“Jesus.” I’d suspected there’d be fatalities. “Anyone who didn’t have it coming?”
“We’re not executioners, Matt. We don’t get to decide who has it coming. All I know is that they were wheeling bodies out. Three dead. Four more in critical condition. I’m waiting for a list of names and the coroner’s report.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“If it wasn’t your fault, you have nothing to apologize for. Was it your fault, Matt? Or Raoul’s?”
I don’t know how to answer that. All I can pray is that nobody took a bullet who didn’t deserve it. I don’t share Reed’s sentiments around these things. Some guys deserve to die. But not Raoul. And I won’t see him go down either. He may not be a kid now, but I’ve known him since he was barely a man. The baby brother who tagged along with Dario – and with me when I started to stick around more regularly. I’m not hanging him out to dry.
“Reed, I told you Raoul wasn’t there. And if it was anyone’s fault, it was Whitlock’s. All I know is that I went in after her. Whitlock was up on some sort of…damn podium or something. I tried to get her, and then people started shouting. Next thing I knew, there was lead in the air, and all hell broke loose. I grabbed her and ran.”
“And you managed to get out of there without anyone stopping you?”
“Well, yeah. I wouldn’t be talking to you now otherwise, right?” I stop, waiting for him to press for more details. Whether he asks me now or starts digging around, it’ll all come out anyhow.
“And you don’t know who was firing? Were you armed?” Reed’s not the type to leave stones unturned.
“Nope. Couldn’t get past security if I was. Place was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.” I stop as I reach the living room window overlooking the street. It’s still raining out. She went out there in the rain. No coat. Soaking wet. It makes my chest tighten.
“Yeah, about that. I heard it was a tough place to get into.” Reed is still speaking. “How’d you get in without a card? That place is airtight unless you’re a member.”
Fuck.
“I…uh…tagged in with a pair of chicks,” I improvise. “They were outside as I got there. I persuaded them to take me in as a guest.”
“And they just agreed to that?” Reed’s incredulous.
“I fluttered my eyelashes and gave them my prettiest smile, Reed.” I lean a palm against the cool glass, still staring into the bleak gray beyond. Reed scoffs at my response.
“Okay, I guess that’s possible. Knowing you.”
“Anyhow, I couldn’t take a piece in with me. But whoever else was in there didn’t seem to have the same problem, so I’m guessing they were connected to Whitlock somehow. Maybe a bit of a mob thing? Maybe a squabble between his men?”
Reed scoffs again. “You’re saying his own men took the place apart?”
“Look, Reed, I can’t answer these questions. I have no idea what happened in there. All I knew was there was gunfire, and I had to get my woman out of that place.”
“So, she’s your woman now?”
Obviously, she’s not. She never was.
“What do you think, Reed?”
“I don’t know what to think around you anymore, Matt.” He sighs. “Look, just…just don’t fuck things up, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And keep away from the Caraldi kid, do you hear me? One way or another, he’s going down. I don’t want him taking you with him.”
“I told you; he had nothing to do with it, dammit.” My jaw clenches.
“Be careful, Matt. Promise me that.”
I heave a sigh. “Sure.” I cut the call before he can say more. Raindrops are trailing down the glass, and I trace the path one takes as I keep staring. I’m not betraying the men who’ve helped me. I’ve seen how Dario took care of his half-brother, always looking out for him when their bullshit father made life hard for him. Maybe that rubbed off on me somehow. Aside from Andy, I’ve only ever had Dario to worry about, and now, by extension, Raoul seems to be my responsibility too.
I think he’ll do all right, though. These past weeks have shown me a different side to the man. He always used to put on a tough act, making out that he was stronger than he was. But now, I don’t think it’s an act anymore. The kid got smart. Street savvy…but more. His property investments had been the way we’d tracked Whitlock. And then the businesses he’s been building quietly without us knowing. Mob business, too, I have no doubt. Other things, though. Legitimate firms, above-board deals.
“Who would’ve thought…?” I mutter, thinking back to how angry he got about having his gold shipments hijacked. Gold he’d bought legally from reputable sources. The boy has become a man. A man I need to reach out to again as I resume the search.
