“Save the bullshit. Just get Pierce in the garage at four. Do it right, and we’ll pay for your ticket back to New York. Fuck it up, and you’ll never make it to McCarren.”
“And make sure Pierce is on time,” I add. “‘Cause Cheryl’s got dinner at six, and I don’t plan on being late.”
Jax nods.
“Just remember what we said.” Samson jerks his head toward the door. “Get the fuck outta here and make sure this goes down without any bullshit.”
Jax jets out of the room, and Samson blows out a long breath. “You think we can trust him?”
“I hope so for his sake, but as added insurance, I’ve got Rattler following him in one of the beat-to-shit vans the Serpents use for tailing people.”
“I meant to ask you before,” Samson says. “How did you know Graham plans on icing him?”
“You can thank Frank for that.”
Samson furrows his brow, and as if on cue, my phone buzzes, and it’s Frank.
I swipe at the phone. “Thanks for calling me back.”
“What’s up?” Frank’s gruff voice rasps through the phone.
“I wanted to ask you about Sal who used to own the Pit in Brooklyn.”
“Fuckin’ guy ran that shit-hole into the ground. Selling crack over the bar and letting the girls fuck for money in the champagne rooms. Main reason I pulled out and let the Russians have it. Last I heard, the cops closed it down after two gang bangers got shot at the bar. What about him?”
“He’s out here in Vegas.”
“Vegas?”
“Yeah, he’s been hanging around Wicked, talking to the bouncers and the bartenders. Asking questions about me and the club.”
“That’s not impossible.”
“I saw him myself. He approached me twice in Wicked’s garage. Talking bullshit, probably looking for a handout.” I left out Sal’s appearance in my dream. I don’t need anybody else thinking I’m crazy.
“I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t Sal.”
“It was Sal. He looked exactly the same. Short, fat and sloppy, chomping on a cigar.”
“It’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause the fucker’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah, he got gunned down in some shitty underground card game out in Queens.”
“Recently?” My heart kicks up at an irregular speed as I remember Sal’s bloodstained ghost.
“A few months ago,” Frank confirms. “A guy from the old neighborhood told me.”
“You’re sure it was Sal?”
“Hang on, I’ll send you his obit.”
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes, and Sal’s obituary pops up on my phone screen along with his picture.
