Page 182 of Always: A Legacy Novel

Theo clicked another button, and more maps came up, showcasing the border between the States and Mexico. “With the state of the fucking government upping security on the boarder, going straight across with a bribe isn’t going to work this time around. Instead, we’ve got back roads, shit towns, and a few crossing patrols to pay off on the way. A copy of these maps are going to be put onto your phones, or whatever the fuck you’ve got on hand. I suggest you memorize it, and focus on driving once the run starts.”

“And the guns?” one of the sitting men asked.

Theo passed the guy a look. “They’ll be here sometime this week, which gives the six of you time to make friends, and figure out which way you’re going to go. The faster you go, the better it’ll be and the less likely it is that someone will get picked up.”

“As for the guns in particular,” Theo added, “that’s where the real work comes in. These rifles are coming in fully disassembled, mixed up in several crates. Each gun needs to be assembled, checked to ensure no parts are missing, disassembled, and repacked into new crates before being loaded between the three vans parked in the back of the warehouse. Got it?”

“How many guns?” Cross asked.

“There should be one-hundred-fifty.”

“Between three vans?”

“That’s why they’re going to be taken apart and packed back down after you assemble them again, New York.”

Cross bristled at that nickname, but ignored it for the moment. “And we can’t just assume that the weapons are fine and nothing’s missing?”

“Sure, if you want to be on the buyer’s shit list when he gets them all reassembled only to find out he’s missing a few. I sure as fuck don’t.” Theo sighed, and rubbed a hand down his face. “Listen, I’m doing this run as a favor to a friend who got picked up last month. He contacted me, said this drop was already in progress, and all we needed to do was pick it up, get it into Chicago, and then drop it down to Mexico. That’s what we’re doing.”

“Just one run?” another man asked.

Theo cleared his throat. “Depending on how it goes, we’ll see. Take that as you want because I’ve got fuck all to say about it, otherwise.”

Then, Theo pointed between the two men at the end sitting next to one another, the two men in the middle, and then to Cross and the one guy standing.

“Meet your partners on this run, say hello, get acquainted, and do whatever the fuck else you need to make friends. That’s what makes this work—having the right friends.”

The guy who was standing turned to face Cross. It was then that he got a good look at his face, and realized something important. He was no older than Cross, if that, and maybe younger. They were definitely the two youngest in the warehouse, anyway.

Cross held out his hand.

The guy took it.

“Cross Donati,” he said.

“Tommaso Rossi,” the guy replied.

Well, shit.

Another boss’s son.

Cross had a feeling the partner Theo chose for him was not accidental.

Not at all.

Theo clapped his hands, drawing their attention back to the front of the warehouse again. “Keep the phone calls out limited for the next couple of weeks, just to be safe. When you do call, you’ve got nothing to tell. Be fucking smart, and this run will end the way it needs to. Understood?”

Confirmations echoed from each of the six men.

“Good.” Theo opened his arms wide. “Let’s run some guns, boys.”

Cross’s back hurt. His spine felt like jello, and his limbs were deadweights attached to his goddamn body. His knuckles were stiff, each and every one of them, and all the tendons in his hands hurt with every stretch of his fingers.

Still, he grabbed the next barrel and spun it onto the assault rifle. He clicked on the shitty, standard scope, and pushed in the clip at the bottom.

“That was three minutes and forty-eight seconds,” Tommaso said from across the metal table. “You’re starting to slow down.”

Cross hadn’t realized Tommaso was timing him, but he wasn’t surprised to learn he was slowing down with each piece he worked on. Not given the way he felt.