“Nothing like a shoot-out to create it,” Force said, tipping back his entire glass. “Call if you need us.” Then he glanced around. “Wait a minute. You don’t have a phone.” He sighed and scratched his head. “Take mine.”
“I’ve got two burner phones,” Mal said.
Force set down his glass. “Of course you do. Roscoe, let’s go.”
The dog bounded up and moved for the door. At the last second, he spun around and tackled the bottle to the ground. Sucking the neck of the bottle into his mouth, he sat up and tipped his head back with the bottle in the air. The remaining liquid quickly disappeared down his throat.
Mal watched him, frozen. “Wow.”
The dog returned the bottle to the table, setting it upright. His tail wagged happily.
Wolfe nodded. “That’s impressive.”
Force snarled at his dog. “Roscoe, I’m going to send you back to rehab if you do that again.” Then he followed the dog to the door and unlocked it, quickly stepping out into the rain. “It’s going to be a rough night, West. Sure you don’t want company?”
“I’m sure.” Mal gestured Wolfe out as well. The walls were closing in, and he needed to be alone. Whatever happened, he could handle it. “But thanks.” He meant it. Truly.
Wolfe clapped him on the back hard enough to bruise. “You’ve got it. See you at the office.”
Mal shut the door, locked it, and leaned back against it. His body had gone nicely numb from the booze. It had been so long since he’d gotten buzzed with buddies that he’d forgotten the sense of comfort. Of knowing somebody had his back. The last guy who’d had his back had been a mark.
Thunder ripped across the sky outside, and he jumped.
Almost in a daze, he retrieved another quart of Jack from the kitchen and returned to the sofa, drinking directly from the bottle. He wasn’t as smooth as the dog, but he could get the job done. He downed half the bottle, trying to pass out. Holding the glass against his chest, he put his head back and closed his eyes. That quickly, he was back in the nightmare.
* * *
“I think the redhead had the hots for you.” Junior Bodini flicked his lighter in a nervous habit as they drove away from the curb.
Mal shot the kid a grimace and took a sharp left turn. “Rumor has it she has the hots for everyone.”
Junior shrugged, and the streetlights played over the rough angles of his face. He was broad if not tall, sharp if not brilliant. His face was round, his eyes brown, and his muscles well deserved. “Why don’t you ever take one of them home?” They’d been partying at one of the Bodini bars, and women were plentiful.
Mal tried to concentrate on the conversation. The raid was happening in twenty minutes. “I like to chase for a while. Those? Those chicks were easy catches.” He kept his Brooklyn voice in place. “Saw you give a fifty to the bum on the street. Your dad told you to stop doing that.” The senior Bodini was all about tough-guy image in thousand-dollar suits.
Junior shrugged. “Guy needed money. I have a lot. Why not give it to him?”
Mal had gotten close to the twenty-two-year-old kid while working as his bodyguard the last three months, and he still hadn’t quite figured him out. “You helped one guy get through the week. And yet you run drugs that kill kids.”
“We don’t deal to kids,” Junior snapped, sitting all the way up in the seat.
Mal cut him a look. “Your dealers do. No judgment, man. Just that pieces of you don’t make sense.”
“You’re my body man,” Junior retorted, his shoulders slumping. “Not your job to analyze me.”
True enough. And the assignment had been a serious step up in the organization after spending nearly two years running drugs and busting heads. Taking money. Now he was on the inside, where he’d gotten enough information to plan the raid. The one he was leading Junior into. “Sorry. None of my business,” Mal said.
Junior flicked the lighter and shuffled his shoulders in the dark leather jacket. “Nah. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “You know? Before my brothers died, I wanted to be a doctor. One that studied the brain.”
Mal nodded. He’d seen the anatomy books in Junior’s suite, and once he’d realized it wasn’t for figuring out how to kill people, he’d done some digging. Junior had even taken the MCAT and done fairly well. “Why don’t you, Junior?” Urgency swept him, and he had to fight to keep his voice normal. “You could still be a doctor. Get out of drugs.” He was taking a huge risk just saying those words.
Junior looked out the window. “Family is the beginning and the end, Mal. It just is.” His voice was low. Sad. “You’re like a brother to me. I hope you know that.”
It was like a kick to the balls. Mal swallowed as he pulled through the gates and drove over the rough cobblestones to the mansion. The night was eerily quiet.
Junior stepped out and walked up to the door. He opened it, and the entire world lit up. Police cars, spotlights, even a helicopter. “Fuck.” He bolted inside the house, and the sound of breaking glass came from every direction as SWAT breached the building.
Mal stayed on his six as Bodini henchmen poured from the dining room, all packing weapons. “Six unfriendlies,” he said quietly into the mic at his wrist.
