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My gun is on my nightstand, and I lunge for it just as Pony bursts through the door and throws himself at me. The force of his body slams into mine, sending my gun clattering away. But he can’t get a grip on my arm, thanks to the blood, and I manage to get hold of his wrist, the hand holding the gun, forcing it up and away.
We grapple hard with each other on the floor. Neither of us speak. We’re too busy fighting for our lives.
Because he must know I’m going to shoot his fucking brains out the second I get the chance.
And I know he’ll do the same to me.
CHAPTER42
MAX
I’m sittingin my car in the dark, parked outside a fast food restaurant and trying to avoid going back to my place in Glendale, because it feels like I’m trying to live someone else’s life when I’m there. Redwood Manor is where I spend most of my time usually.
And these days, when I think of “going home,” I picture somewhere very different than either place. Somewhere I’m not welcome any longer.
It’s been a long day and I don’t feel like making it much longer, but when I get a call from Johnny Jacopo, I pick up at once. “Jack. Things settled down at Redwood?”
“You could say that. Lockdown’s lifted. But that’s not why I’m calling. My guy got one clear print off the phone—and he also got a hit from the comps you gave me.”
“And?”
“Well,” Jack drawls, “that print on the phone belongs to one Anthony Palombino.”
Tony the Pony.
So I was right. All his bullshit stories were only designed to keep the heat off himself. He wasn’t very subtle about it. “You dug any deeper?”
“I’m seeing some pretty big cash deposits over the last year into his accounts. Some splashy purchases. Lots of vehicular expenses.”
“That tracks. Guy’s a rev-head.”
I’ve had my eye on Pony for a while. It was all a little too convenient, him having so much intel to feed us. He hung around Bricker and me like a killer trying to insert himself into a police investigation.
From the first hours after the heist went wrong, he’d tried to stir up our suspicions about Delligatti, who must have seemed like a good patsy. Van’s dislike of me, his attitude since I showed up, the fact that he was the tactics guy and his tactics kept failing… Yeah. Delligatti must have seemed like agreatcandidate to throw under the bus. But when that hadn’t worked the way Pony had hoped, he threw doubt on Jazz instead, who had made herself a tempting target by not attending Rook’s funeral.
And Rook…Rook was Pony’s original fall guy, the one who took the blame for the missing bank floor layout, which Pony hid just to mess with us, I’m sure of it. Took it and photographed it, then stashed it, along with Rook’s notes, under the sofa cushions at the Lair, where Bricker and I only found it much later.
The fact that Ponyhadactually saved us when we dragged ourselves out of the bank—drove at that PacSynner trying to take us out—had always seemed to me like a point in his favor. But I have a theory about that, too. I think he only did it because of what I said to him, right before I ran out to try to save the rest of the crew.
I swear to Christ I’ll send Julian Castellani after you.
It froze him in place long enough for us to escape the bank, and when we all came out, Pony must’ve just about lost it. He had to make a quick call. Should he keep playing his part, pretending to be on our side? Or drive off, leave us to PacSyn, and hope to God that Julian Castellani never find out who betrayed us?
Pony had chosen to keep playing his part. Maybe the one smart thing he’d done, because Julian would’ve found him out, one way or another.
He’dseemedlike a team player when he gunned the car at that PacSynner lurking around outside the bank. But the reality is, Pony’s the kind of guy who’ll turn on anyone to save his own skin. He must have expected the whole crew to die there in First National—all except me, at least.
But it wasn’t supposed to be me with him there in the van, was it? It was supposed to be Nico…
It was supposed to be the Maestra’s son.
A chill runs through me as I wonder exactly what the whole plan was. For Pony to execute Nico? Or had he convinced PacSyn to kidnap the kid, have something to hold over Anna-Vittoria?
It also explains why the phone was burned at the Lair. Pony must have assumed he’d either have time to dump it later, or wouldn’t have to at all, since the crew would be dead and he’d be in the wind. But I was with him the whole time from the getaway to the Lair, and he’d had no chance to ditch the phone.
I remember again his agitation at the Lair, his in-and-out for cigarette breaks—or so he’d said. He could’ve used that time to throw the phone in the oil drum and try to burn it, too jumpy to even wipe it fully clean of his prints.
“There’s one more thing,” Jack says. “I’m looking into the numbers this burner phone called and texted. Most were hidden, but he slipped up once or twice. Might be something in that, but I need a little more time.”
