He attempted to raise a hand to move it, but it was stuck behind his back and his wrists seemed to be tied together.
“What the hell?”
“Good. You’re awake.”
Carter jumped at the sound of the voice and startled again when the cloth was pulled off his head.
He was in the back of what appeared to be a panel van, and crouched in front of him was none other than Johnny Fratelli.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered.
“I have one question for you,” Fratelli said. “What happens next depends on your answer. What do you think Ricky Gennaro wanted to do when he found me?”
“W-what?”
“I’m not going to repeat the question.”
“Uh…uh, I don’t know. Talk to you, I guess. He never said what he wanted you for.”
Fratelli locked onto Carter’s eyes and stared as if he were reading Carter’s soul.
“I swear,” Carter said. “I have no clue why he wanted you.”
“And yet you thought it was okay to tell him you saw me?”
That was two questions, but Carter didn’t think he should point that out. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me. Please.”
“What I want is for you to never come within one hundred miles of where I am. If you do, I will end you. Do you understand?”
Carter nodded. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”
“Good.”
Fratelli raised a syringe Carter hadn’t realized he was holding and stuck the needle into Carter’s neck.
The next time Carter woke, there was no cloth over his face. In fact, he had no clothes on at all.
And he was in the middle of a desert with no roads in sight.
Murray Hatcher locked the backdoor of his auto repair garage and walked over to his classic ’69 Mustang.
It had been a long but satisfying day. He’d accepted a couple new hit jobs and had leads on a few others.
It was a big improvement over what his mood had been for the last few weeks. He’d been pissed off at Gennaro for getting himself offed in a shoot-out with Pinkie Ramirez before Gennaro had paid Murray the rest of the money he’d promised him for causing the accident that put that Coulter lady in the hospital.
“To hell with that guy,” Murray said as he climbed behind the wheel. “He got what he deserved.”
Murray stuck the key into the ignition and turned it.
The explosion could be heard from ten blocks away.
Those closer, such as Jack Coulter, who was just down the street, also witnessed the ball of fire that propelled the hood of the Mustang a hundred feet into the air.
It turned out Murray Hatcher got what he deserved, too.
Chapter 62
The Arrington Vineyard, a fewweeks later.
