Page 25 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

“Should be,” Andino said.

Great.

“Then the crates need unpacked. All of them. The guns need to be assembled, checked, and disassembled again before being packed back up.”

Andino glanced over at him. “Why the fuck would you do that? That’s a lot of work and time to spend on guns that are already ready to ship. All we need to do is move them from the warehouse to a boat again, Cross.”

“That might be how you do it,” he replied with a shrug. “That’s not how I do it. My name is attached to this run just like yours is. Actually, maybe more than yours is, Andino. Look at it like this—you simply sold the guns. I’m the one who needs to get them all there in one piece, and in working order. If the drop ends with a few missing weapons or a couple of ruined guns, you’re simply going to pay the buyer back or work it out somehow. Me, though? My name is fucked.”

Cross waved a hand at the men still pushing the crates to a waiting truck. “So yeah, every single one of those crates and any more that come in need to be opened, the guns assembled, checked, and then disassembled and packed back up. I’m not running fucked up guns to someone like Rhys Crain. Trust that.”

“I’m starting to regret asking you to run these guns already.”

Cross laughed dryly, and turned to head off the dock. “Yet, here we are.”

“Lucky me.”

“Make sure someone is checking those guns. Get a team of guys to do it. I don’t care.”

Andino nodded once as they stepped off the dock. “Fine, whatever. If it’ll make you shut up, I’ll do it.”

“Nothing makes me shut up,” Cross said, “but that’s not why you want me running your guns, right?”

“I should have stayed in Atlantic City for another week,” Andino muttered.

“What were you doing over in New Jersey?”

“Taking a little break from life.”

Cross side-eyed the Marcello Capo, considering the man’s words. “Life too fast for you, or what?”

“It is when someone decides my life needs to be upended without my input,” Andino replied, and not offering more. “The two week break was good for me, though. Back to work, now.”

Cross now understood why it had taken Andino two weeks to get ahold of him with more information about the gun run. It had also been two weeks since Cross had heard from Catherine, but that had fuck all to do with Andino.

He chose to wait her out.

The girl always did overthink.

As the two men came to stand behind the trailer of the eighteen-wheeler, Andino put his pointer finger and thumb between his lips, and whistled. The piercing sound carried over the noisy docks. Not two seconds later, a rusty colored pit bull came crawling out from beneath Cross’s parked Range Rover. Cross hadn’t even seen the dog before that moment.

“Come here, Snaps,” Andino ordered, pointing a finger to the ground at his feet.

The dog did as he was told, but one black eye stayed on Cross. As Andino scratched the pit bull behind his ear, the stubby tail wiggled against the ground. Still, the dog kept watching Cross like he didn’t trust him.

“He looks like he’s considering biting me,” Cross said.

Andino grinned. “Not unless I tell him to.”

“Good to know.”

“Don’t take offense. He’s not fond of men in general.”

“Except you, it seems,” Cross noted.

“Yeah, well.” Andino offered nothing else.

Before the truck took off to store the guns away, Cross wanted to break open one of those crates, and do a cursory check of the assault rifles inside. He waited until the men that had loaded the crates with a forklift were out of the trailer before he climbed inside. Andino stayed behind with his dog.