Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
My contacts have traced the remnants of Stephanos’ gang to a shuttered hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Primo Pizzeria. I cased the joint two nights ago and set up cameras so I could study the henchmen in their natural territory. I haven’t done a complete watch-through of the footage, only a few hours to get a sense of the players and their hierarchy and roles. I will do my homework more thoroughly the next time Lula sleeps, but I have all the information I need for this afternoon’s work.
I first approach the Pizzeria from the front. The windows and door are covered in ancient, sun-browned newspapers. I set a sleek black briefcase right on the stoop, slim enough to sit in the shadows and go unnoticed until the proper time.
Then, I retrace my steps and slip up the fetid alley, avoiding crumpled beer cans and cast-off takeout containers. The back door is cracked, and in one silent motion, I ease my way inside.
Gruff voices echo through the empty kitchen. I don’t try to hide myself but simply walk into the main seating area, right up to the men lounging in a circle of chairs.
“Good morning,” I murmur. Instantly, four of the five men reach to snap their weapons up and train them on me.
The fifth one fumbles his and drops it on the floor. It hits the toe of his tennis shoe and spins across the floor, stopping a few inches from my boot. I raise a brow.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I spread my arms to show I hold no visible weapons. “A friend.”
I wait calmly until the wiry, curly-haired man in the center spits out his cigarette and lowers his gun. “Hey, I know you. You’re that hitman Stephanos hired to bump the suit.”
“Yes. You may call me Victor.”
The wiry man narrows his eyes at me for a moment, then relaxes. “I’m Spiro. That’s Uzi, Kill Zone, Bruiser, and Joe.” He gestures to each of his friends in turn.
“A pleasure.” They’re all scowling at me with varying degrees of distrust. I raise my bare palms to show my intent. “May I?”
When no one says anything, I bend down slowly and pick up the gun. “Kill Zone?” I offer it to the man who dropped it. He blinks slowly and takes it.
Uzi still has his weapon trained on me.
“I remember there being more of you the last time I visited,” I muse. “Where is the gentleman who drove me from the wedding?”
“That was Johnson,” Joe pipes up. He’s a big, ugly man wearing a white tank top under an ill-fitting suit jacket. He’s broad in the shoulder and tall, but not as tall as Uzi. “Got hit by a bullet in the shootout at Cavalli’s. You know, the one with the broad.” He mimes a woman opening her coat. He’s speaking of Lula, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from flicking a knife into his throat.
When I first heard the story of the naked woman who walked into Cavalli’s and started shooting, I was filled with both pride and rage. Rage that she would be so reckless. Pride that she could be so brave. She came so close to snuffing her life out before I could claim her.
Perhaps after another round with the dragon tail, she will have atoned.
“The one who shot Stephanos?” I ask as if I’m not aware of the facts.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“Some hooker Stephanos did dirty,” Spiro says. “That’s what I heard. Johnson took a bullet and went back to his people in Chicago.”
“And what about Bruno?” I ask after Stephanos’ right-hand man.
“Bruno’s loyal,” Spiro says, and the rest of the gang nods. They’re calmer now, warming up to me. With every passing moment, Uzi lets the gun muzzle bow another inch.
“I need to speak to Stephanos,” I say
Uzi jerks his gun back up.
After a glance around the room, Spiro answers. “We haven’t seen him in ten or twelve weeks.”
“So long? Who’s paying you?”
“We’ve got jobs.”
“I know you are busy,” I say, allowing them to keep their respect. A quick perusal of the video footage showed them waiting around, eating pizza rolls Spiro bought at the dollar store and cooked in the restaurant microwave. There was some talk of moving equipment left unguarded on the docks, but when Spiro looked into it, the equipment was already gone. “I am prepared to pay you for your time. There’s a briefcase there on the front stoop. Locked, but the code is today’s date.”
Spiro jerks his head at Joe, and the big man lumbers off. Clouds of dust billow up when he opens the door. After looking left and right, he brings the briefcase inside.
“Don’t open it,” Uzi says. His voice is higher than you’d expect from a grown man. “Could be a bomb.”
“Then he’d blow himself up too, dumbass,” Spiro says. “Today’s date, you say?”