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“Because I put him on watching Fallon’s place, and they just tried to break in.”
Nicolo finishes chaining them in the torture basement. I can’t let them go, and I’m not sure whether to kill them or keep them alive once we get what we need. Christian, Leo, and Theo might also want words, as I think it’s going to come to that.
Too many fucking threads, and the pieces to link are maybe too big to see from here. We need to all look.
So, if I have to take all this to them, these two need to stay alive.
I have to figure out a way to avoid a war I feel coming.
Rumors have a way of growing into fires. In a lot of the nonsense these two spilled, immediately was shit about O’Grady and the Lowlanders. I can’t help but think if they had these two, then it would be shit about De Luca.
I crouch down, the knuckle dusters on one hand, while Nicolo stands to the side, polishing torture tools. They’re scary and we got them from a dental and medical warehouse supply sale, and we wheel that out whenever we want to scare someone without violence.
The real torture tools don’t look anywhere near as impressive.
“So, let’s get down to business.”
The girl’s crying, her eyes glued to Nicolo, but she’s the one I focus on. On the surface, it looks like the guy’s the one to pick for the info, but it’s her. The tears might be real, they might not, but she’s looking to gauge what Nicolo has and what he plans to do. She knows what the metal on my hand does.
The guy? He won’t look because he’s so fucking scared, he’s pissed himself. He’s a mess, and he’s already sung anddescended into gibberish. If there’s anything else, she’ll be the one to give it up.
I’m not sure there is, not puzzle-piece wise, but there’s always something to keep in mind. If one doesn’t know something the other will. Or it could be as simple as asking the right question to pry it from the other while the more vulnerable one is facing off with one of us.
“Blondie,” I say to her, “what did you want at the MacNamara house?”
Her gaze slides to me. “Looking for something that doesn’t belong to anyone in that place.”
Whatever Fallon had, they want. No . . . whoever Blondie here is working for. I just need to find out what it is.
“Why is your boss so interested?”
She swallows. “The girl must have it. They wanted another sweep of the house, but you all showed up.”
“Fallon’s in jail.”
“Who?” Then she nods, her lip trembling. “The guy, right? I don’t know. Okay? I was told he took it as insurance, and in the wrong hands, it’s bad.”
“So, why doesn’t your boss take the girl?”
“I’m not privy to the inner workings, okay? I’m a hire, and so is this idiot. We track things for money. But I imagine the girl hasn’t been snatched because of you, because she doesn’t know she has it. If she has it, and if anything happens, then the boss probably figures this Fallon has a failsafe.”
“For someone who doesn’t know,” I say, “you know a lot.”
“I’ve got a brain, I know how these things work.”
“Okay, good.” I look at Nicolo, who comes closer with a pair of nasty pliers. “Who exactly do you work for?”
“I’m an expendable hire. I communicate through money drops and burners.”
“So, a burner phone magically appears when you need it?”
She eyes me with dislike and a lot of fear. “No. There’s a network. You use people like me. All of you do.”
Blondie’s right, we have done it. When absolutely necessary and not often. But depending on the outfit or where they’re situated, like Mexico or somewhere else, it’s more common. Handy, even.
“So, after the initial contact, what?”
“I imagine we’re watched when there’s an active job.”
