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“Tell me more, Max,” Bricker asks suddenly, his voice low and serious. “How’d you end up with the Castellani Family in the first place?”
I’m jolted out of my reverie. “That’s a…long and boring story,” I deflect, hoping he’ll let it go. “Ancient history.”
There’s something in his eyes that says he’s not quite satisfied. “Then tell me this: what do you think of my crew?”
I hesitate, considering my words carefully. “Your crew is…interesting,” I begin, taking the last swig from my beer to stall for time. Bricker nods, encouraging me to continue. “Pretty old school. No computers?”
Bricker just smiles. “We prefer it old-school. Paper is easier to destroy completely. Don’t you think?”
I do. But I also wonder if there’s more behind it. Bricker’s not going to be drawn on it, though.
“My people,” I he repeats. “What do you think about them?”
“Rook and Giddy are green,” I admit, watching Bricker’s face for any signs of offense. “But everyone starts somewhere, right?”
For a moment, Bricker’s eyes flash with something that suggests his easygoing demeanor is just an act, but he quickly covers it up with a smile. “True enough. And what about Jazz and Pony? They’re some of the best in the business.”
“Seems that way to me, too. Though your boy Pony’s got a bit of a temper. I like a wheelman with a cooler head.” Johnny Jacopo is a great one, but I don’t mention his name. Bringing up the Castellani’s new Underboss won’t win me any points. “Tank’s solid. Knows his stuff inside out.”
“How can you tell?”
“I have to lean on my guys to clean their own damn guns half the time. Tank’s doing the whole crew’s arsenal, and he isn’t doing it half-assed, either.”
“You got that right. Tank always does a full-assed job.” He chuckles.
“So tell me,” I say, sensing my moment, “what kind of jobs are the crew running?”
Bricker stares at the TV for a long moment before his eyes slide sideways to mine. “We talked about that already. Armored cars. Cash points. That kind of thing.”
“But why is Anna-Vittoria Esposito wasting her time on smash-and-grab bullshit?” I make it blunt. I want to see his reaction.
Bricker just gives a slow smile.
“Your crew was put together specially,” I go on, thinking out loud. “Different skills. Different expertise. The one that intrigues me most is Honeybee.”
“You got a problem with women?”
“I don’t care who’s on my team if they’re good. No, what puzzles me is: what in the hell do you need a contortionist for?”
“Perceptive,” Bricker replies noncommittally, taking a long drink of his beer. “And, yeah, their skills are for a particular kind of job. We’re in training, Max. That might be why Anna-Vittoria’s so anxious to haveyourexpertise available.” He rolls his head on the couch, and it strikes mehowclose he is. Close enough that our knees brush against each other whenever we shift.
“I assume the armored car run next week isnotit.” I leave my real question unasked.
Bricker’s eyes roam over me, as if he’s trying to read my body language.Or maybe he’s interested, whispers an unwelcome little voice in my head. Then, just when I think he’s going to spill everything, fill me in on exactly what’s going on, he shakes his head. “Trust is earned, Pedretti.”
I let a beat pass, and then I laugh. “So it is,” I tell him. “So it is.” But his eyes are still on me, and if I stay here on this couch with him any longer, stay here this close to him, I might do something I regret. “And now I guess I should head to bed.”
“I’ll come up, too.”
“No need. I can find my way.”
“Sure, but I also need to lock you in.” He gives me the same friendly smile he’s given me all night, and that’s when I know for sure.
He didn’t mean a damn one of those easygoing moments this evening.
I shrug. “Whatever you say, Capo.”
CHAPTER10
