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I was not a blurter. I didn't let my mouth run away with me. Everything I said was carefully thought out and filtered to produce the reaction I wanted. And having four angry bikers pissed at me and one amused by me, was absolutely not the reaction I wanted.
What was wrong with me?
"What I am saying is," I tried, taking a breath, "that they have obviously outgrown their prostitution ring. And they must have new leadership that is hungry for bigger and better for themselves. This has been carefully orchestrated. I mean that thing with Wolf was years ago. I don't think I need to tell you that having an opponent as patient as that, as persistent as that is really dangerous. They are in this for the long haul. And, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you are weak right now. You are down to five capable members. Even if you can find them and go after them... you won't be able to do it with brute force. You'll have to..."
I was cut off by the blaring of a horn outside. My eyes went to Cash and he gave me a strained smile. "That'd be my woman," he said, getting up and moving toward the door, hitting the button for the gate.
Lo came charging in two minutes later, Malcolm and L in toe. If Lo was our badass mother figure up at Hailstorm, then Malcolm was our badass father. Ex-military, skilled, capable, calm, caring, and focused, he cared for every last one of us like we were family. Which, given that he had none of his own, was likely how he felt.
L was, well, an enigma.
He had been at Hailstorm for the better part of two years and my file on him was all but blank. I had a picture where he was as obnoxiously good-looking in a candid shot of him drinking his Big Gulp full of coffee as he was in person- mid-twenties, dark, shaggy hair, dark eyes, perfect bone structure. I had a couple scribbles about the fact that he was very likely the smartest person I had ever come into contact with. He was also blunt, sarcastic, and reclusive.
What he was doing there, I had no idea. He, like me, generally preferred to work from a distance. Though I had no idea what his specialty even was.
"You guys know Malcolm," Lo said, waving her hand toward him. "This is L. They're here to help us make a plan."
Malcolm made sense. Being ex-military, he knew all about covert operations, sneaking up on the enemy, making a plan that wouldn't blow up in everyone's faces, even if they only had five able-bodied men left. Whole armies had been taken down by less.
I fell back, leaning against the wall to watch as L moved into the center of the room, pulling a pile of folders out of his black, busted-up messenger bag. "The Abruzzo family," he said, handing out the files. "Ten years ago, they were nobodies. Then Ricky Sr. died suddenly and, if you ask anyone in the know, suspiciously, and Ricky Jr. stepped up. Little Ricky, named ironically because he's about a fucking thousand pounds, wasn't happy pimping out poor women and liberally taking use of them whenever he damn well pleased anymore. He set his sights higher. And since New York has too many established syndicates, they set their sights on Jersey."
He moved back from the group as they flipped through the pages, looking at the pictures for a second, but giving L most of their attention. "Little Ricky even had his cousin Marco go through the fucking academy and join the police force. Not, at first, to lock you guys all up, but to have someone on the inside to hide evidence when they eventually did gain power. Though, he has been missing since after Janie had Eli put him in the hospital. That thing with Wolf, that was just a smart move to bring him in."
"Why us?" Duke asked. "Got tons of crime around here. The Mallicks and their loan sharking, Breaker and Shooter with their hired muscle and contract killing, Lyon and his cocaine, Third Street and their heroin and shit, Grassis and their docks. Why us? Why the arms trade?"
"Best fucking guess," L said, shrugging, "it's easiest."
"Easy?" Reign scoffed, brows drawing together.
L held up a hand, not the kind of man who put up with overt displays of testosterone-driven anger. "It's easier. There isn't a whole hell of a lot of daily effort. You don't have to go out every day and beat the shit out of people like the Mallick family. You don't have to inspect shipping containers like the Grassi family. You don't have to find reliable contacts in South America like Lyon who can get cocaine in this country. You don't need to travel like Shooter or deal with the scum of the Earth like Breaker. As for Third Street, well, they're a pathetic force these days. Paine and Enzo held them together. They've been flailing since. There's nothing to take over there right now."
