“Killough better be careful. He fires off some of this gear and the Italians won’t have to shoot the place up, we’ll do the damned job ourselves.”
Rourke laughed, and I spun around. He was leaning against an old pastry case that took up most of the wall opposite the gun vaults. It was one of those glass and enameled-metal jobs that sent me right back to my childhood, visiting the shops with my grandfather. Instead of bread and meat, bullets were stacked inside, along with knives and several wicked-looking weapons. I stopped pacing along to peer in on barbed brass knuckles in a pile.
“Who’s using these?” I asked with a chuckle.
He shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. “Sometimes Killough needs us to get creative.”
“Aye, I believe that.” I snooped some more until I came to a duffel bag. I went around behind the pastry case, my curiosity getting the best of me, and pulled the heavy-as-fuck bag out. With a mighty heave I plopped it on top. Quickly I unzipped the bag, and the gray boxes inside had me blinking for a few seconds. “Are these… explosives?” I asked, and then let out a low whistle. “These are mean ladies, right here.”
Rourke came over to stand in front of me with an almost nostalgic smile on his face as he patted the bag. “Yeah. They’re small but powerful. Primarily placed on cars.” He poked at the side of a case marked with a pink neonXin one corner. “This piece comes off, and underneath is a magnet. This casing stops the bombs from sticking together in the bag. One is the equivalent of about two-hundred pounds of TNT. Creates one hell of a crater, flips the car. It’s a thing of beauty. But we haven’t messed around with bombs much in the last few years. It brings in Homeland Security and just turns what should be a quick hit into a federal fucking mess in a way a good old-fashioned bullet doesn’t.”
I shrugged. “Show me?”
Rourke held his breath for a second and then pulled one of the small gray boxes out of the bag. I didn’t miss the way he flexed, though. The fuckers weren’t light. It clattered when he laid it down. “Not difficult.” He flipped the box onto its side and moved back a clear piece of protective plastic. Inside was a yellow button. He pointed and gave me a bland look. “You press this to engage it. They’re all set for thirty minutes.”
“How do ya stop it?” I leaned closer, and he quickly flipped the cover back in place.
“Don’t know.”
We looked at each other, and I nodded. “You’ve got your priorities right, Rourke. Good man. I want a couple. Give ’em.”
He laughed. After our bomb lesson, he and I decided on a gun I liked, a darling Beretta Storm that he scoffed at.
“We have a Browning. About the same size, better kick.” He eyed me up as I pointed the gun at the wall and considered how it felt in my hand.Aye, this will do.
“What do I need a lot of power for in the city? I’d end up sending a bullet through a wall into the wrong person.”
He shook his head at me but didn’t try to change my mind, which was good because he wouldn’t. I knew what I was doing in these sorts of situations, most of the time. I left the Virtue loaded up like a soldier. When I got to the parking garage, I found a red Buick sedan that was nice, but obviously something meant to be ditched if necessary. The plates had that look to them that made me think they might be fake, even if they would stand up to a random officer’s check.
My phone rang, and I groaned when I pulled it from my pocket and recognized Killough’s number. I dropped my heavy backpack onto the boot of the car and answered. “Yes, sir, how can I help ya?”
“Little birdie told me you might be going out to Queens?”
“Goddamn it, news travels fast.”
He laughed. “There were some concerns raised about your possible tactics, but I trust you. Try not to disturb our friends in Whitestone.”
“Nope. Only the ones who think they can move into Rockaway. That’s been our turf forever, and I’ll be damned, even if it ain’t worth that much money, if a bunch of wannabe Italian fucks—”
“Yes. I agree.”
The deadly encouragement was as good as a pat on the head from Sloan Killough. I swelled up with my own self-importance for a moment, but that bubble burst real quick when he sighed. “Take care of this quickly.”
“Aye, sir.”
The phone went dead, and I piled the bag and the gun in the boot, hoping beyond hope today wasn’t the day I got pulled over. I always hated driving loaded down like this. I would walk anywhere, but there was no accounting for some New York drivers and the fecking stupid shite they got into on a roadway.
The not-quite Italians I’d been after earlier were working a small business district, so when I finally fought the traffic into Queens, I parked with some difficulty, but circled until I got a good spot on the street near Blue Lagoon. As I got my mind situated, I put on my backpack full of bombs and took the time to adjust the straps since it was so heavy, and then secreted the gun into my belt. Last, I drew a cap onto my head that made me look like I was up to no good, but that was fine, since it was the case. I stalked along the sidewalk until I ran into a row of motorbikes and slowed. They were parked close enough to Blue Lagoon it made me suspicious, and I knew I should wait for my men, but I was worried, so I stopped and listened, scanning the area.
Not far down I saw the black-and-orange Mini Cooper parked precisely and carefully under a glowing streetlight, much the same way Corbin always managed to wedge himself into even the trickiest spaces. I walked slowly, listening for trouble rather than really looking, though I did keep my eyes wide open. My palms began to sweat, and worry for Hunter took hold of me so that my stomach roiled.
My arse twinged as I walked and made me very aware of all I’d shared with Hunter today, and damned if I didn’t want more of that. He’d treated me awful nice. I dodged people on the sidewalk and kept moving. I really, really liked Hunter, and I didn’t want our first time together to be the only one. It blew me away that he’d come out here to stir up trouble because of me. No one had ever really taken up for me like this.
About halfway down the block, I glanced up at the tall buildings on either side of me that towered for the sky. The sound of popping from nearby—inside a building, if I had to guess—had me rushing along to a gloomy alleyway. I came to a dead halt when a pile of around eight men practically fell out of the space between the buildings, running away toward a nearby butcher’s shop that had the lights off and a Closed sign out front.
The noise like a distant popcorn machine stopped, and I cursed under my breath. That had sounded like the percussion of bullets. There was a car parked directly across the way at the other side of the alley, possibly to keep anyone from coming in with a vehicle. Or maybe to box someone in. I dashed forward, brushing a hand along the raw red brick wall beside me. Beyond the car was a parking lot surrounded by a few warehouses with all their lights blazing against the dark. A quick count and I was staring at eight options for where the shooting might have been coming from. I eyed the brown two-story metal-sided buildings. There were a couple of loading trucks pulled up at the closest warehouse on my left, but no men were working them.
The gunfire started up again. It was relentless and coming from a building straight across the lot from me. Fucking Corbin must have done his job awful good today because they’d found trouble fast. My instincts were to charge headlong into the fray and find Hunter, but I forced myself to be reasonable, and instead, I squirmed my way underneath the car. I opened my bag. The bombs were all the same, so I picked one and slid the small gray box out of my bag. Grimly I smiled to myself as I released the top of the box to expose the magnet, and it easily locked onto the metal of the muffler. That wee darling wouldn’t be going anywhere. I gave the case a wiggle to be sure it was secure and then moved the plastic cover over that yellow button. For half a second I sweated, before I found my resolve. I pushed the button. Well, I had to get this shite taken care of now. I wormed myself out again, hoping Corbin at least had the situation in hand. I checked my phone and noted the time.
