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The man’s eyes go wide. Clearly, he knows who I’m referring to.
“No!” he begs. “If I tell you somethin’ I heard, then you’ll let me go? I have a family.”
“So did Indigo when Forger kidnapped their daughter and she almost died in an inferno,” Jett reminds him. “Think about that before you open your goddamn mouth again.”
He writhes around. I wish we didn’t have to wait for Harlem and Tag. This is getting tiresome.
“If you start makin’ up shit,” I warn him. “I’m gonna start slicing your fingertips off one by one, then I’ll move to your toes. Then I’ll start on your nuts.”
He shakes his head. “Please…”
“Out with it, then we’ll decide if you live or die, or if we just leave you for Harlem.”
He blinks a couple of times, looking like he’s going to pass out. “I heard a name. It’s probably nothin’. It was only one time.”
“Spit it out, fucker!” I yell.
“Caruso.”
I blink.
Caruso?
Haven’t heard that name in a long time.
It’s an old Italian mafia last name. The Carusos were notorious back in the day, I’m talking the 19th century. The name fizzled out years ago with the Irish taking reign over the French Quarter and the Carusos moving on to bigger and better things, like Texas.
I feel Jett’s eyes on me. “Is he for real?”
“I think he’s lyin’.”
“So you know who I’m talking about?” the man frets. “I swear to God, I only overheard it. I don’t know shit. Carlo Caruso’s name came up a couple of times…”
“He’s the head of the Houston crime family,” Jett mutters.
“I know,” I reply. “Didn’t go to school for long, but I know all the mafia outside of New Orleans.”
The man smiles, like he’s done something good. I don’t know what he’s got to smile about. His days are numbered.
Trouble is, they’ll notice another runner has gone missing. Not that Cash cares about that, but Forger will know we’re closing in.
“Good. Now think.” I tap his head with my knuckles. “What did they say about Caruso?”
He frowns. “I don’t… Okay, I never heard the whole conversation…”
I round the back of him to where his hands are tied. “You’re makin’ me do this,” I warn. “You have pretty fingers, or should I say…had.”
I hold one hand and slice the top of his finger off of his pointer and he screams in agony.
“Fuck, that blade’s sharper than I thought,” I chuckle.
“Think!” Jett yells at him. “What can we do with a name? Fuckin’ nothin’, asshole. We need more.”
“There was talk,” he pants. He’s a slobbering mess. I should just put him out of his misery early, but I don’t wanna be on the outs with Harlem. “The Carusos want to move back to the Quarter. The Irish are not real happy about that…”
“I’ll bet,” I snort.
But this is news.
