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“I suppose so,” he says, sounding a little disappointed. “If you’re sure there’s nothing more interesting to come tonight?”
“We’d appreciate it, Julian,” Max tells him. “And no accidental knives between the ribs, eh?”
Julian’s smirk at that is chilling, but he nods. “No accidents,” he agrees.
I walk over to Chuckles, who looks about as far from his nickname as a man can get. “Mymotherwants a word with you,” I tell him, before hauling him up.
He only looks more terrified at that idea, and speech seems to have deserted him. I’d like to kill him here and now, frankly, but the Maestra nixed that idea. She said the balance of power here in LA is too unstable to create another power vacuum right now.
But I know she’ll put the fear of God into Chuckles Moran before she lets him go. I hand him off to Julian, then jerk my head at Van and Max. “We gotta move.”
“Way ahead of you, Cap,” Van says, already heading for the door.
Max falls in beside me as we go after him. I toss a hurried “Thanks, Julian!” over my shoulder.
“Thank you for an entertaining night!” he calls back brightly. “Ciao, Bricker!”
It’s the first time he’s called me by my nickname, and weirdly, I feel like I’ve moved up in his estimation.
* * *
Van, Max and I tear through the maze of shipping crates, scanning for any sign of Jazz and Tank. No gunshots or shouting, so maybe they’re laying low, trying to avoid detection…
I whip around the next corner and slam the brakes just shy of barging straight into Tank, gun drawn, coming the other way.
“Cap!” he whispers. “I was coming for you. Guess who Jazz and I found?” Just beyond him, I see Jazz is poised by the metal side door of another warehouse, lockpick at the ready. “We followed Pony into that warehouse, the motherfucker. He was here—and he’s trying to hide.”
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I tell Tank, grabbing him by the shoulder in relief. “Julian said you never showed up—”
“Sorry about that,” he says, pulling a face. “We had to make a call, whether to follow the traitor or go meet Julian. We figured the Castellani could handle things, and we didn’t want Pony to get away.”
“It was the right call. Chuckles is done. So what’s the situation here?” I ask, as we approach Jazz.
“We tracked him in here,” Jazz replies. Her expression is murderous. “Heard him inside crying on the phone, begging someone to bail his ass out before we caught up with him.”
We’ve got him trapped now. “Anyone with him?”
“Not that we can tell,” says Tank. “Looks like he slithered here alone once he realized his bolt hole with PacSyn wasn’t safe after all. And no civvies, either, not this far from the docks.”
Good. No need to worry about innocent casualties, then. I heft my gun, which I retrieved on the way out of the courtyard, and I look at Max.
He’s been so quiet tonight. He’s not a violent man by nature, I know that—but heisa pragmatist. “We all know what needs doing here,” I say.
Solemn nods ripple through the group. These are good people, but they understand how betrayal must be answered. How failure to punish those who violate our code weakens the Family.
And Max nods as well.
Jazz makes quick work of the lock and eases the door open. I slip through first, senses keyed to any sound or movement within the dim space. The others fan out behind me, covering angles with their weapons raised.
Muffled sobs escape from the office space at the back. No other voices, though. Tony the Pony is alone with his treachery, it seems.
Gesturing for the crew to hold position, I creep along the wall toward the cracked door and catch a glimpse of him: disheveled, crumpled against the far wall, cell phone clutched white-knuckled, pressed up against his ear.
“Please, you gotta get me out of this…I know I fucked up, but what was I supposed to do?” He dissolves into whimpering as the tinny voice on the line replies.
No honor or courage, just a pathetic worm trying to bargain for his miserable life.
With one swift kick, I slam the door wide open. Tony shrieks, dropping the phone as I storm in and grab a fistful of his shirt. The next instant, I jam my pistol under his quivering chin.
