“Can’t say. Reed thinks Whitlock’s planning to get out of the country. New identity. Probably wants a new face to go with it.”
“Fuck. That seems extreme.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. This case against him is building up to be pretty watertight. And since he got pinched, the man’s running out of friends…fast. Funny how that works.”
“Yeah. Especially when one of them had been angling to be the guy’s father-in-law just months ago.” Raoul shakes his head wryly. “God help me if I ever end up saddled with family like that. Another reason to dodge the altar.”
Broderick Carter had been one of the first to come bleating forward. Talk about rats abandoning ship. He’d handed in over a decade’s worth of evidence – a paper trail linking them to a long list of shady dealings.
“Piece of work, all right. But it didn’t surprise us. Just a matter of time before he realized he’d be looking at jail time. Wanted immunity when it all went to court.”
“Who could blame him? Man like that wouldn’t do well sucking prison cock for the rest of his life. Because that’s where he’d be. On his knees being someone’s bitch.” Raoul laughs too darn hard – he’s loving every minute of this. So am I, to be honest.
“Without Andy’s work, it may have taken years to get to this point.” Her bravery is unbelievable. So is her stupidity.
Raoul nods. “Yeah. Your girl did good.” I sense growing respect there. “She’s batshit crazy. But she came through.”
I nod back. The ridiculous little recording device she’d used had actually worked. Go figure. I always thought those bullshit things were just gimmicks. But I’d handed the recordings over to Reed, and he was thrilled. The photos helped, too – more damning than the arrogant fuck would ever have imagined. He’s been implicated in dozens of unsolved cases across the country.
Hah. Take that, cuntface.
“Best part was how quickly his new friends turned on him,” I add. Beyond the car window, the cityscape is giving way to quieter roadways. We’ve passed the outskirts of town.
“McErlane?” Raoul snorts. “Our boy would be a fool if he didn’t see that one coming. The Irish don’t get in bed with anyone for love. Of course, they claimed Whitlock’s turf when the chips were down. What was the bastard going to do? Run to the police?”
“I bet he’d have tried if they hadn’t already backed away from him. You can’t keep cops in your pocket if those pockets are empty. McErlane’s men either. The minute the Feds froze his assets, he lost his little army. Now everyone’s out to get him, and not a soul will watch his back. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if McErlane had a hit out on him. Especially after he discovered that he’d been skimming profit off one of their little ventures.”
“I gotta admit, that was news to me. Too many fingers, too many pies. And eating all the cream. The man was his own worst enemy.”
I shake my head. “Too many enemies would disagree with you there. He had plenty of them who wanted to be his worst.”
“Guess it makes sense he’s on the lam. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Only way out when you hit the lowest point in your life is to be someone else.” Raoul shrugs. The scenery has changed again as we pass through wooded areas and then a golf course. I blink when I think I spot a couple of horses in a pasture.
“Nice here,” Raoul says, looking out at it all. “I guess this is how the other half lives, huh?” I stare at him.
“Raoul, you own a skyscraper. The other half wishes they were you.” I glance at my watch. “How much longer?” We’ve been on the road for just under an hour.
“ETA is fifteen minutes, Mr. Ricci,” the driver says, tapping a thick finger at the navigation console on the dashboard.
We’re making good time. I reach back over the seat and haul one of the smaller boxes onto my lap. I’m already packing one of my own pieces, but it never hurts to have backup.
“She’s a beauty,” I hear Raoul say as I stroke my fingers down the walnut inlay of a black Kimber Classic. I release a low sigh.
“Very nice.” I keep stroking. The smooth texture isn’t as pleasing as Andy’s silken skin…but I’d give it a close second.
“Keep it. She’s yours. There’s a slug in there that belongs in Whitlock’s brain. Then take her home to your girl.”
“You sure?” I aim a look at him.
“Does it look like I don’t have enough?” He’s tugging a heavier case over the seat and snapping the lid open.
“Thanks. I owe you.” I unclip the mag and run through the motions of checking everything’s in working order. Of course, it is.
“Forget about it. It’s nothing.” Raoul is leering down at a sawn-off shotgun. “Got it off one of Tommy’s goons.” He looks up at me. “Luck of the Irish.” He winks.
The man is certifiable.
I reassemble the handgun and lean forward to tuck it into the back of my waistband moments before the car turns off the tar road and makes its way onto a rough country track.
