“Nobody is down here,” said Carla softly, as if sensing his distress. “Everything’s fine, alright?”
They worked methodically through the basement. Carla dragged him into the cells. Jack tried to ignore the way his stomach clenched at the sight of cement benches, barely long enough to lie down on, and the strange, rust-colored stains on the door.
Behind the red door was an office—a mess of file cabinets, a water cooler, and a desk, dusty and untouched.
“Damn,” said Carla when they glanced inside. “See, I told you nobody ever comes here.”
Jack nodded, still disbelieving.
“What now?” he asked when they were upstairs and the bookshelf had clicked shut behind them.
“Guess we check the club.”
“The club.”
“Ronnie’s little social club. It’s right over Bernie’s Kitchen.”
“Right,” said Jack slowly. “So those aren’t apartments then?”
“No,” said Carla. A smirk danced at the corners of her mouth. “It’s a billiards club. But you’d never know. It’s a real secret. Ronnie doesn’t want everybody knowing where he runs his meetings.”
Jack loosed a shaky exhale. “Anywhere else?”
“Enzo’s warehouse, probably.”
That wasn’t any more appealing. “And how easy is it to get into Ronnie’s club?”
“It’s easy if you know Ronnie’s schedule. He comes home at three o’clock every fucking morning and leaves again at ten.”
Jack thought of all the late nights he’d spent at the mansion and winced. How close had he come to meeting Ronnie while wrapped in Carla’s arms?
“Then we leave at what? Two-thirty? After he’s left for the night?”
“Or I pretend you’re my cousin coming to visit me unexpectedly,” said Carla with a teasing grin. “We could go by the restaurant, have dinner out for once. What do you think?”
“I don’t think I want Enzo to know what I look like,” said Jack, remembering the maroon sedan that whipped past him as he climbed the hill.
“Yeah, OK, fine,” Carla agreed. “We don’t let Enzo know who you are.” She led them back to the office, shut the door behind them like she expected someone to try and follow. “Which meansIhave to find out what’s going on.”
Jack didn’t like the sound of that.
At midnight,they stood outside the warehouse, staring blankly at the locked door.
“Remember,” said Carla. “Anything happens, and you’re my new security, OK? You got the gun?”
Jack nodded. The steel was cold in his pocket. He barely knew how to hold a gun, let alone use it.
“You’re not gonna need it. It’s for show, alright?”
“Right.”
“This is the easiest way to get inside,” she explained. “Enzo’s here every day, managing orders. If he knows something, we’ll find out.”
Keys jingled in her hand. The lock clicked.
Jack followed her inside.
Carla led him past stacks of pallets and boxes, down a long hallway whose lightbulb flickered ominously. “It’s through here,” she said.
