“If there’s something on your mind, you know you can talk to me about it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
Talk therapy wasmything. It used to bemepressingAngeloto talk. We could work it out, I decided as sleep washed over me. Once we’d caught Greco, we’d have that conversation.
Wewouldwork it out.
* * *
An early callroused me from my sleep and I woke to Angelo’s voice as he spoke into the phone. “You found him?” he was saying, and there was a long pause as he listened to whoever was on the other end. I froze there in bed, wondering whether it was New York again.
“We’ll meet you where you dropped us off,” Angelo said at last, and hung up. He reached out a hand to me, but I was already moving to sit up. Angelo was showered, shaved, and dressed as impeccably as always. It was always a wondrous experience to wake from a dream and find reality even better.
“Jacopo?” I guessed, knuckling at my eyes.
“The very same. He got a lead on a Bernardi Family man that Greco’s been running around with. Name of Ricky Fiori. Put a tracker on his car last night, and this morning that car is heading out of the city. Could be that Greco’s getting out of town, but Jacopo thinks we can intercept. Three of us, two of them. You game?”
“Hell, yeah,” I said, trying to infuse enthusiasm into my response.
“You don’tsoundit, sleepyhead,” Angelo told me with a smile. “Shower fast. This could be the day we get him. The day we clear your name.”
“And yours,” I pointed out.
Angelo fondly patted my face. “Oh, sure. One less thing for the Feds to arrest me for. Vindicatingyou, that’s my priority. So get moving, kid. Fate’s waiting on us.” He got up from the bed and from long habit I knew he was heading for his French press, where he’d make me my morning coffee.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Let’s get him.”
Chapter Four
We walked a few blocks to the pickup point, where Jack pulled up in a very different vehicle from the Pinto of the previous day. It was still old and beat-up, but today he was driving a Jeep painted with camouflage colors.
“Loan from a friend,” he said when we both stared at it. “Did a little deduction based on the directions these guys are headed, and I’ll eat my hat if it’s not out into the desert.” He tipped the brim of that hat at us. “Rumor is the Bernardis have a dumping ground out there.”
“You think this is a disposal?” Angelo asked sharply. “That the Bernardis turned on Greco?”
“No idea. And there’s no guarantee Greco is eveninthat car,” Jack said, “but word is, every time this Ricky Fiori’s been driving around over the last week, he’s had your guy with him. So let’s say Grecoisin that car, and let’s say he’s outstayed his welcome. In that case… Well, we better drive fast.”
“Let’s go,” I said, swinging myself into the back of the jeep. There were no seats or safety belts in the back, just two small benches running up the sides and several strapped-down locked toolboxes. There was a faint, sweet tang in the air competing with the iron scent of the Jeep interior. Or…were they different parts of the same smell? Metallic and sickly sweet, like decaying blood…
What was this vehicle was usually used for?
Graphic images flooded my mind for a moment: crime scene photos, grisly and garish. Maybe we’d misread Jack, and this drive was only going to end in us putting him down. Because it would definitely behimwho ended up dead if he tried anything.
Angelo got into the front and turned around to check on me before Jack climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Stay flexible,” he murmured.
I nodded. One wrong move from Jack and he’d find himself dead at the wheel.
* * *
Jack headed northtoward Santa Clarita, then east through the hills until we hit flat ground—and desert. Traffic was quiet, with most of it industrial and heading back toward LA: delivery vans, cold storage trucks, one pickup loaded with white goods, and the occasional bus.
“How much longer?” I asked. We’d been driving over two hours and the AC wasn’t reaching into the back.
“Are we there yet?” Jack falsettoed under his breath. Louder, he said, “Not much further now. I know it looks like the ass-end of nowhere, but there are a few ghost towns around here that the studios like to shoot at.” My head came up sharply. “Film,” he added with a chuckle, glancing over his shoulder at me. “They like tofilmout here.”
“Turn coming up,” Angelo said, glancing at the GPS that we’d been tracking the whole way here. He pointed to the flag on the map. “No other roads lead to where they’re going.”
