“Grant says everything is clear. He’s been here for an hour and there has been no action,” Ghost informs. He’s listening to Grant through an earpiece in his ear.
Mason was adamant about having someone here to scope out the scene before the sell went down. I never planned to come without backup. Right now, I've got shooters hiding all around us. If they think for a moment, this is an ambush, they will start shooting.
“Is this guy seriously late to his own deal?” Rome asks just as confused as I am.
“I told ya’ll. This muthafucker is off.” Meech sits back on his bike.
We waited twenty minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. With each minute that passes, I get more pissed off thinking we’ve been set up. No way we were this close to finding out who took my guns for it to end like this. Did they get tipped off? The only ones who knew we were running this interference were here with me and Mason. No one could’ve said anything.
Ghost leans up from the hood of the car.
“We got action. Grant says two black SUVs are approaching.”
About damn time.
“It’s showtime.” Meech rubs his hands together as he stands from his bike. He takes the lead, stepping in front of the group.
I hold onto the black duffle bag. My eyes continuously scan the area. The two black cars stop in front of us. For a moment, nothing happens. It’s as if they are toying with us.
“I don’t like this,” Axel says, voicing all our concerns.
Either this seller is ballsy and has a hell of a setup plan in place, or he is the dumbest fucking criminal in the world.
Finally, the motors are cut, and the lights go out. The eight doors to the SUVs open.
Eight men step out. I take them in immediately. They were young, not teens, but definitely in their early to mid-twenties.
They’re wearing very ill-fitting suits. Something you might buy off a rack at a retail store. On their feet were sneakers, not dress shoes. They’re wearing shades at night, and the guns they have are huge and bulky.
It’s immediately and painfully obvious that these weren’t criminals. I’ve been around law breakers all my life, even the ones at the lowest level like your petty thieves.
They all have this energy about them. They carry themselves in a way that lets you know they move in a world that is dangerous, one that can take your life in an instant. There is a way your eyes move, the way you take things in when you move amongst the underworld of society. These guys were as green as fucking Kermit. They don’t know shit about this life.
“Oh yeah,” Salv says with a chuckle. “I get what you’re saying.”
He picked up on the shit too.
“Aye, silence,” one of the pretenders shouts pointing his gun at Salv. “You don’t speak unless the Don gives you permission.”
We all look around at each other. Rome’s brow is hiked as he stares at me. He knows I do business with the seven US Mafia Dons.
“Don?” I question, truly confused at what the hell these idiots are talking about.
“That’s right,” one of the other guys says. “Don Tony.”
The guy in the back steps forward. He was shorter than the others, maybe 5’8”. He wore a fedora and had a handkerchief in his pocket. I almost laugh, but I maintain a straight face.
“You’re the Don?” I ask.
“That’s right,” he says in a fake thick New York Italian accent. “So show me some respect or I’ll have my people make Swiss cheese out of you guys.”
Once again we all look around at each other.
“So you’re mafia?” I again ask for clarification.
“Duh,” the first guy says. His friends all laughed.
“What family?” Kazimir asks.
