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Carmine blanched. He didn’t know the first thing about hot-wiring anything.
The third man found a load of DVD players and broke a window to climb in the front of the truck. Remy looked over, seeing Carmine just standing there.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Carmine’s shirt and pulling him to the front of the truck. “Break the window and get in.”
Carmine did as he was told, having no time to argue. He smashed the glass and unlocked the door, climbing inside. Remy pulled a flat screwdriver from his back pocket, passing it through to him. “Carefully put it in the ignition and see if it’ll turn.”
The truck on the other side of the lot came to life a few seconds before Carmine’s did. Remy let out a laugh as the engine roared and shoved Carmine humorously. “See, man? Let me drive it to the spot. Follow us in your car.”
Wordlessly, Carmine jumped out of the truck and ran back to his car. He ripped the mask off, taking a deep breath to steady himself as the two trucks tore out of the lot. Carmine followed them into traffic, staying right on Remy’s bumper.
Sirens blared in the distance. The trucks pulled off the main road as the flashing lights rapidly approached, weaving through traffic. Carmine was on edge, watching his rearview mirror as he pulled into the alley behind them. Three cop cars flew right by after a moment and kept going.
Carmine exhaled sharply. Too fucking close.
They drove down some back roads deep into the south side, coming to a stop at a large warehouse. They pulled the trucks inside, out of view, and Carmine parked his car behind them.
“Woo!” Remy hollered, jumping out of the truck. His friend joined him, the two of them cheering and sharing fist bumps, before Remy turned to Carmine. “You feel that, man? That high?”
Carmine nodded and smiled, although it was a lie. All he felt was nervous energy surging through him. He was on the verge of being sick.
The three men spent the next hour watching the trucks being unloaded before taking their payment and driving away. The stolen trucks would be discarded at a chop shop, nothing going to waste. Every bit of it was salvaged and sold, melted down and concealed, so not a fragment of evidence remained.
“What a rush,” Remy said, fidgeting excitedly in the passenger seat. “That’s what I live for. The violence I could do without, but the stealing . . . there’s nothing like it. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight. I mean, fuck! It was a close one! Just a minute later and we would’ve gotten caught. Ain’t that shit great?”
Carmine found nothing great about it.
“Let’s go get a drink,” he continued, not giving anyone else any time to speak. “I don’t know about you, but I need something hard after the night we just had.”
Finally something Carmine agreed with.
* * *
Luna Rossa was busy for a Friday night. Unlike the last time Carmine had been there, black sedans were merely sprinkled within the sea of other vehicles, cars and trucks of all types crammed into the lot. It looked almost like an entirely different place, loud hip-hop music blaring from the building.
“I’ve never been here,” Remy said. “Lived in Chicago my whole life, been involved in this shit for years, and until tonight I never stepped foot in this place.”
Carmine’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t feel right just walking in. Guys like us only get invited here when we’ve done something to piss Mr. Moretti off.”
“I got invited by the Boss as soon as I moved here,” Carmine said. “Looked like a different place that night. It was old school.”
Remy laughed. “You know how the saying goes: When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
The guard looked at them when they entered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the three men, but he said nothing, merely tipping his head in greeting. They walked through the club, bass from the music vibrating the floor beneath their feet, sending energy spiking through Carmine’s body. He found it relaxing, the chaos and noise so loud he could hardly think.
A booth in the back was empty. He slipped into it, barely having enough time to sit down when a woman stopped right in front of him. He looked up at her, their eyes connecting right away as her serious expression shifted with a smile. “DeMarco, right?”
It took him a moment to place her face . . . the same waitress who had served him last time. “Uh, yeah. Hey.”
“You want your usual?” she asked. “Vodka?”
He was stunned she remembered. “Yeah, sure.”
“And your friends?” She turned to them. “What can I get you fellas?”
They rattled off their orders—scotch for Remy and a beer for the other guy. The waitress walked off, returning with their drinks in a matter of minutes, and Carmine downed his before she even had a chance to walk away. She let out a laugh, holding her finger up to silently tell him to wait, and retrieved the whole bottle of Grey Goose from behind the bar. “Anything else you need, just let me know. My name’s Eve.”
