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I eye him, then lower my beer and twist off the top. “Good.”
As much as I’m still pissed, I believe him. And it’ll be up to Valentine to decide whether she forgives him.
Nero moves to lean against the counter next to King. “So how about you finally clue us in on what’s going on? Why do you suddenly need the help of The Alliance?”
This is the whole reason this all started, so I tell them.
I explain how each man has been hit. How someone is targeting my family without leaving behind any calling cards. How the cowards are coming onto my turf, and how I’m going to make them pay.
“I can handle Chicago,” I tell them. “But when we find the man behind this, I’m going to need backup. Because it’s not a local. I’m not sure if the person behind this is even in this fucking country. But we’re close. And when I get a name, I’m going to wipe them from the face of the earth.”
Nero takes a pull of beer. “Sounds fun.”
“I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to it.”
“How close are you to finding them?” King asks me.
In answer, my phone dings with an incoming text.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and look at the text from the unknown number.
“Just got closer.”
Living Room Guy told me his handler’s name. I knew there’d be no contact for him in the phone, but this text is him.
Unknown: Check in
I open the message and click to add an attachment.
Me: *sends photo of the dead man with his chest caved in*
Me: You had my attention, Casey.
Me: And now I have yours.
I open a different chat and make sure my men back home saw that he messaged.
Rather than worrying about the hitters’ phones being traced, I just had them cloned to this untraceable one. There’s no guarantee we’ll find Casey through this text, but we’re already halfway to nailing down his location.
I move back to the chat with Casey, but he hasn’t replied. And I doubt he will.
Hopefully he’s too busy shitting himself.
“What’s that?” Nero asks, suddenly at my side, pointing to the photo I sent.
“A dead guy.”
“No shit, dumbass. Let me see.” He holds out his hand, and I set the phone in it.
Nero sets his beer on the kitchen island so he can use both hands to zoom in on the photo.
Then he holds the phone closer to his face.
“Need a minute to borrow King’s bifocals?” I snort.
“Fuck off.” Nero’s face is still close to the phone screen. “You’re a year older than I am.”
“Sure.” I take a long drink of my beer. “But clearly my vision is better.”
