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“When are we going to see you? We want you to come home tonight so we can talk.”
“No, not tonight, Ma. I have a few things I gotta do.” There’s one place I thought of checking out, then I’m going to the club. I hope Mia comes tonight. I hope she comes back. I should be there regardless, because last night was shot too and I have a heap of admin stuff to do.
I don’t want to go to the house and get the third degree or think about Snade.
I need to localize the parts I have to worry about.
Who pulled the trigger on Tommy? That’s all. That’s all I want to know.
“Okay, not tonight but soon. Check in with me later boy,” she tells me as a warning not a request.
“Yes.”
She hangs up and I stand.
It’s nearly five.
I’m going to check out a bar most of the underground hang out at. There was something Gabe said yesterday that made me think. He was talking about the Fontaines and who they hire when they want to put a hit on someone. They’re clever in the way they work because they don’t have hitmen or enforcers that people can associate back to them.
They outsource random guys that can do a job.
I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I need to dig there. Find out who they might have hired in that short space of time from the deal going wrong to Tommy being gunned down.
The problem is, who would talk to me?
I’d go there first and head to the club after.
* * *
One bar fightlater and I had something I never had earlier, or yesterday.
It makes me feel a little more like I did something with my day.
I grabbed a weasel who came at me with a knife when I asked a question and offered him his life in return for info. I do that a lot. It’s my thing. At least I offer it, which is a lot more than I can say for most.
He heard me asking around and thought I’d come for him.
The motherfucker’s name was Pablo. Nasty scar on his face, looked like shit.
He said one of the Fontaine associates called up some of the guys who travelled with Perez. All part of the Cuban Cartel. The associates were looking for a guy to hire because they needed a hit on someone. Pablo dropped the name of Hector Ramirez. He said one of Hector’s boys got picked for a job.
What I know of the Fontaines is that the more low key the more desirable.
That was all I could get. I got a name I could work with.
That came after I got sliced with a mean-looking knife and actually had the shit beaten out of me by his boys.
I kept the Giordano name alive though when I struck back, ended two of his best and left with my info.
A name.
Hector… prick. God help him when I find him and his boy.
Motherfucker.
I get to the club late. I’m a mess, all ruffled and roughed up and I know there must be blood on my shirt but I decide I’m going in just like this.
Although the tension has eased a little, I’m still worked up pretty bad and I want to forget. I want to forget and I’m not pushing pencils and paper tonight.
