Page 51 of Blood We Steal

Ipractically floated the hundred and fifty steps from the warden’s office to the hallway. I felt almost comfortable, until I spotted Lorik. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Pop, pop, pop.

“Still shooting, huh?” I asked Rubin, ignoring Lorik.

“That’s outside. The COs have been quiet today,” he said.

“Is that good?”

“We’ll find out.”

I breathed in and caught the faint waft of smoke. “I’m glad it rained.”

As we approached the rec room, a low hum greeted us, one that fell silent when Rubin entered. All eyes were on him—and by extension, me.

Rubin continued to move like it was nothing, and I tried to do the same. Still, I couldn’t help but feel impossibly conspicuous and, more than anything, wanted to move closer to Rubin. I stayed impassive as we walked through the crowd, but couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief when we entered the cafeteria. It was abuzz with activity, but of a different sort. The men were moving efficiently, like they did this every day. And in fact, they probably did.

“Start here,” Rubin said when he stopped in front of a large door.

“I already tallied this,” I said.

Rubin handed me my clipboard. “Do it again.”

I entered the room, which was much deeper than it looked at first glance, and started working through what was there. The stink of death was ever-present, but underneath I caught the scent of damp cardboard and wet cans. Not exactly worse than corpses, but not good either. I should just be grateful for the variety in the funk. I didn’t need to look at the clipboard but I checked it anyway. I wanted to be sure.

About fifteen minutes later, Rubin came in and stood beside me.

“Well?” he said.

I ran through the calculations again. “It’s okay, but…”

“But what?” he asked.

“My count is right, but there’s clearly something missing.”

Rubin’s eyes never wavered. “Something like what?”

“There’s space for four five-pound cans here. But there are only three. I arranged them myself. These cans have the furthest expiration date. This row shouldn’t even have been touched yet.”

Rubin nodded curtly. “Keep counting,” he said.

Then he left and came back about ten minutes later with Besnik and another man. “Simone, this is Roderick. Tell him what you told me.”

Roderick was a thin man with a lean face and nervous eyes. He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed, but he recovered and gave me a smile that would have convinced someone who hadn’t worked for the Albanian mob for nearly a decade.

“This row should have four cans,” I said.

“No, it was three. See how all the others are arranged,” he said.

“Simone, how many cans should there be?” Rubin asked.

“Four,” I whispered.

“Thank you.” Then he nodded at Besnik, who grabbed the man.

It happened so quickly I wasn’t sure I was processing it correctly. Rubin grabbed the man’s hand and slammed it down on the gleaming chrome table. One swing of a cleaver I hadn’t even seen him lift, and the hand was off.

The man’s knees buckled as he screamed, Besnik wrapping a dingy towel over the spurting stump.