plastic, and it didn’t look like anyone had been here in several days.
Mickey found an office with a window facing the street. He could see the massage parlor from here, and he looked over the city skyline.
Strassen Springs.
Soon enough, it was going to be theirs.
This hit was going to bring them one step closer to driving out the Luchesi family, and Mickey couldn’t wait. He could move Pops into a bigger place, one that had a garage for his girl, and maybe even a suite for a home nurse that could be there around the clock.
I want you to meet somebody, okay? Somebody special.
Someone to fall asleep next to, to hand him gun oil while he was cleaning his rifle, to hold his hand during a scary movie…
Roger was special, Mickey’s brain unhelpfully supplied.
Yeah, the kind of special that needed a padded room and a little jacket. Fuck. He couldn’t get Roger out of his damn brain, like some sort of monstrous deep-throating masochist tumor.
“Here is good,” Duncan said, interrupting Mickey’s thoughts. “Good, clear view of the massage parlor. Nice and quiet.”
“How long is this part of the building closed?”
“At least another two weeks. We’re solid. The door down there. It’s what? Thirty yards?”
Mickey appraised the distance thoughtfully. “Thirty-five, I believe.”
“You could almost spit on him from here.”
“It’s very nice. What’s upstairs?”
“More offices, but they’re occupied. Only this floor is empty.”
“Why?”
“They’re painting.” Duncan gestured to the plastic everywhere. “But the contract got bought out by another company, and they don’t start until Monday.”
“Hmm.”
“So, right here, this office, boom.” Duncan shrugged. “That’s pretty much it, right?”
“Yeah.” Mickey glanced out the window again.
“What’s wrong? You got that damn look on your face.”
“What?”
“Something’s bothering you. Is it the job?”
“No.”
